tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62016186758407388492024-02-19T19:16:08.283+05:30Countable and Uncountablereemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-14266745861824988802015-01-17T21:53:00.002+05:302015-01-23T09:29:30.308+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In 2015, I will write in short bursts of sentences, because long paragraphs over-explain and essays are like unwittingly long conversations lacking wonder. Because we are lost to porn, paranoia and propaganda and no one needs to be spoken to. I will not follow the book because I am bored with the unoriginality of thought, art and philosophy.<br />
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reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-73764076936729819242012-11-16T00:00:00.002+05:302012-11-16T00:00:44.246+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Dear Gilbert,<br />
<br />
I had thought i could live vicariously through you.<br />
that i could lie like concrete, passive! and let all what comes roll over me<br />
while you wrote poetry on some remote island, your mind drowning and your organs imploding.<br />
<br />
You wrote poetry so i didn't. I could read simply<br />
I could spend days in dullness and live inside the fences of this irredeemable being. <br />
'Tear it down' you said 'we find out the heart only by dismantling what the heart knows'<br />
So i kept digging into my chest, hoping to rip it out one day.<br />
<br />
You are dead today, and i know that you chose it no more than i chose my birth.<br />
I know that you've refused heaven<br />
that you don't want to live in peace.<br />
Yet a blur sets in compulsorily, some semblance of grief<br />
Just like our unknown compulsion to love landscapes and snow.<br />
<br />
I don't know what to wish for you, I don't know if to wish at all.<br />
I just clutch on to your poems while drifting away in southern currents.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-23012166813527742562012-09-03T01:17:00.000+05:302012-09-03T01:17:35.670+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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To an Absconding Poet</div>
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You have been away for far too long now</div>
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know this, the sea, the salt, winter falls, bed mates, caravans, lovers, foes, cheese or olives</div>
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Nothing would ever suffice</div>
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Blank Verse</div>
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reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-51426454609890643522012-07-11T13:47:00.001+05:302012-07-11T13:47:38.848+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Someone once told me that there's nothing more painful than the loss of words.<br />
I have had small misgivings. Not sure if i am ready to lose now...<br />
So i am not going anywhere, i'd rather be here than anywhere. :)<br />
<br /></div>reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-15441988831056515182012-06-15T05:56:00.003+05:302012-06-15T05:56:25.254+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Just when to make an exit,<br />
not a dramatic one but a well-timed one.<br />
Like those moments in histories of people and worlds when an exit could have averted a war. <br />
<br />
the day leaving becomes absolutely necessary, will i know?<br />
will i be able to stop, drop and walk away? </div>reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-1258077785607701072012-03-25T01:18:00.000+05:302012-03-25T01:18:40.108+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Is surat se arz sunaate,dard batate,nadiya khete,minnat karte,rasta takte, </i><br />
<i>kitni sadiyaan beet gaayi hain.. </i><br />
<i>ab jaaker yeh bhed khula hai..</i><br />
<i>Jisko tumne arz guzari</i><br />
<i>Jo tha haath pakarne waala</i><br />
<i>jis ja laagi nao tumhari</i><br />
<i>jis se dukh ka daaru maanga</i><br />
<i>tore mandir mein jo nahi aaya</i><br />
<i>woh to tum hi the.....</i><br />
<i>woh to..tum hi the...</i>.</div>reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-27186173111040645812012-03-20T04:18:00.000+05:302012-03-20T04:18:37.637+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My decision of not seeing you tonight was perhaps a wrong one. especially when you called back again and said 'I think you should see me tonight'. especially when i am a little sad and alone.<br />
I chose instead to sink in sleepless contemplation. to write a story about a little girl trying to slay a sea monster. to keep at it without any clear reasons.<br />
I think that there's much evidence to happiness as there is to the fact that behind every portrait of a hilly landscape, there stands an image of a person we cannot see.<br />
<br />
I should have seen you tonight, I wonder how much more romantic it would have been. </div>reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-50299817298869937882012-02-25T01:05:00.001+05:302012-02-25T01:23:06.694+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My dad, all through his adolescent years in the 1950s believed that if he ran far enough towards the horizon, he could probably find the sky dipping and would be able to poke at the clouds with a stick.<br />
<br />
My little foster puppy chews away toilet paper, ten rupee notes with teething joy and without a care in the world.<br />
I live in my self created part dreamy part existential soft cloud ball of inaction.<br />
<br />
while far away in Congo, the rebel army continues to send little children to the war front with whistles in their palms to distract and trick the enemy gunmen into killing them instead.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-49313886918853852162012-02-20T23:41:00.002+05:302012-02-20T23:54:17.498+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Of all the places,people,cultures he's read about,studied,seen in pictures and images, He makes a
collage out of them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">It is his mind's own Atlas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Things that have
fascinated him, facts that have surprised him about unknown places, places
where he's never been and never shall be. He cuts out pictures off the
magazines and books he's read and
meticulously works at it to create a visual. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span>
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</div>reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-69524820395506617252012-01-27T21:51:00.002+05:302012-01-27T21:51:35.935+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Mein har roz, lagataar aise hi phone karti jaaungi. Jab tak jawab nahi milta." :)</div>reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-64576794303928529452011-12-06T00:38:00.001+05:302011-12-19T16:34:20.261+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear Penmanship,<br />
You were sick for a while,
you had a tumor on your back,
when your tumor burst the maggots attached you and ate away your flesh. they made it into a large wound of about 10 inches. one could see your bones!
and when your wound burnt under the sun, you sat in front a cold steel door.<br />
the door opened and others found you.
they sedated you and killed the maggots inside your flesh.
Now you are healing,
Doing better everyday.<br />
and after four months, we meet again :)</div>reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-23674140615574270802011-08-21T20:51:00.003+05:302011-08-21T21:19:44.754+05:30Before Mr Dracula drank her blood and sucked the lady dry, he spoke in his expensive taste of the eccentricity in Gaudi and his spectacular Sagrada Familia of Spain, The Japanese gods and goddess,about Art Nouveau and 20th century modernism, Turkish Deserts and the world's largest orchestra.
<br />
<br />And when he bit her flesh,the Lady nervously dabbed her pearl necklace and only wished that she doesn't sound too unintelligent to question what he was doing. reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-9856031057276666872011-08-06T01:31:00.003+05:302011-08-06T01:39:01.421+05:30after a social suicide, you tend to lose your reputation with all lousy acquaintances, who you had been trying be rid off all along. Only true friends, family and love remains.<br /><br />"And this morning I woke up<br />feeling like a little French village<br />the Nazis suddenly decided to pull out of<br />after a particularly cruel occupation." ------------- George Bilgerereemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-11127168283809718652011-06-11T02:31:00.002+05:302011-06-11T03:07:06.415+05:30Thamma,<br /><br />Today I felt as ashamed and lonely as a little child whose friends mocked him for being an Orphan. <br /><br /> for the sake of a trivial argument, a close friend suddenly picks up and says, <br />" Well, you didn't get to see your dying grandmother" <br /><br />Adult relationships are tricky and i have not been spared.<br /><br />But i resist like an old blind man who holds out his stick at all who push him around and make fun.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-76792279299100679532011-05-27T19:24:00.005+05:302011-05-27T20:15:54.611+05:30ShantiniketanI woke up and i touched the man's pale jet-lagged skin, the hives and rashes spread unevenly on his body. I chuckled because it felt like i was touching a reptile. <br /><br />But what did i really see?<br /><br />I reached over to kiss and there in that moment i was cursed with Shantiniketan's legend of Unrequited Love. <br /> <br />Now, in the forest mornings, my heart reflects a green-yellow <br />and in the nights, a cobalt-blue.<br /><br />the unrequited ghost of my love is now among the many spirits in the forest, whispering like the wind into the Poet's ears, who is perhaps still writing somewhere. <br /><br />One with its trees, One with its soil, embedded inside the very legend.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-14298757810435074742011-05-11T05:09:00.002+05:302011-05-11T05:18:36.694+05:30As i argue/holler/grow defiant of my living, my friends lose their patience over my existential angst. They say, Relax! the burden of the world is not on your shoulders,<br />I deconstruct, destruct, lose sleep relentlessly. <br /><br />But almost always remember: <br /><br />"To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget." - Arundhati Royreemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-48402746285834566362011-05-09T00:10:00.004+05:302011-05-09T00:31:07.136+05:30In her long years of exile, she was like a poet's imagined forest, full/quite/overwhelmed in moonlight. Her longings echoed in her songs and ripened passion and madness in the forest darkness. <br /><br />When Love invaded and took her away. <br /><br />Now an average lover, living amidst limits, everyday she searches the insides of her body for a wild-fire.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-71368289433239787072011-02-12T02:45:00.000+05:302011-02-16T12:50:51.844+05:30I think a lot more than i write lately, i am in this sense of lapse where i cannot speak about the things i wish to speak of.<br /><br />I still don't know how i have dealt with loss so far in my life. <br />All i can remember through distant, distant memory is of the early winter evening when on the steps of the Ganga, i lit a candle beside the plate with all that my dead grandmother loved in food, turned around and left.<br />"It's our custom and once you light the candle you must leave, do not turn back" heard in the voice of the erudite thakurmoshai<br /><br />And I remember the beautiful Tagore song that my brother played on the back drop in his phone,the sunken faces of my father and my brothers as much as i remember the smell of the soft cotton from my grand mother's saarees.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-51324313029598933872011-01-18T11:46:00.000+05:302011-01-18T11:47:33.226+05:30Every day when the bell rings they all huddle up in clusters. Rats go with rats; termites with fellow termites, pile up in smaller cars and scurry off to their tribes elsewhere.<br /><br />I put on my bag and walk on a long journey back.<br /><br />Mama says “But you must have a friend to roll around on the grass and watch the sun with! Guppy you’re such a lonely boy”<br /><br />I once made friends with Fat Freddy, who took away my marbles and bit my hand. I said “Mama, I aint making no friends, friends bite!”<br /><br />It was the feast of St. Mary’s and we all had to dress alike. Friends wore similar clothes, lovers wore similar hats and families were under big and colorful umbrellas.<br /><br />And I was in my porch with a bottle, Mama had said something about being Lonely, so I breathed lonely into the bottle and thought that I would watch it grow every day and become a boy like me.<br /><br />And some day we both shall be men.<br /><br />As it goes without saying that in this world there are happy people and there are sad people and there are poets!reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-16158302686841193492010-12-29T20:20:00.000+05:302010-12-29T20:29:31.738+05:30and on a very cold evening of kolkata winter. my frail, old grandmother finally dies.<br />December 27th, 2010.<br /><br />i am not home yet.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-15880220367670951272010-12-10T01:24:00.000+05:302010-12-10T14:29:52.783+05:30My grave inability to follow orders has got me thinking that if life was a long servitude then i would make a bad servant.<br />On my 23rd birthday i finally accepted that my ambitions were far more dismal than that of my parents for me. that their little improvisations of my very ambiguous plans are in fact now beginning to hurt.<br />Blameless, those poor souls had served and saved for their family and prayed so that one day the little mortal should rise to their mediocre heaven.<br />But I being me, am lost in the count of one to ten, unable to comprehend why each must come after another.<br /><br />Someone once said, that in the history of our existence there had been no inventions, that we had only discovered what was already there in other forms. I had always wondered, if that was true then how did we ever think of Freedom, something that doesn't exist in all celestial nature where everything is bound to one another, how do we actually feel it while running wild in an open field?<br /><br />It is way past my bed time, tomorrow i shall be summoned once again to turn a wheel in the world's machinery. <br /><br />And having created my own moment of freedom, i feel like an Inventor all by myself.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-28539571629150949282010-11-02T12:01:00.000+05:302010-11-02T12:46:29.846+05:30The walls are off white and there are soft lights, hung from the ceiling or clamped on the floor. <br /><br />In it we are two.<br /><br />The house is full of things bought with little money and a lot of love, every patch put together with a lot of trial and striving.<br />so much so that its commodities are like little children that demand care. <br />you have do it everyday without fail. <br /><br />and Love,Its acknowledgments are now as obvious as the day and night. There are more important things to remember, life's machinery to run. <br /><br />It is said that Euphoria can only last a moment but sometimes while traveling back from work, as i see faces resembling people i already know..<br /><br />I do wish to have remembered myself seeing my very first sunrise and what i must have felt.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-53723750142786261562010-09-30T03:10:00.000+05:302010-09-30T03:34:56.121+05:30That was the very first night, something got taken away from me, that night of our adolescence which we were so eager to grow out of. <br />When we first kissed in the closet. you were impatient and i was fascinated,<br />trying to gather all the romance from the kiss even though it was mutually experimental.<br />Then came love, and then the end of it, life happened, livelihood emerged, prerogatives, desires, complexities, struggles appeared and I got baked and toasted like a nice cookie. <br /> <br />in small measures some parts of myself loosened and dissipated.I left some of myself in numerous places, countless nights and days.<br /><br />Sometimes I think that i am no better than wild cattle trying to outlast the desert<br />Just when i remember that one day in early childhood when I had tightened my fist and held it over my heart.<br /><br />Even if the entire being dissipates, I don't think that fist could ever be opened. <br />That part of myself safely locked away.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-71362299777873661372010-09-07T23:26:00.001+05:302010-09-08T00:01:46.057+05:30Untitled, as you have changed from decades to centuries and still remained without a name, so have I wondered around all through these years in search for your namesake. <br />When you were a woman, I was a shy sophomore. I was unforgivingly romantic and shuddered at the idea of taking my clothes off. I was punch drunk in love and I couldn’t put my feet together at any instant.<br />When you were anonymous friends and fleeting lovers, I was bright, aspiring and pompous. I was a trickster, cheating over cards on the table. I moved along with the lights and the gypsies.<br />When you were the man, I was the woman. I made a home and lit it with lamps. I gathered and waited. loved and remained at my place, stationary. I suffered irrevocably. <br />Untitled, I have left with a note. In it I promised you love and remembrance. I am not a seamstress otherwise I would have sewn my biddings together instead of making them into a bundle with a knot.<br />In all these years as you changed from man to woman to life and to me, I could not name you as you. But all my biddings, my hopeless romances, my letters, my poems remain yours undoubtedly.<br />Keep them. They are for keepsake.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201618675840738849.post-13933495958302140432010-08-28T20:19:00.000+05:302010-08-28T21:25:10.393+05:30I am in the process of taking back. giving away some and letting some go.reemahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18072549535241299305noreply@blogger.com2