The tissue beneath the microscope
Could not cope
With my gaze
It frittered away
Into rag-like fragments
Beggar’s raiments
I picked up a stringy piece
And gave it a new lease
Of life
Glued it to the canvas
Covered with acrylic
In yellow
Hiding the sallow
Face of loss
Like moss
On a gravestone
They called me for the final rites
Late at night
It was too dark to see the soil
But people did recoil
At the sight of a tissue being lowered in the earth
A shoot sprouted from beneath my feet
I could see something take birth
A scroll unfurled
Splotches of mud with words
The undertaker walked over them
Every step an elegy to pain
~FV
10 comments:
FV:
Interesting wordplay and compelling reading. Undertaker... WWF...
shayari aur kavitayon ki kitab kab chapva raheen hain...
Your readers damn well need one and you owe them a book of poetry as well.
FV,
This comes so easy to you ... just at a prompt, while we heathens sit and read each line again and again to get inside each word.
You must be some kind of a Devi.
It is Beautiful. Thanks.
No pain there is hope at the end.pune s is right,give us a book
FV
This poem of your's reminds me of this poem.....
What do you say about it? If, you remember I showed you this one way back in your blog......
Still Life With Woman
Sometimes she seems
what she cannot seem.
A moss-colored sky
on the fringe of her skirt.
She leaves us head down,
her neck a tiny white pillar,
but bending. She does not wear
the last link, like sand
new, barely a shape in her handheld dream,
a wish bone,
light on dark, losing itself in the spin.
PS:
"Hum intezaar karenge
khuda kare ke qayamat ho
aur woh (kitab) aaye"
Can you sing/hum that??
WMW:
I am thankful to the keeda in the brain; it was indeed dashed off after reading your comment earlier.
"You must be some kind of a Devi."
Do you have first-hand knowledge of devis? Or did you just miss an "L" at the end of the word?
KB:
I'd say it is painful hope...and there are books and books. Kabhi...shaayad...
Circle:
I recall this poem...after all, you had dedicated it to an old blogpost of mine! (http://farzana-versey.blogspot.com/2007/01/still.html)
I re-read it now. It is beautiful as I said even then:
["like sand
new, barely a shape in her handheld dream," -- indeed, what we cannot grasp is shapeless.]
However, I see both very differently, but if this poem of mine reminds you of it, then something within has resonated...and that is always valuable. Btw, could you tell me the name of the poet? Or is it your's? Am sorry if I sound ignorant...
And yes, the key 'words', some not used obviously are from WMW's specific comment:
"You seem to be a curios mix of a pathologist, a poet, an artist, and an undertaker.
Are you? :)"
Have tried to accommodate all four...I still don't know about the "mix".
Haha FV,
Devi/Devil same same. You know, in my system of belief, the Devil (or Shaitan) is actually the Khwaja-e-Firaq (the Doyen of Dissent ... pining to reunite with the Divine) as Allama Iqbal had termed him. He is the BIGGEST admirer and devotee of Allah, though a dissenter.
So yes, I can see devil and God residing in perfect harmony in your eyes.
It's a great mix (the best cocktail shooter) that gives one the 'perfect high'.
FV
I wrote this poem way back when I was in my late teens.....
The resemblance I see both of these poem , your's and mine is the complete sense of loss.........
May be I feel it only b/c sometimes when we read a poem , two people take the message with different perspectives..........got it....
WMW:
Time for 'Satanic Versey'??
Circle:
First, let me tell you that it is a lovely poem, and if you wrote it in your teens immensely self-assured. Time for me to encourage you to get your work out...
I do understand the perspectives can be different, and in fact like it...it always adds to any work.
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