Author Archives: tapeshwar

Dungeon to my chime

Nothing glues the sky
Slovenly and dark,
As an eclipse of the sun

Each passing moment
Holds dingy and murky past
Like an acid yellow rain

Slowly and slowly
The seconds ticks by, and
The memory fades in a huff

All wonton wishes, crumbles;
Merry making my feet

All treasured casket
by sadness
Are in gloominess, ruled

All joy
fleet away in transitoriness
Holding lesser by my own

Go, go away
Nether to the land –
Dungeon to my chime

Choice of freedom

It is winter
No sound cuts through the
ceiling fan, unmoving by its blades
wheezing the house
All lonely, wide of eyes
It looks down upon
its past beneficiaries:
The sweating men,
The mid day school children,
Mother and perspiring wife, and
The summer guest;
Now are cuddles together
inside coldness of the house

Only a stray thought
Churning deeper inside
Come to grip the ceiling fan –
What is existentialism
But a seasonal upturn
To be free, and
Not to revolve
But to be with the switch
Sartre and its choice of freedom

Nothing extra

He has shawled himself, nakedly
longer into this thorny chilly nights
with trembling fingers
bodily squeezed in cold grip around

Penniless he survives
the onslaught of rising inflation:
Edibles smoulder heavily and a unit
of blood costs more than a bargain
A toothless suitor to his own poverty

Pleasantly he shakes his head quixotically
Shrugging off reality from his thoughts
Believing that tomorrow, when his hospital
will charge a hefty medical bill

He will promptly reply to his doctor
wagging his tail:
Was he not in remembrance, that many a times at the construction site
He had laboured more to his hospital with sweat and salt
And demanded nothing extra

Surgeon’s cap day

A day before an operation
My doctor brisked to my bed
for a customary visit –
A bespectacled man
Full of familiarity with his art
Both on his beaming face and his gloved hands
As it comes with any connoisseur
As and when he stands in front of you

On the day of my operation
I was serialized to a waiting pavilion
From where, sitting on a wheelchair
A patient is lodged at its destined place –
An etherized table

My BP took an upward trend
As my heart started beating a little faster
But seeing all the glitter and the greenery
Spread over the operation table
I was rest assured that some freshness
Always comes with the greenery

Next, I was
Bedecked with a transparent mask
And was reminded twice and thrice repeatedly to
‘take a longer breath, and exhale’

Rest is on the side of
A “Surgeon’s cap day”

Wearing a beak

You have been there
Like my past life
Rounding off my stay on earth
like an archaeopteryx

The similarities
that we shared together into our genes
were the talk of the town presently
Mutating up avarian life
with my earthy ones

All affinities
Got the light of the day
When I took to wearing a beak
Whooshing the city air
with more familiarity than any man could do

Astrological predictions

That peaceful day
When war had not coloured the sky, then
Like a black soot
When there was no noise of the falling shells
Or shooting of guns across the borders; Or
The agonies of the dying soldiers, or
The wailing of mother for her sons; or
When I had not volunteered in the army
There, on that shining day of my childhood
I had seen an old dilapidated wall
By the side of an old country road
There, from the broken walls
Beautiful flowers were peeping the crevices

Now those memories only remains
I am still to find that decaying house
Where I could see the smiling flowers
Budding from the crevices of the wall
Taking my heart by all its colourful beauty

What remains here now, is
But, a dead silence
Hollowing my thoughts –
All ashes, all crumpled walls

Arrayed into the night sky
I could see those flowers
Making astrological predictions for safety