A Bucket Full of Rain

I collapse into the arms of rain,

As it descends from mysterious heaven,

A flowing respite from the summer’s pain,  

Making music -rhythmic and even.

I think of the could-be-muse,

Writing poems of autumn rainbows,

But they are of no use,

Even if they are about rain that flows.

No one cares for my poem, my diadem,

Unless they are written for them.

If you love the rain as you say you do,

Why do you have an umbrella open?

Drop it! Let it flow! Like a music true,

Till it fills up all that was stolen,

And then let down a bucket,

And bring up a poem.




" The poetry books are out of print, but that is as it should be if you're an Indian poet writing in English ."-Jeet Thayil in the preface of 'Collected poems'. 
Poetry is prayer for the godless people - Jeet Thayil 

It's exactly as Dylan says.
The rain is a metaphor for many things , and vulnerability is one of them.

Melancolie du Changement

There is a reason we like the music we do,

There is a reason we read the books we do,

They are the handles, by which we hold onto,

Strings better left to fray.

Melancolie du Changement ripping through,

Every illusion of permanence,

Kick, run, fight-you will never outweigh,

Specks of dust in cosmic sand.

Old vinyl records scratched with nostalgia,

Envelopes that now feed vermin,

Yellow pages, watery eyes,

Are but futile in eternal time.

Should a Tennyson implore,

'That which we are, we are!'

Or a Robin Williams say,

'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may!'

Embrace every moment for time flies,

Trough the slipping summer,

Through the harsh winter,

But it stays in the summer within.

/* I can't even start on the inevitability of change. It is going to happen , yet we cling to the familiar. Like a comforting summer in the middle of winter. This is not an uncommon euphemism on this blog, and it refers to porcupine tree and Albert Camus at the same time ( yeah, that's some combination) . But that is perhaps the only answer to change. Time flies, and the best that you can do is take whatever comes to you , cherish it and then let it go. If we weren't specks of dust in cosmic sand, perhaps the summers would last for ever, but that is not the case. All we can do is make good memories and let them guide us through the unfamiliar, unpredictable future.If you've had to say goodbye to good friends you know what I mean (and that's why I wrote this ). Dans les profondeurs de l'hiver je l'ai trouvé un été invincible as Camus should say .... that summer within , that's where time stands still. */

/*Also finally, a recording of trains . Hit the souncloud link below to get the summers metaphor better . */

Here's an acoustic guitar slinging , dreamily crooning John Mayer telling you basically the same thing.

The Silence Between the Notes

If for every path not taken

There is a parallel universe,

For very chorus heard

There is a silent verse.

City moves in maddening chaos,

As we get lost in crowds and its throes,

Searching for a blindfold to pathos ,

Not once looking to the undertows.

The moments between phone rings,

The poetry despite the text message blur,

The mindful breaths between desperate pangs,

Is when air becomes breath.

Pauses before punch lines,

The loud note and then the softer,

Elegant strokes of blank canvas,

Amidst splashes of colour.

/* So this one is about the virtues of silence and minimalism. I think in the fast and chaotic world we find ourselves in , the few moments of silence and poignant observation are rather amiss and rare. Great work of art always have paid attention to this idea. How many notes does BB King have to play to say what he wants to say and how many words does Hemingway have to write to convey all the horrors of war? I think we could all benefit from a few moments of silence and reserve in a world full of noise and chaos. Of course , too much of silence can never be a good thing, but given how fast and loud modern life has become , it is always great when art remind us to take a moment and just observe.*/

Flags

Lining hills , fluttering in the wind -prayers , blessings , hope. The Buddha came and went. And new flags were raised. Flags of red, flags of sorrow.  Yet some vestiges of the glory lingers~

As old prayer flags fade,

Old hope makes way for new

the mountain watches

/*So my fist attempt at haibun. Well as you would've guessed this is about the situation Tibet finds itself in. Check out some pictures of the prayer flags that  I speak of. */

Bubble Wrap

Bubble wrap your heart,

Bubble wrap your heart.

Save it from the broken shards,

Of broken hearts of glass.

Is that a reflection of you?

Staring you poignantly in the broken shard?

Or like the glass is it but a broken view?

Of an older you, fugitive and dread?

Let the pieces be as they lie,

Maybe someday they may achieve some respite.

When memory is painted with time’s dye,

Look back with Frost’s untaken sigh.

Bubble wrap your heart,

Bubble wrap your heart.

Pick up the pieces,

Only to cut your hands.

/*.Its appalling to see the state in which emotional intelligence finds itself today. Humans have had problems since the dawn of time , but how we deal with them is what shows the strength of our character. And I just don't see it that often. The diseased state of coping skills is concerning to say the last. And of course those of us who have managed to achieve some semblance of peace and balance have no choice but to bubble wrap our hearts , even though these deliciously dark individuals may be the most interesting thing we've ever seen and as much as they remind us of our unevolved selves. Perhaps our educational curriculum could teach a little more about how should one handle life and not just random facts to write in an exam.
This is one of my more simplistic forms, but well I have been busy memorising said facts and tried to get straight to the point with this one .*/

This song seems to fit the mood of this poem well. Listen to Maynard's little speech at the start( yeah he talks! ) . He says so much in just a few lines.

As funny as it is , Joey is right.

TL;DR - DO YOU EVEN COPING SKILLS BRO?

Oh night sea ! Oh night sea !

Oh night sea! night sea!

What secrets do you keep?

All earthly rhythms,

Overdubbed by ebb and flow.

All ambition,

Reduced to foam.

A thousand ships have sailed ,

And a thousand will.

How many do you remember ?

Clamouring , yet still deep.

Oh night sea! Oh night sea !

How many ships did you drown?

How many names etched in sand ,

Did you so poignantly drown.

But I am but a seated admirer,

Will you wash me away?

To an exotic isle?

Or to a dark sunrise?

Oh night sea! Oh night sea!

Is that me you call?

Into the vastness of primordial soul,

To embrace the randomness , to float forever?

I beseech you today night sea!

Where will you take me to?

I clamour , I shout , I cry,

But you just ebb for evermore.

/*So another picture inspired poem. Thanks to the 'notorious' Pai for this one. Seriously how good is that picture?Yes that is me in case you're wondering.

I guess the sea is this calm , always present thing that just couldn't care about what we do. Detached and cold. A little like the detachment we hear about in spirituality. I guess the question is always , do we flow with the night sea or is the detachment too much for us? */

Hello Narcissus - Narcissus of the 21st century

Hello narcissus,

Do you see yourself in the pool,

Is the internet fast enough?

Is your mind dulled like a cesspool?

Can you still speak off the cuff?

Hello narcissus,

Can your mind still distil?

Or is it another thread of useless information?

‘Don’t think, just swallow that happy pill’,

The shallow proclamation of this generation.

Hello narcissus,

Are you still a person or an apparition?

Someone words ideas to fill your shelf?

Look at the aqua reflection,

And do a good impression of yourself.

/* So I’ve been reading  Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis, the basis of Fear of a Blank Planet. And I have to say there is just way too much narcissism in this internet generation of ours. We know longer try to be ourselves , we just do good impressions of our virtual lives ( a recurring motif in Lunar Park). So I wondered what would Narcissus do today, and I figured his pool would be this online world of today. I hope our generation is wiser than Narcissus. 
Granted the internet has done so much good ( like bringing you this poem :P) , but on the whole think about the implications on social skills and language. Everything has to  be condensed into 124 characters and selfies are the new self portrait. I think somewhere art has been lost in the process.
Read this while listening to Fear of a Blank Planet. */