Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Poem: A trip back home

He walked with me
Down the path of my memories
Those ill-marked streets
And dusty roads
Where the goats made friends
With uninterested strays*
And old schools stood tall
Behind new gates

We walked apart
In reverence to the place
Yet closer than today
In the place we called home

*strays = stray dogs

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Poem: A Eulogy

I knew you but a little
I knew you more through him
His softened heart
His belligerent faith
His every little whim

I loved you yet
I loved you more for him
His simple ways
His stubborn face
His ambitions and his dreams

I owe you much
I'm indebted to you for him
His virtue and
His loving hand
His candor when things are grim

If I had more time
I’d spend it on
Just loving you for you
I’d be your friend
Not just a relative
I’d learn so much from you

I would sing you songs
And read you tales
The kind you liked to read
Of dragon wars
And Harry’s trials
Of the yeomen’s love for mead

Time’s not on my side
And I’ll regret
All the things I never did
I gave you nothing yet
You’ve given me him
Knowing, makes it hard to breathe

He cried such tears
That would melt the cold
In any selfish heart
For the son he is
And the kind of man
I should’ve thanked you from the start

(c) VedicVerses (Rucha Gokhale)

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Shallow Gal

Lately, it seems, I am readily and easily embarrassed by depth and sensitivity. Be it my own or someone else’s. Brooding and mulling over life’s many faces, layers and nuances are a thing of the past. Nowadays, soon as I think a thought, I feel I must speak it out loud – else I risk becoming serious, deep and dull.

What is it that frightens me about feeling, being taken over by emotions and thoughts? Why is it that I feel fragile and unable to process anything but the shallowest of sentiments?

I am beginning to realize how bendable one is when really young. Passion could twist and turn my insides, and I’d still regain my original shape like a new piece of memory foam. But now, that twisting and turning leaves lasting marks all over. Not pleasing at all.

Maybe its how we process pain as we grow older. The time it takes to heal from ever strike, is time that could’ve been spent on some mundane chore or performing some unimportant task that suddenly becomes the raison d’etre for your existence.

Maybe its not about being dull and boring. Maybe I’m shallow because I’m too inflexible and old to process pain effortlessly.

(c) VedicVerses (Rucha Gokhale)

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Poem: I am what I am

I am what I am
That's why I am me
Sometimes I am you
Sometimes I am she

Today I am the one
Who sees things a certain way
Today I am dark as the night
Tomorrow I am the day

When I was with you
I was, who I believe I am
The way I am with another
Is also me I claim

It is not my intention to lie
I am simply more than one thing
I am what I experience
I am what I believe in

I live in the moment for I
Have not seen tomorrow
But in every moment I own
I am me down to my marrow

I don't mean to mislead
Nor am I schizophrenic
Its not a disease, its a quirk
Part systemic, part endemic

I am not one but all
Accept it, let it be
For I am what I am
That's why I am me

(c) VedicVerses (Rucha Gokhale)