Friday, September 28, 2012

Story of inconsistent lanes . . . .

We met on the edge of Pangong lake in Ladakh
Across the mouth of it I found him standing
Gazing at the deep pigment of water
So blue, so green
Colors of love, yet unseen
As if rainbow had cast a shadow on it.

I looked at him
For he was a majestic sketch of god
His eyes which talked probity
And his lips which uttered inclination
To nature so authentic.

Having a wish to study him
I stepped forward
And looked straight
Through his eyes
And I breathed
Like the first time I had
When I felt
Conscious.

Then we met
In the crowd of Hanoi
Terming it as fate
We looked upon each other
And departed
To walk into the lanes of future
Grasping the air
Leaving the souls
To covet ubiquity.

Then we met
In the lanes of Germany
Where the truth was
Where he stayed
Since he was born
In the heaven
Beyond the difference.

It was a feeling so uncanny
That he ran from
Like he didn't want
Our gaze to meet
Like he feared
The arrival of 'his time'.

Then we met
On the Cambridge beach of Bermuda
The aura so exotic
Filled me with passion
To love him grave
The need to touch
The edge of his face with mine
And feel the gasp
Around us.

I flashed at him
Begging for a chance
To make me have his knowledge
To get the alphabets of his beauty
To read the synopsis of his
Image of women.

For a chance was less to thirst for
We met again,
In the city of Florence
On the bed of Leukemia
Where he whimpered
Where I prattled
Without a notice of words known
With an urge to seize the moment
The interval of time where I breathed him
Knowingly,
And he breathed a farewell
Unknowingly.

© Latika Sareen
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Friday, September 21, 2012

"Marry Me" - The Dead Proposal


To,

     Mariana,

A woman so meek
Full of elegance
Her glimpse worth a gold
Her charm more than
A soul's.

              Her breath that of 
              A mist
              Her touch
              Full of bliss.

A woman so close
So close to me
Like a touch ilusory
Cheered to see

             The kiss you kissed
             On me the other day
             Was a future hold
             Of your words and
             Caress you bestowed

Like the water on you
Felt exhilarating
Also your body
Soaked in dew,
What a savor that was
To see you shower
In moisture.

              Your voice so placid
               Like the scent of waves
               And you embrace it
               Like I do to you
               Friction hence
               Created between us two.

I find you breathless
I find you sensuous

                I owe you something
                Care to accept?
                For you will be the woman so divine
                Who gives me an aura to survive
                A proposal so sketchy
                Yet in time
                 I am constructing in the grave.

"Will you marry me
And be the woman forever
For we will last longer than any other thought
Before I die, Actually before we die,
We will make sure
I loved you enough"

                                                        - Jason
             
© Latika Sareen
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Arjun

What to call it ?
A sadistic pleasure or
The dark stages of life
Where I suffered
With no shadow of my own

For I had greed
To be called amongst Others
To be pronounced
As,
     Arjun
In the form so fair
As the juvenility of mine
Had been horrendous
For people shrieked
Me being a maniac
Where the mania was just
To be accepted as a normal
Kid.

Being able to endure the eclipse
Was a battle itself
When I was being
Discarded in the trash with
An emotion unknown
A cry so frigid

All I urged for was
A name of
'Acceptance'
Considering that I was in solitude
As a youth so
Unwanted

My soul conflicting
With Asperger's Syndrome
My body that so feeble
My desires denominated  rotten
I - raised as a soul
So dormant in nature
All by myself

Now that the world
Was a mere circus to me
The ones ahead and behind the dot
However nothing and no one held
Importance to me
Being a contrasting heart
I was a kid of substance
A change in the crowd
But what dreaded me was
The
Awful Touch behind my name
Arjun Unwanted.

Latika Sareen
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Wednesday, September 19, 2012

An escape to Yesterday

She wore the drape like
Silk
With charm and grace
On the face
Filled with mirth
Here and There.

Her eyes that spoke
Utmost composure
Her lips which construed
Sensuality
The way she adorned
Was no less than
A wine's spell

Her - wearing the vermilion
With a sense of
Desire,
To be burnt
Within the fervor
Of a woman's appeal

Married her, just for
The sake of society
Had a search
For an escape
To
The past.

As he abandoned her
The woman so vivacious
And she had
Kept him aside
To be filled with his
Scent of passion
And obliterate
The world
Of hers so Present

For she adorned herself
For the past
She had
Moreover,
Assembling no
Reflections of today

The love that died
On her yesterday
Was the one
Culpable for her
Mere Madness

In as much she
Was a mad character
Full of joy
Yet so hollow

Since she had no
Present
Seeing that she had decked up
For the past

Wearing the necklace around her
Neck
Like that with pleasure
Sliding her feet in the
Inches of heel
She felt so smooth with

Wearing the bangles as if
It was the last night of hers
In a room full of people
For she was contemplating
A new Life
With her gone days
Filled with Mirth
Here and There
She desired.

© Latika Sareen
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The Youth he Missed

So, he looked in the mirror
Rendering to his presence
To be alive
To feel it
The atmosphere he was in

And so he realized
That it was,
The youth of him
He had lost
A while ago.

The glow on his face
As if had gone
With his youth
Full of black
Full of white
As if the color of him
Was meant to be
Faded.

The child who was his
Beneath the sky
Left him in solitude
With a name
Defined 'Father'

The feeling so anguish
Full of tears and clamor
For he had no fathomed life
Except his son
For he had too gone far
With a single soul
Left behind
Behind. Very. Indeed

Just a glimpse
He begged for
Like that of light
In the wake of obscurity
For he had seen his
Youth in him

A youth he missed
Of no love
Like that of
A father to a child
Yet he struggled for
His bits and baubles
Rendering to his presence
To feel it
The atmosphere he was in.

© Latika Sareen
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Sunday, September 16, 2012

Daud abhi baaki hai . .

Zindagi ajeeb hai
Maut ke kareeb hai
Waqt ka kuch andaaza nahi
Paya aisa naseeb hai
Rukti rukti chal padti hai
Maddham si chandni ye
Suraj ke aage bhilakti hai
Hawa ka jhonka aaye toh
Fir raftaar badti hai iski
Ruksaar aage paaye toh
Girna nahi, girke sambhalna hai
Aisa hai ye dawa iska
Chahe jitne teer faenko
Rukawat hai iska kissa
Jo jitna ruk jaaye
Utna hi khud ko kamzor paaye
Waqt ke hawale kuch bhi na aaye
Aashayein woh aisi lagaye
Ki behakta hua khud ki nazro me
Woh uth jaaye
Aur duniya ko ye kehke dikhlaaye
Ki chalta ja tu, aage bad, daud abhi baaki hai
Chalta ja tu, aage bad, daud abhi baaki hai
Sapne dekhe hai jo tune
Unka ehsaas abhi baaki hai
Dekh apne aas paas
Un janwaro ko khud pe odein
Rukte nahi woh duniya me kahi
Unki manzil kahi baaki hai
Tu bhi waisa ban ki karein arzoo puri apni
Tu bhi waisa ban ki karein arzoo puri apni
Jab tak dawa karta rahein
Tab tak manzil ka rukh kahi aur baaki hai
Daud abhi baaki hai..
Teri daud abhi baaki hai . . .

© Latika Sareen
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Friday, September 7, 2012

The Gaze beyond 'Beggars'

  It was a habit of passing by that lane every month. . rather every week. It was the 'Sai Baba' temple I used to pay visit to every Thursday in Delhi, Rohini. To attain peace, where else would one be? I recall that the place used to be jammed with diversities of individuals. Punjabi; Marathi; Hindu; Sikh; Tamil . .People across the country used to be there to get a glimpse of Baba. To be in his presence and feel the pure. There was something about that air, the atmosphere I used to get involved in. The melody of drums and barrels, which used to fill our ears with soft harmonies and tunes.

Every week after getting prasad from the priest, I used to walk out towards the exit gate. He used to sit there corresponding to my gaze. Everyweek! Everyday! It was the same boy I tend to look for. He was about 14 years of age, full of energy and fire. There were hundreds of beggars in the lane. In the very same lane, beggars . . as we term them, from different scenarios and from distinct backgrounds were there. Looking at that lane from a distance felt like a ton of people sitting in opposite directions yearning for food. Only food, perhaps just a piece of bread they could feed on. Nothing pleased them, than just an edible material and they would be merrily sitting down, feeding each other from that slight type of food.

Amongst them was that boy. He was about 5'5 in height; short hair; off-white shirt; dark colored skin. He seemed to have the joys of life. The sort of vivacity he had on his face seemed of no cost. He was sitting amongst his family members on the sides of the road outside of the temple. The boy who must have had better days in his life, was now in a sad plight. But he never rendered to the sadness. He was a shining face of positive attitude. Only 14! Yet so intellectual and bright, that I had begun to feel his unambiguous shades. He used to look at me, smile, saying, "Didi, khana de do" (Sister, please give me food) and I used to pour whatever I had cooked in his vessel. It wasn't a ritual to be done with temple ceremonies and provide beggars with food. But it was a hearty emotion which people served them food with. It was more like serving out of no expectations, to fulfill the urge to provide those poor ones with some edible material. For me it in turn was a savor moment. At times, it used to serve as the one and only moment where I could connect them with me or vice versa.

I used to gaze at those 'eyes' of them for prolong seconds. For it used to utter words on the path of silence. Like we individuals who live a normal life carry plenty of descriptions from here and there. In the same way, those beggars' faces' were formed of various water drops, asserting more than what they could admit. As I used to serve them food, their faces were enriched with gaiety. That elation of someone being humble to them was a non-existing thought. For they had learnt to bear humiliation and nonchalant belief of people living on their adverse side of life. Even by being wrapped in two pieces of cloth, those women seemed to be the real beauty faces; without any brush ups and makeup theories. Those visions of them which longed to be us, but they knew the understandings of fate.


I used to gaze at those faces' which were ready at any flash to bless the givers as if they were meant to be divine and a grace for others. I used to gaze at their skin, which was young as ever, than ours which was sulky with the terms of life. Their visions, which were blissful even in the intense phases. And ours how we complain even if our roof starts leaking out of nowhere. Their life which was in the smiles of their kids, and ours which doesn't go beyond texting and smartphones. Their hands which were only divine in some form of blessings. And us, who raise hands not just to assasin, however for corruption and wars. Their heart which is a major giver, for they have nothing to offer yet they smile. And us, being on such lofty heights in life yet can't do charity.
It is like a flash passed by, comparing none and comparing all in one go. Keeping such sets in mind, I wondered, "How could I call them beggars, when they are a lot richer by heart than normal us".

Since then, I have longed to share a moment with them personally. Their stories which are a lot more exquisite than mine. I am hungry for those smiles, for I have not laughed like them since decades. Not because I wish to, but because I want to. They were defined as crazy beggars, yet the only delighted species I would ever know.

 "For only the mad people could be the happiest, and I wish I was in that genre, where I was mad and laughed, to be content. For I laugh hollow now, full of sentiments yet so vacant".

- Latikaa 

© Latika Sareen
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Thursday, September 6, 2012

All I wish, to Write !

  I wish to write in a scattered form
Lines which never bound to explain
The intensity of the words
I put down on the piece of paper
I own

I wish to write in an abundant form
Far to relocate the soul
Which was once alive
To the world
She knew she liked

I wish to write in a yearning form
To have plenty around me
To be gratified with
For I know, I lack
The power to tackle

I wish to write in a form of no name
Ambiguous all over
With no startings,
With no endings,
Just the way flowing down a slope
So uncertain

I wish to write,
Is all I wish
Be it scattered or abundant
Of name or be it yearning
I am intimidated by hue of others
Which beguiled me to points

Now, I say
I hold a pen
Help me discover something untold
Something revived
For I will only be coaxed by you
Abandon the world,
That was left behind
Far.

© Latika Sareen
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Sunday, September 2, 2012

A New Love Story . . Begins :)

     Today I was sitting down all by myself by the river wanting to experience a change, novelty. . . a spark or some tickle which hasn't been in me since decades. Nothing happened. Nothing has happened until now. That is what the grief is for. It doesn't feel less than a failure who isn't seeking for anything wild and happening. Sitting all composed around the shores of the river, I began writing, and for the first time it felt like it would hit me hard . . 
Just like the water around the shore. . with no noise, but a charm to fill the air around it with a fragrance . . a fragrance of no cost .. 

I long to keep you in me
with full of scent around
I wish to make love to you
I wish to hold you down

There is more to desire
Than to just speculate
There is nothing to lose hope for
For there are many to come
And for one you to melt

Before I come to you
I would have to ponder back
For there would be no conflicts
For there would be no physical contacts

It seemed like an upland
Full of ups and downs
One life, which make people play solemn
And many more which make us play clowns

Love me merely for who I am
For I beget something of that sought
Don't put the conditions before you owe me
Your scent of little thoughts

The journey is way too prolonged
Than what we had contemplated
I felt the drop of the rain
Which struck me austere
Growing my soul
With me rejuvenated.

Will we end it there?
With no toughness in us?
Or will we get it closer
With your lips on mine
Lamenting,
Sensing,
Like there would none other than us..

And in that color, it ended. . I ceased the nib of the pen to scribble more than just musings. Took a deep breath, devoting my sight to nature's honesty for playing straight and bestowing my senses to the atmosphere I was in . . I whispered in the ears of the light breeze  

"Dusk and dawn a part of me,
Yet thou groan
For you shall
Remain LOVED"

And I smiled , for the smile was not just on the face ... it was from within of conquering more than just castles in the air .. 

© Latika Sareen
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Saturday, September 1, 2012

A Legendary Melody




Evergreen and Stupendous superstar of all times of Bollywood - Mr. Raj Kapoor ji

One of his super duper hit tunes of life . . Jeena yahan, marna yahan, iske siwa, jana kahan :)

The melody which makes you learn a lot than just being educated via books and advanced technology.

A song which has lived by and which would remain a legendary tune in all Indian hearts ..

Whether they concur or they dont :)