rtv

Tourism and social response

Flickering flame...

Birth and death are two significant events in human existence. They are happenings in the universe as human life is related to the universe. Birth is a door of entry and death is not a door for exit, but an entry to another state of existence.

Never... and never

Birth is a universal happening...,!
Beginning of an eventful existence.
An explosion in the galaxies,
Create new stars enter
The macrocosm.
To be through an agonizing inhabitancy.
Orbiting for years in pain silenced !
On the circuits of a tumultuous journey.
Death... is another impressive event
Among the stars... glorious..!
A calm existential experience...
Like quietly dousing a flickering flame
And allowing to a cool gush of light...
Like closing a book ,
Finishing even the very last page ...
Retreating to a calm sleep.
Birth and life do not guarantee love,
And the one you love..
Life teaches to search for oneself
Among the debris of existence.
Veiled under a hopeless void,
A taunting emptiness..!
Death relieves ...!
taking away the laden luggages.
Teaching to be blissfully lonely,
Smiling like a sparkling dew drop
Never... and never to be unloved !------------------------
rtv
25/8/2009

Across the desert dunes

Set in the back drop of a romantic Arabian evening... It can happen in a haweli in Rajasthan, in a hut in a dusty Tamil Nadu village or a semi-urban home of Kerala hills. The basic instincts in men and women are the same anywhere.

Khaleel


The damp Night glistens ..
Rain retreats after an evening shower.
Clouds await to touch the earth again …
Warm golden glow stream out of the
Distant cottage …
Barqat, sits on the carpet of her home,
With gleam in her yearning eyes.
Khaleel is singing ….
He sings for his friends after years ….
Khaleel who sings for the world,
Touching emotions of lands,
Now, singing for the loved ones
They listen painfully, knowing
Khaleel has to leave by dawn.
Ruffled hair, sunken eyes,
Skin, weather-beaten …
The fire in the eyes weakly flickering,
Khaleel is singing ….
The cresecendo …
Khaleel coughs, voice shifts,
Breath. Struggles short,
Khaleel continues singing …
The music is over …
The song of the desserts ….
The strain of the night-flowers …
The rhythm of the war-horses….
Call for an encore !
Khaleel goes silent ….
Friends plead for more …
They touch his hands in request.
Khaleel raises his eyes …
A weak smile,
A transcending glance beyond Barqat's anguished eyes,
He whispers,
"Songs sung for you tonight are my best …
Now let the after-glow of them
Make your hearts radiant.
The most beautiful and treasured feelings
Should not be repeated and spoilt …."
Khaleel coughs ….
A strong mid-night wind sways the drapes !
--------------
rtv
09-09-2002

Seasons...

Autumn precedes the chilly winter. It is the 'fall'. It is rain of dry leaves filling the ground. The leafless boughs are ready to plunge into a harsh winter. It’s a chain of seasons in life.

Autumn...

It is Autumn ….
Leaves fall dry.
'Fall' does not hold
the green and the lush on the boughs.
Comes the winter …
Then the riotous spring.
Buds break out again.
A festival of tender green.
Trees sway in leafy glory.
On the ground,
Still its the ruffle of the old dry leaves.

Kings and Queens

Every life is a make-believe world of enacting. We are attached to the players around in the play., some are heroes, some Kings and Queens and some are close to our hearts.

Kings and Queens

The play ……
The last scene,
Kings and Queens,
And ordinary mortals on stage.
A story ending...
The play enacted for the world.
By the children of the earth.

A story of short lives,
And the legends of the fragile.
Reign kings and queens in the play.
Princes and angels,
Smiles and tears..
Mid way the play,
Kings lose wars ..
Some die wounded !
Queens weep in agony
They fall on the trails of angels.

The last wick of the lamp
Flickers... in the wind.
Who made the story…?!
Why the script go amiss?
Why do they leave early?
Why my kings and queens die?

I needed them,
To keep me alive !
---------------------------------
rtv
07.07.09

Voyage ..

The most helpless thing about life, , or being on a voyage together is that you would not know when your Paper Boat sinks in a sudden gush of current.

Paper boat

Paper boats
In the river,
River of time !
Eternally long !
Floating, moving slow,
Fast in the current,
Some boats capsize !
A blue boat among the
Sunken.
I know dearly the faces of the sailors,
In the blue boat
It is me ….. my life ….
Yet the river flows quietly...

rtv
18.06.2009

My poem " The Bridge"

Bridge is one that connects two shores, two hearts and anything that are far and apart. Bridge stands for journey, leaving one shore and finding a new world.

The bridge

I'm waiting for my friend
Who went to the other bank
Across the river taking the old bridge
It was end of autumn
Beginning of winter.
I am awaiting my friend,
Who went to the other end of the bridge.

We traveled many miles together.
Soothened our feet,
Under the shades of canopies
And the old granite travel sheds.
We exchanged pain under
The scorching sun
Shared dreams in the windy dusks,
Wiped tears, patted each other to sleep
Under the moonless sky.
I 'm still awaiting my friend on this end of
The bridge !

He will come back,
Taking the same bridge
I keep looking
At the other end of the ancient bridge
A silent lonely path there...
Filled with dry leaves...
Trees with leafless boughs
Awaiting a chilly winter to embrace !
The road my friend took !

Should I believe
he didn't keep his words?!
Should I know
I got to travel alone here on?!
How do I learn to walk alone?
How do I pretend,
There was no yesterday with him?

Dusk is descending
Darkness spreading,
Like a painter's spilt black.
I strain to peer across the bridge
for my friend,
My philosopher...!
The mud road of dry leaves
Is empty and desolate.

My friend gone to the other end
Has not yet returned.
Wind blows fierce...unchained.
Darkness.
Compadre....do u hear me?
I'm still waiting ……
Waiting for you….
Alone.
---------------------------------
rtv
29.6.2009

Another poem...

I have always found Tattoos and the emotions behind them interesting and awsome, because Tattoos are statements of your mind and they are permanent. ...

Tattoo

Tattoos are graffities...
Scripted on our bodies,
Un-erasable, magical !
The most adored conviction
Of a challenging existence..
A proud defiance to a,
dull conformity.!

They are designs of passion
Etched on the beautiful
Niches of the body and heart.
Tattoos pronounce
You are different,
Liberated and free...
Aggressive ones pride in the
Sensual little images on their
Erogenous zones !

On a subdued rainy afternoon
I unrobe to probe the tattoo on me.
I find it with my eyes closed.
The tattoo is on my soul,
Permanent and magical.
You are ! .you are the tattoo,
Arted on me,
Like an inscribed graffiti.
________________________
rtv
21/7/2009

Just about Eclipse...

Yesterday night I woke up in the mid night and scribbled about 'Eclipse'...

Eclipse

Tonight, it is eclipse.

The moon is swallowed

By the serpent.

The cool smiling celestial moon

Shadowed, and gone dark.

We are like the moon...

One life and many eclipses...!

Broken hearts and bruised dreams.

What do we do with them

in the blinding darkness !

Oh etherial...

You shed behind the veil again,

Emerge smiling and radiant..

Forgetting the despairing darkness,

To scintillate the hearts of

Many lovers of the world,

Making them drunk with

Love and madness!

But, we have lost our smiles

In the mirrors...

Eyes sunken and dark..

Glow of goodtimes and love

Eluded like the night clouds.

Despairingly in darkness,

I sit lonely and heartsick.

The silver blue glow vanish...

It's eclipse here...

In my world!

------

rtv

14 January 2010