The Twelfth Night..

I really don't know what has been so special about the rains these days. I haven't been able to talk to the rain for quite some time now on account of some nerve-wrecking exam preparations, but nevertheless could I feel myself listening to it every night. And it was the twelfth night of the fifth month of the ongoing year that I waited for hours on end for it, but nevertheless did it betray me, like it does on the hot summer afternoons. I was away from my bedroom and without my pillow to help me cry out the entire night, for we stayed back at my uncle's place on account of the elections. And it was 2 o' clock in the midnight that I found myself insomniac, sitting beside someone else's window and looking out into the night through a not-so-familiar wind, with a void mind somehow brimming with a lot of things to say.....about how some paths had intersected, about the divinity in them and how life deserved to have been beyond it. For it was just a couple of years back that I spent my happiest night on the twelfth night of the fifth month of 2007.

It brought back those tears which I had not expected that night, and the eerie feeling that quite often makes me beg before the rain to come and cover up the whole of my existence in the eddy currents of its fearful and loathsome vigour.

And reminded me the moment back home, when on the terrace with my mother under the full moon-light, I saw her eyes getting filled up reminiscing some distant, unfulfilled, unforgettable memories while musing on the lines...

"Shokhi bhalobasha kare koy...
Shey ki keboli jatonamoy..."

Hey Nuton..

Jaha kichu tumi borshile aji

Hey kobi! Mor ei bonge..
Bokkhe niye kate prato diba nishi
Tobo odhora ashish shonge..

Taale shure gaane chhonde tobo
Hoy banglar probhat nobo nobo
Praner kotha kaane kobo kobo,
Bhashibe ramdhonu ronge..

Ashiyachho grishho dwiprohore
Hoyia bohurupi himel haowa..
Borshar ghono megher araale
Sharod-obhimukhe dhaowa..

Shopiyachi tobo choron tole
Pujiya tobo she naam
Hey kobi aji diboshe tomare
Shohosro koti pronam..

P.S.:-This was done with the purpose of paying a miniscule homage to the man who has shaped our lives. Very very random..

Broken..

A new dawn battered

Some old nights shattered

Broken like a dream
Broken like the dawn

Forlorn hopes shiver
Wander by the river

Cast out as cursed
Vanquished as a pawn

A deadly venom's kiss
A life is here to cease

Effused through a fissure
Buried in ashes, brown

Doom climbs the door
Spills on the floor

Struggling to breathe
In the sea of despair, drown

But I'll wait for you
As the ship's lonesome crew

For lives, through and through
Till I win my last fight

For that lucid beam hued blue
For the song I'll sing to you

For you'll close my eyes
After I live my last night.

The Downpour...

Amidst the crossroads of memory lane
I know I've lost, and there's nothing to gain

Embroiling me further in the fangs of a bane
I watch my hopes going to vain

I know my tears you'll disdain
But before you, I haven't learnt to feign

Tied up in times' merciless chain
I lay on the broken pieces of my window pane

Yes, I can take all the pain
For another walk with you under the heaviest rain...

Resonance...

It has been, albeit a long wait, a fabulous February after all. And the departure of the winter for the first time hasn't been too bothering. And while 'march'ing onto the next 31 days, past the month bygone, it was somewhat a kaleidoscope of mixed feelings that somehow brought equal shares of smile and gloom into the eyes. Strangely enough, its one of such moments when you stop expecting more and thank life for the few simple moments you could gather up to cherish as memories all your life. And it has been one of those times when time had been too kind to spare us from the curses it hurl. The cynosure of it all was our departmental trip to Vizag and the outcome of some four-month-long anticipations regarding it has been undoubtedly one of the best times of our life. It has been one of those times when nature comes calling and joy knows no bounds. When you blend so deep with friendship that the two becomes just about inseparable entities. And the boundless joy you get when a friend calls you family and you find a family away from it. Its a memory, that sadly enough, will never come back to our lives. Memories, we don't wish to perturb and let them stay as they were. Loved, dreamt, created, preserved. And cherished and remembered all through life, with bouts of tears in some far future. For it is very rightly said..

We meet to create memories..

We part to preserve them.

P.S.-Thank you friends..Thank you for bringing such wonderful times in my life.

A Few Beautiful Minds...

It has possessed the correct proportions of yellows and greens and has grayed its hairs over time. It has seen the nineteenth century stealthily zooming past, witnessed the 1900s arrive and depart. Perceived the springs and falls of ages and has stood as a colosseum with spirits wretchedly watching men getting metamorphosized to animals. It has stood tall bearing the testimony of times when knowledge got oppressed and beamed with pride whenever enlightenment overshadowed a fraction of the dark. And cradled in its palms a thousand lives, nursing a million hopes of dreaming high. It has seen surrealism coming true and has lived a 149-year-old life.

It has sustained the virility of the revered spot it has replaced..the collapsed theatre that stood in the same address as it stands now. The legendary Sans Souci theatre that we can only strive to fathom a blurred impression of. Handsome limousines and elegant women in dainty evening gowns carrying artistic parasols..ornate staircases leading to the stage..Shakespearean plays being unwound out. And the debacle that destroyed it all.

It has put in vain the best efforts made to mix accurate proportions of the yellows and greens with a paintbrush in an elaborate attempt to bring its image into an approximation of life. I figure out that the innate divinity with which it had embarked upon is as hard to create an artefact of as it is to reach out.

It has started living its 150th year now and is counting days to celebrate its post-centenary golden jubilee completion. It has worn out in parts many a times and has undergone crude surgeries to retain its vigour. It saw children treading into its lap and men walk out. It has seen its siblings cropping up in and around its fences and shared rendezvous with the older kids in gray hairs. It has continued to spellbind people with its opulence and the brightly hued avalanches of glory it carries forward as its legacy. And its 150 year-old stories that still stupefies us.

It has written a chapter named 'St. Xaviers'. Nurtured a few beautiful minds and linked the term 'Xaverian' with a tinge of pride. And rendered meaning to the abstract and abrupt essence of the word 'beautiful' that still prevails in pieces between us.

Through a tinted glass...

I know when moonlight casts its spell..
And the streets turn sharply towards the gale..
I know it just when you step home
As my thoughts get lost on a nameless trail..

I'll flow to your deepest depths,
You, the current of my waves..
I'll sway to wherever you lead
To your ebb tides I’ll cede..

Are you the dream, yet to be seen?
Are you the way life should have been?
Are you my hopes, in a cocoon?
Are you that long awaited monsoon?

Are you the wings to set me free?
Are you the horizon beckoning me?
Are you the rest of my story?
Are you the muse of my untold poetry?