Poetry: Ajanta Paul

Ajanta Paul
 1. Waking Up

 Consciousness…
a blur, a welling up, a swelling tide
of sights and sounds

lapping at the shore of sleep,
the mist clears off
the shapes of things

rain slips off gauzy dragonfly wings,
on which the patterns no longer merge
but emphatically emerge

like a hidden hieroglyphics
come to light
in an adieu to night

the sound of china cups breaking
like tinkling laughter at the edge of the moon
spilling it's potion of liquid light

and scattering in glittering shards
through oblivion's innards
towards daybreak

across the skies
quiver of bird cries
as the chirruping dawn

spreads beneath the eyelids
in expanses of yellow clouds
and you feel

Yourself
all over again
in the first, wan light

of recognition
and the inevitable spiritual negotiation
in the ancient ceremony of waking up.
-----


2.    Maintenance

I run a scan of the hard drives
that keep me going against all odds
to ensure a virus free pathology

and reorganize the crowded files
that clutter the recesses of my being
with a profusion of data.

I delete all the unwanted junk
consigning the same
to yesterday's scrap heap.

Calls and messages
flood my inbox with invitations
and emoticons of flowers and love.

I strengthen my security settings
 that none may decode
the encryption that protects my privacy.

I clear the cache
around the photos in my mind
that so take up my memory space.

The jet lag behind that tired smile in one,
the sudden shower that plastered our hair in another
the scent of kaash and shiuli in a third.

Amazing, isn't it, how such sensory perceptions
can fill your storage device
with bytes that slow you down?
-----


3.   Words

Some words have a pebbled feel
Hard, smooth and cold,
Alabaster pale and old
To the touch, yet forever new
In changing issue.

Toss them into the well
And hear them shatter
The silence of ages
In passionate rages
And luminous coinages.

Some words must have been snipers
In their earlier avatars
As they ambush you unaware
While you drive the ploughshare
Of your craft into the rich earth.

Turning it over and over,
Loosening the clods
Making furrowing inroads
To sow the tight deeds
Within the soil cover.

Some words, like metals ring,
In drawn out resonances sing
Vibrating their heart out
In movement unseen
In their core deep within.

Some words like seashells
Echo the ocean's eternal music
In their mystical, marine melody,
Pounding on the shores of creation
With their enchanting symphony.

Some words are loth to yield
The meaning in them distilled,
And like life's cryptic alphabet
Draw over expression the soft velvet
Of a secretive blanket.

Some words trail the sunset
In their closing cadences,
Promising the dawn's rosy bruises,
As they haemorrhage
The lifeblood of the Muses.
-----

4.   Vista

A landscape lost in a trance
Of its backward glance
Opens a vista
Of valleys, falling away
As far as the eye can see,
A trailing siesta
Of mist laden silhouettes
And vanishing vignettes
Of longings, leanings, lavishings
Tumbling, trembling, toppling past
The undulating topography
Of a lilting reverie.

Hazy hinterlands growing
Cash crops of the soul,
Once rich harvests, now lapsed
Into a stubble of memory,
Languish in lambency
In the accumulated fog
Of knowing and unknowing
Of all that was
And could have been
In the long-ago
Of the left behind scene,
Pregnant with prophecy.
-----

 5.  Trust

I have placed
The knotted handkerchief
Of my life
In your open palms,
Trusting in your mere touch
To shake out its creases
And restore the piece of cloth,
Twisted and wrinkled,
Careworn and crinkled
To its original state,
So that your monogrammed initials
In its corner may be seen again.

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