June 14, 2011


It was a long hot summer’s night,

Somewhere along the milestones cried a flickering light.

Fireflies beneath the stars,& the whistle of a distant train,

I fell in love with you walking down the memory lane.

The patient dewdrops appreciate the petals,

While the voyeuristic time seizes to settle.

Many moons have passed since it’s last wax and wane,

Holding hands and whispering the precious mundane,

As the steam blows from the kettle,

Passion nudges my mind and softly nestles,

As the breeze sways the waves so high,

A kiss is not a kiss without your sigh.

Once a beautiful portrait picture,

Life took a new canvas, a new aperture,

The colors were crude,

The mood never understood.

Screeching wails of the bleeding wheels,

Reckless blood disturbed the delicate heels.

The shocked pebbles and muted greens,

Witnessed the tragic scene.

Her dying eyes hoped in vain,

The slowing beats and numbing pain.

Her lips quivered, though lifeless she lay,

A hit-and-run the newspapers say.

It was a long hot summer’s night,

I saw my love in a new light,

In a new place on a new moon night,

We looked down and saw the earth shining bright.

Gyanban Thoughts - Every year the number road-rage accidents incease.Hit and run cases are the most insensitive ones.These few lines are dedicated to all those people who lost their loved ones in such accidents.And probably,and hopefully a thought inducing one,for some who were or might have been involved in such a situation.Let us all be a bit more careful, a bit more responsible,because you never know what the next bend beckons -life or death?

Also written for the weekly prompt - Long For in One Single Impression

image courtesy:desktopnexus.com

June 5, 2011

Just Beautiful .

As the darkness gave way to twilight, the birds got their message to wake up and spread the word. The melody drifted into little Rebecca’s ears. 

She wasted no time and floated into the courtyard facing the fields. It was to be the last time she would see that view.Rebecca soaked in the early morning summer sun, the only time earth beneath her feet was cool. In a few hours it would heat up the fields as the scorching relentless sun had done for so many months now.

The drought in the region had intensified over the last few weeks, crops were dying, and the cattle weakening. Although a small village, generations had thrived, and peacefully existed.. The only source of water was from an offshoot of a river which had slowly reduced to a trickle.

More and more people left the village and soon it was time for George & his wife Oviya to leave the village with their only child Rebecca. The decision was tough, the future unknown and insecure.

‘We can’t go on like this any more. We need to head out to the city and find ways and means to keep living. Trust me, this is the right decision’ lamented George.

Oviya nodded in agreement. Rebecca in denial.

That noon the mercury touched 47C,the sun was beating down every soul and soon a faint trickle snowballed into hoards of people moving out of the place. It seemed the resistance had reached a tipping point.

George and Oviya were in the final stages of packing their meager belongings and getting ready to leave. Rebecca stood below the old Mango tree crying softly. She had seen the tree ever since she was born. She had climbed, jumped, swung and eaten Mangoes sweet and sour.

‘I think you should leave little one’ the Mango tree spoke.
‘How can I ? ‘All my life you have been my only friend ,how can I leave you?’ Rebecca retorted.

‘I will be right here waiting for you – go on now’ the Mango tree reassured.

Reluctantly, Rebecca went back into the house to get ready to move out of the village with her parents. 

Just then, there was a commotion outside.

The climate was extremely dry. Dry leaves,twigs and trees- a perfect conduit for fire.It was a forest fire. Every tree around them had caught fire. This could block their exit from the village. George had to act quickly.

He rushed back to pick up whatever was packed and yelled to Oviya and Rebecca to get out of the house.

‘Where is Rebecca? Oviya screamed.

‘I thought she was with you inside?’

Panic-stricken George screamed from the rear window.  Rebecca wasn't hiding there.
George rushed out to see the old Mango tree burning & little Rebecca near the burning Mango tree. 

She had an earthen pot in her hand.

‘What are you doing Rebecca, get out of there NOW’ - yelled George running towards her.

Rebecca replied, ‘I am pouring water to stop the fire father.’

George saw the small earthen pot she had taken from the kitchen – she  sprinkled water on the Mango tree.

‘What are you doing? Do you really think this little water will stop that raging fire? 

Rebecca looked back and said – ‘I don’t know if it will stop – but I can at least try to do what I can.’

Seeing the little girls plight, the passing God’s beckoned the clouds and rain followed.

Gyanban Thoughts - This story is based on the great Kabir's fables.It is about commitment.It is about continuity.It's about going on in spite of adversitites.In the times we live,there are so many alternatives, and choices, that somewhere we stop trying to make things work.In this big world of choices,and better alternatives, sometimes it makes sense to stick to the roots and belive in your efforts and your work - your originality.
The beauty is in trying - not giving up.The beauty is in continuity not alternatives,the beauty is in trying to do what you can,rather than wait for the right situation.We all have this beauty within us,just a question of bringing it out.

You can vote for it on - Indiblogger
image courtesy: desktopexus.com

June 1, 2011


The woods were dark, deep and dense.The starlit sky hummed a tune so intense.They watched the firefly’s dance to the dew’s romance #love

Lips meet the lips unmet, aroma of the untouched rosette.#Virgin sequoias swayed with grace,fingers meander leaving a trace #ufascinateme

Close to the dancing lights,I stood watching in my voyeuristic plight.Her fragrance ignited my heart alight.She was to be mine tonight.#FML

Crimson dawn cloaks the starlit night,devoured flesh canvassed fright.
Memories flash,as moment’s lapse.Feelings trapped,my love gasped.

Crimson dawn cloaks the starlit night,devoured flesh canvassed fright.Memories flash,as moment’s lapse.Feelings trapped,my love gasped.

As the throat slit,her redness yelped in vain.The gash and gnash and the bloody vein.Arms danced in a mystic rhapsody,melancholy strain.

Her breast breathed so low,lips mellow.The dove flew from the scathing slew.Gentle drops of blood left a trace,replacing tears on my face.

The serum flows like a soothing melody,drop by drop enters my body.I lay on the table strapped;my heartbeats pound as the devil clapped.

    Gyanban Thoughts - This is a story written keeping the twitter word limit in mind.These are 7 tweets of 140 characters or less each.I would like to mention here, that the effort to write a story in the form of poetry was a deliberate attempt, but restricting it to tweet limit was even more fun,and should I say more challenging.There is a clear and strong story line with an intro,body and conclusion.There is an element of screenplay as well. The element of narration from the main protagonist builds the storyline.

    The story is narrated by a dying man on the execution table.His memories flas by as the lethal injection slowly enters his body.

    A crime of passion or a passionate crime ?

    image courtesy :desktopnexus.com


      Beautiful houses and ugly homes Quiet neighbourhood  and loud music Bright paints and dark insides, Transparent windows and opaque sights....