All posts by thepandarants

About thepandarants

I teach, I ramble, I live. Oh, and I'm a panda.

Hapless hues

Seemed everytime the bluest of blues it is
that bless me with the bolts.
The pedestal, which proudly sport you, my sapphire,
which pompously ranted of bearing your breath
seems to carry this purple pockmark ploughed on its face

Wait. Does it not show a hint of violet
that spells it stiff to trace
the seed of the scar?
Does my soul borrow its hue from there?

I know, you know, only we know – that
this purple strays from the ruby;
from the red, red ruby I wished and had –
That’s too precious though,
for my insipid crown to carry
That’s too much though,
for my ignorant self to own

Is this an ode to colours?
to the colours of this universe?
Colours that dye the spirits
that come transparent to this home
Colours that conceal the kinds, sometimes;
Colours that are inevitable though?

No, this isn’t of those colours.

These are the colours of me,
of the universe I preserve;
Colours that homed black darkness
in this putrid shell of mine
that hinted a grey, the only shade I ever remember;
a grey that always reminded of a shroud

This is for the colour of the soul
that was eternally singing the white swan’s song
With timeless threats of doom
and least hopes of silver rays

And one day came you, the orange sun,
in my indigo skies
With the greatest golden gleam
that pierced through the grey clouds
with ginger streaks that dried away my brown fears
The sun that added this yellow tinge to my maroon smiles
Smiles that used to hide mauves and majentas,
that had always turned blue and ended colourless.

My friend, my love, my soul!
In this brilliant universe of yours
that’s blessed with a hundred hues
I’m only too mean to not allow
new colours in your rainbow
Just because mine is achromatic
and so perhaps fails to reflect you
just because my soul seems stained
with the scars –
of longing for love
of fear of frustration
of guilt of gluttony
(of love, yours)

Nay, let me not leave my soul a bleeding red, red rose.
(Is Red not too ravishing to sweep so many Likes?)

This soul is pale – of an ever more pallid heart
that bears the fading colour of the falling petals

Limpid my love should be, I now guess.
so you can only see through it
so I’m not left wailing
that your love is but a compensation
for my lost fervours, for people and places and stuff.

Colourless my love should be, I now realize.
so I’m left free of guiltof grazing your green love
all to satiate myself;
of yearning for more coins of solace, in my beggar bowl.

Let my soul recommence
Seeking its solace
in the colours of music
in the colours of silence
and in the colours of my quiet thoughts
of you.

May you not be aware that my eternal search
is for you,
You – the headspring of my everflowing elixir
in the deepest of the deep crevices inside;
For you, my life-giving waters
colourless yet give the colour of my lifeblood.

Never did I know whence these waters take their start,
Never do I know the channels it traverse, the roads it cross
Never will I know where they head to
May I also never know
the hues of this vital water
So long as it gives me my life

I pray you tell me –
Is it true that the purest of the souls
are the whitest ones?
So, can my soul be white?

But, but
what if these white souls only have
a white that fakes,
a white that flies the flakes of flamboyance,
a white that isn’t white at all?

So, may I beseech
my soul stay colourless.
Let it be a crystal
A diamond
the perfect platform for the colours to converge
Probably to reflect, in all its cuts,
You, only you.

(I pray you tell me
Do you still call the soul, that carries the colour of yours,
The soul of a sister? 🙂 )

What more from an old woman

WHEN I study that the me in the mirror
fails to replicate the me in me
but just reflects the cheek with its oil and fat;
when I grasp the fact that these derma layers
would one day be just justly
none better than a torn piece of loin cloth,
the favoured morsel for the cemetery soil;
is it then I’d realize I should’ve retorted
to the compliment of an erstwhile neighbour
in the stained seats of a congested train from the east
“you look too fair to a dark father”?

Lo! stranger!
How would you ever know it is this dark dad
that sanctioned all the fairness in this unfair life of mine?
How I wish I could disown my “thanks” to you
that was bitterly too undue.

WHEN the echoes of the empty rooms
amplify the eerie strains of isolation;
when the unscathed undertones
of my own living room fountain grow so screaming,
filling the void with sounds of voiceless violins;
is it then I’d realize that I should’ve stayed
some more time beside you my mother,
whose whistle lines never whispered the loneliness
nor sang the tunes of unease of your disease;
who passed only sleepy wakings through nights
and stirring slumbers through days,
sipping only aching agonies as antidotes

Ma!
Do you know I blundered
by leaving you for lame little excuses?
How I wish I could repudiate my “I must go”
that was way too unjust for you.

WHEN the pearl pinky blushes of the park roses
fail to grab my attention,
when the purple-laden clouds pass by
with the least lightning on the lazy limbers of my sleeping psyche
when all my sacred chantings start with your name,
shunning the lousy leers of loathsome scallywags,
coyly revealing the unalloyed yearning of mine,
to entwine my feeble fingers with your firm ones;
is it then I’d realize that I should’ve let the waves
drift beneath and bless our feet to be frozen for eternity
on the beach sands of our, our time

Mate!
When would I ever let my love unveil itself –
Love crystallized, love that longed not to leave but to live with you?
How I wish I’d never uttered the “Bye Pal!”
that indeed was undeserved by your pristine soul.

WHEN the laughing gases around here
drench me with their hugs and handshakes
for all the otherwise despised heeds and hearty breaths,
(shhh! in the disguise of discipline),
when tears are feared ready to roll down
the moment a frown is found on my visage,
when with narcissistic strides I march up to my province
claiming the world under my feet;
Is it then I’d realize I should’ve darned
the delicate laces that had bound us
for more than a tutor and a tyro

Master!
How do I furbish the coarser
course of affairs, to wise up to the art of unlearning?
How I wish my ever so loyal “you’re my God”
hadn’t played too unjust for my heart.

After all, the wistful wish hangs back though,
Pronouncing the factual fashion of being-
If only words were just passing winds
and their wounds just discoloured patches
on the skin of the subliminal,
ease would be the glide along this frost and cold;
equable would be this long haul to respite
in the bosom of eternity.