Category: Poetry

15 Jun 2004

Colon Parenthesis

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 12:25pm

Blurred screen through misted eyes
Ponder the what fors and whys
Loud music intrudes on silence
Hurt begins where numbness ends
And In between all of this
I realise just how easy it is
To do a colon parenthesis

No one sees the fingers move
Desperately trying to prove
Hitting keys which speak the lies
Locking my mask on the disguise
No one knows what is remiss
Because so simple it is
To do a colon parenthesis

Now almost a rut impulse
On other things the system mulls
The movement comes just like that
The fingers, on their own, react
I almost don't see the keys
Because so painless it is
To do a colon parenthesis

Current Mood: Feeling Better
Current Music: Satrangi Re

9 Jun 2004

I am (not)

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 2:24pm

You see me as what I am not
Your vision forces me to be
Not me, myself, but what I ought
A twisted, shaped and structured me

Your vision forces me to be
A kind of girl that pleases you
A twisted, shaped and structured me
Nothing more than a statue

A kind of girl that pleases you
Okay, fine, I'll bend to your will
Nothing more than a statue
Nothing to give, yet all, but still

Okay, fine, I'll bend to your will
Not me, myself, but what I ought
Nothing to give, yet all, but still
You see me as what I am not.


My first attempt at a Pantoum - a strict form. I like playing around with forms. It was a fun challenge writing this, but I don't think it came out exactly as I want it or clear enough. Well... next time. :)

Pantoum - This form has a highly formalized structure, which is also interesting in the cyclic nature of the work created in the form. In it's purest form, the Pantoum consists of 16 lines, organized into 4 stanzas of 4 lines each. Lines number 2 and 4 in Stanza One become lines 1 and 3 in Stanza Two. The progression of  2 and 4 become 1 and 3 carries throughout the work. That is, 2 and 4 of Stanza Two, become 1 and 3 of Stanza Three, 2 and 4 of Stanza Three, become 1 and 3 of Stanza Four. The only further stipulation, for the traditionalists, is that Line 1 of Stanza One becomes Line 4 of Stanza Four, thus completing the cycle at the point at which it began.

Current Mood: Cold
Current Music: N-O-T-H-I-N-G

3 Jun 2004

Monochrome Thought

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 3:54pm

I chance upon a bunch of red
And a background of cemented grey
A small haven in a life so dead
A festive moment against decay

I move a finger to touch a rose
The underside - so velvet soft
Fragrance drifts, I lean in close
Unseeing eyes and spirit aloft

But grey, it seems, will not be denied
It fights, struggles, to come to the fore
It burns my vision from every side
Until I can't deny it anymore

Each day, in me, this battle is fought
And crimson subsides to monochrome thought.

I have a picture window right behind me, where I sit at the computer table. And outside the floor to ceiling window is my mother's terrace garden. She has a large variety of roses. One day, I was sitting here and writing - the words refused to come, so I turned around and glanced outside. There was this enormous bunch of blood red roses blooming on one of the shrubs. They were all together, about 6-7 of them. Do roses bloom in bunches? This was the first time I'd seen it. Exactly beyond that, my neighbour was putting up a new wall and the whole facade was ugly, cement grey. The sight was lovely, the exquisitely red roses blooming against the grey backdrop. Nature vs. man-made things, colour vs. grey, beauty vs. drab dullness - too many thoughts went through my mind. The above is an attempt to capture some of what I felt.


Current Mood: Thoughtful
Current Music: Not listening to anything and why do I have to choose those emoticons? There is NOTHING to match my mood, the way I feel. Right now I feel... half philosophical, half accepting life and somewhat dead.

30 May 2004


Posted by Pye in Poetry | 11:13pm

You had to come back
and unfreeze my heart
get my emotions out of storage
pound them again into a pulp

Why do I show you my fractured soul?
Once more
the misery, the helplessness, the hate
The same old thing every single time
The weakness I can't overcome
the way I allow you to get to me all over again.

I swear I'll turn it back to you now
Present a cool, impersonal face
make my emotions immune to you
just another day in my life
and just another wound in that day

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: None

25 May 2004

Sometimes at Night

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 10:33am

Sometimes at night
Lying awake
Toss and turn
Terribly ache

Sometimes at night
I am numb
I wonder what
I've become

Sometimes at night
Memory haunts
Inky blackness
Cruel taunts

Sometimes at night
So alone
Didn't realise
Should've known

Current Mood: Thoughtful
Current Music: Maahi Ve

17 May 2004

My Heart

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 11:40pm

I gave my heart to you to keep
In your safekeeping did I trust
Then buried it in tears so deep
That the poor organ began to rust

You tended it all day and night
You tried to make it clean and clear
You rubbed it till it was so bright
Hale and hearty it did appear

Just when you thought it was alive
The bloody organ died on you
You tried your best, it didn't revive
Was nothing else that you could do

Your life, my heart - one entity
You've lost a part of you with me.

Current Music: Nothing

14 May 2004


Posted by Pye in Poetry | 8:24pm

Can you give me the whole of my heart back please?
I will need it for future dealings I guess
These broken pieces are no use to me now
Can you sort out my life from this mess?
The courage to hurt you the way you made me cry?
Some revenge for those nights I cried, hushed?
A pay back for all of those dreams I had seen?
And those hopes and wishes which have been crushed?
Can I foist this bitterness on you and fatally wound?
Can I blame you for all of this I have become?
Do I wish to see you suffer like I have?
Do I have it in me to see you succumb?
No. I am a coward; it's your love that makes me that
I think a coward I'd like to be, rather than hurt you back.

--Written on 21st Feb. Unedited, raw, the rhyme is off, syllables are all over the place but it's straight from the heart. :o)

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Allah ke Bande - Waisa Bhi Hota Hai

14 May 2004

Losing Control

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 7:27pm

Full. So full.
Burst at the seams

When did it get
this way
I wasn't looking
I didn't know
that I could

Anger can be red
Blazing, aching, blinding

Dams can burst.

Current Mood: Angry
Current Music: Limp Bizkit

10 May 2004

The Vision

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 2:22pm

Matted hair to yellowed teeth
The usual vision is everpresent
Most people fail to notice
until brown,calloused hand
spreads before faces,
under their noses,
before their eyes
Daring, mocking -- ignore some more!

Casual disregard for the traffic lights
He weaves into the stopped cars
Looking keenly at the sahibs
And gently tittering mem-sahibs
grown suddenly quiet.
Avoiding his eyes.

He lingers for a moment
Passing to the next hardened heart
until the light turns green
The metal river moves around him
Parting for the staff of Moses
A sea of hurrying, uncaring, selfish,
ashamed humanity.

There is this beggar standing at the traffic signal in Nampally, opposite Moorty and Sons, the famous photographers' studio. I've seen him since I was a little girl. He hasn't changed. He looks pretty formidable. Dirty white hair... but voluminous, shoulder length - framing his face. Deep set eyes and broad shoulders, strong build. He has a black shawl wrapped around his shoulders and a stout stick in his hand. I don't remember if they were there when I was younger or are a recent addition. He's got this quiet dignity about him. He doesn't hound you as most beggars do. A slight, negative shake of the head moves him and his accusing eyes on, to the next person. The whole image is pretty forceful and I've been in awe of him for a long time.

Yesterday as I stopped at the lights, I saw him and actually noticed him. A thought ran through my mind - If he had been born a few centuries ago, he could have been mistaken for a prophet.

Current Music: None

10 May 2004

A Beginning

Posted by Pye in Poetry | 7:57am

The first entry in my blog. I feel like it's a momentous occassion. It should be something worthwhile. Since this blog is more or less meant to be a collection of my thoughts, let me start with what was on my mind last night. A poem, as it was written, unedited.

Limping along on the crutch of humour
Cloaks of sarcasm wrapped around
Moving behind a facade of wit
Sharp repartee close at hand

Who is this?
Which facet is true?
A merging of different personas;
Or broken pieces; dysfunctional?

Deceiving myself, or the world?
The answers shimmer, just out of reach.
Stumbling through the images I've built
I wonder if I'm lost to me.

Thoughts: Sometimes I have this feeling that I am standing outside myself and looking inside, detached, objective. Do I like what I see? Do I see my true self? If I am supposed to be me, in touch with myself, then how come I'm standing out there?

So this blog is now off to a start. Appropriately I hope, as a glimpse into my self.

Current Mood: Thoughtful
Current Music: Silence
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