Tuesday, February 5, 2013

When rain steals your thunder (and poetry)

It rained today. Delhi is cold again. Only less cold than me. there's a reason for Delhi being cold unlike me. I guess I am just desperately searching for poetry in these words to compensate my inability to feel. Sad isn't it? does it even count as a feeling. In comparison to literary stalwarts who wrote about wars, droughts and poverty. Fighting the system, waging a war against norms and traditions. Driven by the need to change the system.
I am just infested with the Germanic instinct to kill everybody.

So here's what I wrote last night in another failed attempt to scavenge poetry out of the frickle bourgeois life and times of mine

The sound of the sky 
echoes the sound of my head
A thunderstruck moment of
impaled by the need to break
the norms of well being
As i stand at the bend of the road
I'm daunted by the miles-
that lie ahead of me
To reach a place
where I don't wish to leave
To gather a momentum
that doesnt turn into inertia
because like a fallen raindrop
I lie homeless, in the handcuffs
of sanity.


  1. Gives my homeless thoughts a shelter from the rain. Keep writing! :)

  2. The cold rhythmic rain
    in delhi
    turns the maiden's heart
    pure purple,
    drumbeat of thunder
    wails of saxophone
    turn blue,
    while the incessant rain in kolkata
    inspires the old flamboyant beggar
    play miya malhar,
    the creaking charpai dances
    with the sarengi.

    What a wonderful world.

    ( To my little friend )