Fall

Fall

Dethroned and thrown

I push my way

Through the thick and thin

All alone

I am gushed through

Several orbital of whirls

Of winds

Quietly I pass through all

The din of words

Haunts me and comes gushing

On my face

Like several hundred thousands of

Dust storms

I am hailed with stones

They all hit me and pass through me

With a punctured self

Ground and afoot

I am slowly

Reduced to few specks of sand

Infallible I am felled at last.

I welcome you all

The witness of my felling.

The final clap

 

 

 

 

The final clap

Gurdip

Where’re you all the time?
They kept me
all tied

Knotted

Atop the cross

With nails in hand
and let me bleed
drip bled
that oozed drop by drop
till I could see no more

My vision failed first

Then my ears

And now I could faintly feel you

I beseech
where were you all the time?

They carried me my cross

Heavily burdened my strength

Till it failed

They forced

To push my way

Uphill

To reach the cliff

Where they held

The mast to have me nailed,

Where were you all the time?

I waited for you?

Now you have come

A long last

When my hands all nailed and drained off

The last drop of strength

I cannot feel you

Oh, how unbecoming the moments..

I wanted

I missed you

I thought you would clap

And I hear your clap the last thing

Will you clap for me

To clasp me?

I beseech you, please.

Silence

The Silence

Gurdip Singh

You don’t want to listen

I don’t want to hear

There lives the silence

But not the peace

Angst between us is growing

Ever widening

Too far we stand

From each other

Words fail to reach

To touch the inner core of your soul

All broken

We have become estranged

You don’t know me

Nor do I

Missed each other we may not
miss.

Lost we are to each other
once and forever

A poem

What should be a poem? What is a poem? 

A beautiful poem by Archibald MacLeish comes to my rescue and here it is.

A poem should be palpable and mute

As a globed fruit,

Dumb

As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone

Of casement ledges where the moss has grown—

A poem should be wordless

As the flight of birds.

                 *

A poem should be motionless in time

As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases

Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,

Memory by memory the mind—

A poem should be motionless in time

As the moon climbs.

                  *

A poem should be equal to:

Not true.

For all the history of grief

An empty doorway and a maple leaf.

For love

The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—

A poem should not mean

But be.

Spontaneity.

Spontaneity.

When it comes,
it flows down the
windows
through the windows panes
it blows
and flows through me
and spatters in spills
over my table
on the page
I carefully
take every drop of it
Sometimes it forms
a poem
sometimes a story
sometimes a painting
it comes
as it goes
through the windows
to make a landscape
my page
my colours
my words
my voice
none is enough to contain it
so it blows
like a whirlwind
picks me up
in the air
takes me above my feet
in the sky
keeps me hovering
The spontaneity
is thy name
You are stupendous.

 

 

Blessing

May you lose your richness of wealth and not of mind

Nor compassion and nor heart that is kind

The only thing that you can find
in your bust that makes you different
from the wilderness and the wild

May you lose the land at hand

For your palaces that go up spiral round

May you have your feet on the ground

And keep it high  the mind that thinks

May you blossom all the time
keep your heart that never stinks.

May you live close to your thoughts

May you never be ruled by desires.

Life Still is a Mystery

It goes from grip
in drops and drips

as you sips
the life to your lips

it gives you slips

and here you stand

as lost

life has no host

boast you may

night and day

the ticking of times

reduces bones to dust

all desires and the lust

gushing winds

carry all afar

and scatter around

in specks on the crust

the hovering soul

keeps on hovering

till every thing goes astray

the palaces

pride

and plunder

They find no mention
in the books of history

Life still is a mystery.

Make me Celestial too

How can I sing unto you
every thing that I know
you know
and any thing that you know
I don’t know.

If you want me to sing
unto you
everything that you know
then
I would have to
plunge deep into you
to reach those depths

To explore the unexplained
and put it back into
my words

And make a song

To sing.

I know you want me to sing

Unto you

Every thing that you know
I know not

So you want me to know

Everything of you

And bring it under my lens

To pulls you closer

Upon me

To feel you

To touch you

To taste you

And to make you mine

To make you part of my rhymes

My rhythms

My breath

My vibrations

My head

My heart.

Let me be all celestial like you.

Life

Life

Gurdip Singh

Small as shinning fish
it gave me a slip

I tried to catch it many times
but every time it slipped
I had to face the setting sun
all in gloom and despair

The defeat was writ everywhere

On the face of setting sun

Slowly dipping its tip

In the troubled water

Its dim light vainly tries

to lift few clouds

and

carry them along
on the moon
on the stars

I walked past the trees

All alone
my shadow
that I dropped having carefully folded

And left it on the bench
on the beach

I walked alone

My footsteps disturbed
the peace of birds
that fluttered as I walked past their
peaceful worlds.

The whole night I spent
gazing the stars
finding out
why my destiny was spelt with
so many words that mean the same
as gloom, despair,
distress and defeat.

Every sleepless night

was spent on pacifying
the dreams of desires
in the morning
I came face to face
the roaring see.
Popped up my shadow
asking me
with a smile
-Let us play fishing-fishing.

I chase the shadow
lest it should get drown
my shadow does not know
swimming.

The Stars of Destiny

The Stars of Destiny

Gurdip Singh

How long will you last?

We don’t know.

What will become of you?

We don’t know.

How long have you been here?

Very very long ago
the moment we were put in motion
over the years and over the time

We have been here.
How far will you go?

We don’t know, might be as long as
the energy within us
keeps us in motion
what will happen to you at the end
we don’t know
may be a collapse
or a collision

Or a crash

Or a fall

Or a blast.

But you should know
a bit of it

How long will you continue to live
you are the stars of destiny

The whole world looks at you

For predictions and forecasting,

We know not any thing

If your people know about us

And they can forecast

Please ask them
for our sake

Let us know

How long will it go.

Home at last

Home at last

Gurdip

The rain stopped a bit
my hasty steps
guided my way

Through puddles

And flooded drains
kicking a few pebbles
that came lose the tarmac

I hurried to my home.

The rain had stopped.

After washing the walls of the city
and filling the streets with muddy water

The clouds soon
were seen returning

Like the warriors from the field

After a field day.

Life returning to normal

The White smoke tells,

rising from the low houses and huts
gradually going up
drenched to the core
I move
up and down the city roads

I found him sitting
in front of my door
the little brown cat
with wet coat
waiting for me

As I open the door
it walks ahead and
and sits on the carpet and looks at me
it mews to say-
Honey we are home at last.