Revisit

Revisiting a place which I
had left long ago,
gave me a mixed feeling.
The empty spaces that were
filled with nervous first taste
of kisses and shivering touches,
were not there.
They were filled up by unknown
faces I never knew,
and the ones whom I knew,
looked the other way as
they never recognized the boy
that I was, and yet

that feeling of an old scent somehow

takes me back to the days

when you were there.

Similarly, 

all the paintings that I had
are now old,

although once valuable and often invaluable

they are now not important as they

have no connection with the present

unless, just as a sunshine on a cloudy day.

Paints are often peeled here and there

And yet,

just like those places that I revisit

the feeling of an old scent tells me

you are there, somewhere

still thinking of me. 

This is how she is

I always felt that there was no end to any story

however much we try to conclude anything.

I always thought that matters finishes

and liquidate themselves into energy and then

spread into the vast Universe.

But feelings and emotions do not end

since they remain in us as our core drivers.

But some, force their feelings and 

try bringing them to their final state

not knowing that it is futile to do so.

They struggle, they cry and finally

they hide.

Thus, ever since you have hidden yourself

thinking that its a new life,

you will hardly ever realize that

it's a lie.

Because the energy is still burning inside,

and its flame is just like the fire

that we always leave after a campfire

until it lights up the whole forest. 

The last song of love - II

If I had to struggle

To remind you that

I was there

Then there was no reason 

for me

To exist for you.

Thus,

The Savannah called me.

I am now there

Where they prey

Without pretending love,

Where I know much before

Who is a killer

and how far

Is my safe territory.

Those days,

I had to wait long

And go away without love

And there was no reason

To check if the

Gul Mohur was on fire,

There was no reason to

Try to listen to the whispers

of footsteps on the dried

Leaves in my driveway.

The Savannah is already dry

And I can put fire to it

In my moments of ecstacy.

And footsteps?

They are feared here

As they bring death

And that too, not in whispers,

But in stormy air, breathing blood!

For a lion,

The confined streets of

Manhattan is not it's

Territory.

The vast grassland of the

Savannah is it's home!

Where it kills and rules

And dies creating history! 

I didn't die

And yet, I didn't die.

There was no water

in the lake,

and the fish dug their

heads in the swamp

and breathed mud to

remain alive.

There was a drought which

burnt down every leaf,

and yet, the trees didn't lose

their roots and stood firm

to wait for this day.

A deadly virus threw the

toughest challenge and as each one feared death,

I traveled through sand dunes

and dried up ocean,

flew with the masked carriers

of terror,

ate with street dogs who

shared what they stole,

suffered sleepless insomnia

and drugged myself to peace.

I caught fire from the scorching

sky and drowned in the Zambezi, but

surfaced to see

if she was still there.

And yet I didn't die.

Just for this day!

TOWN

Coming back to the town alone

where we lived,

Was not what I looked forward to.

The sight of

that small cottage,

that narrow passage over the

drain,

And the one single room that

housed her,

and the unkempt garden,

Were all surviving like stand alone

units,

no longer connected,

and no longer

belonging to each other.

The clothes lines were empty

as she took away all those

little nothings with her,

as we had moved out of

that town.

Now, after years of writing our

stories, and reading them again

and again,

When I look at these

abandoned feelings and streets,

I wonder if I was wrong

in thinking that it has ended,

or is it just another beginning

to it?

Otherwise, what the God

Am I doing here? 

New Paintings

Revisiting a place which I

had left long ago,

gave me mixed feelings.

The empty spaces that were

filled with nervous first taste

of kisses and shivering touches,

were not there.

they were filled up by unknown

faces I never knew,

and the ones whom I knew,

looked the other way as

they never recognised the boy

that I was.

This way,

All the paintings that I had

Are now old. 

And the new ones need

new fittings on the wall,

some new frames to go

with them, and also

some new lights, positioned to

focus in new angles.

And all these were a whole lot of

new jobs.

Thus, I piled on the floor my

new paintings and one by one,

I started pulling out the old ones

from the walls,

so that I can give the room a

complete new look without much

work.

Someone truly said,

That life doesn't wait for anyone

or anything, and once you realise

the new inside of you, it

will give you the joy that your

old paintings gave.

Hence, take a deep breath,

Switch on the lights, and say

"Au revoir, my friend"

The art and the artist

The other day I was at an art exhibition. This was the first time I was visiting an art exhibition without knowing anything about the artist.

After looking at the crowd who moved aimlessly inside the hall having their regulation tea/drinks and snacks, my attention was drawn by two photographers in stylist attire, who kept taking photographs of groups of people. Many eyes were looking at the four walls of the hall, where about 50-60 paintings were hung. They looked lonely, because many more eyes were engaged in looking at various people, who knew each other. I looked at the paintings once again, since I wanted to find out if it was important to know the artist, to understand his art. I found out that I was not liking the works of that artist, since I didn't know him at all. I knew nothing about him and I could not connect anything to his expressions of art. I did found that I was really not liking the show and nothing inside the hall interested me. 

On the other hand, on many other occasions, I had visited painting exhibitions by many of my friends. Although I could barely understand what they wanted to say through their paintings, I could feel a very strong connection with the paintings, simply because I knew the artists. I knew what they thought about, I knew their families, I knew their life's issues and I knew their pains and joys. So, as I looked at their paintings, and without understanding anything about paintings, I could understand the painters. The painters are thus, more important for me than their paintings! 

Because at the end of the day, when wine is not served anymore, when the photographers stop taking photos, when the last of the visitors would have already left the venue, the real painter will stand up and realise that

all his paintings were gone and

with those,

all all that he wanted to say.