Lyrics from the song “Chiragugal Njan nee dhooramay” by Anwar Ali, from the film: Njan Steve Lopez and photography by me😬.
Category: Blog posts
Lingers in the crevices…
A receding brightness lingers in the crevices, defining and demarcating an otherwise diffuse existence.
The feminine in the divine
The feminine in the divine Divine in the feminine The rebel in the oppressed The Feared within the fear The maternal asserts: Like the puja’s flame—heft in the immaterial, Brilliance in red—powdery Vermilion, bedaubed Omniscient thunder buried in the Holy drum The petty wither— Falsehood dismembered Ignorance convolutes Purged, cleansed, disentangled I stand delivered Delivered…
A mirror, buried
Left at my doorstep—A Mirror,Wrapped in needless layers of cheap bubble wrap,Sans a sender’s name; smelt of burning embersA script, indecipherable, carved onto its wooden frame(My maid said, “language of the poor, Sir”):It left permanent red marks on anyone who touched it, for the frame was Daubed in a wet Vermilion—never driedI put it up…
He had left the room
He had left the room; but, his echoes prevailed, reflecting and re-reflecting from every bit of live surface. The physical vacancy never felt empty, rather, felt like a celebration of memories. His songs, like my childhood's lingering scent, are inescapable; they are within me and not stored remotely in some static binary form. Each Pallavi…
Seemingly straight
Ain't it all an assembly of straight lines?The boring roads, Narcissistic walls, even the telling inclines and declinesMaths will even have you believe there are a million tangents in a circleLinear, purposeful, but tedious But, look closely my friendDon’t you see the zillion curves in each circle’s tangent?All seemingly straight borders hide many a pervious…
He said…
If to quell were an outlawed act To win a mocked at indulgence To surpass a useless gratification To covet a visible crime “I’ll carpet”, He said, “Your abode with a giving greenery” “I’ll mutate thy existence to a walk on silky sands,” He promised “There’ll be no bad, or good, just the right…
Leaved backyard’s lit intrusions
Darkened by light the leaves breathe... These Wet silhouettes— Green and photosynthetic, still But they wait for the night They prefer to be indistinct— Inconspicuous and secure in the unlit
To duck and weave
Ah! a vicious, artless short ballI duck under it, at times weave awayI let it go, but I watch it all the way— A desperate bowler's hurled aggravation, limps into the keeper’s hand. All the aggression as harmless as the needless drama Proving a point is not my burdenBut surviving and scoring is. To duck…