THE CUP OF MIND
The cup of my mind -
is always full, never empty.
Filled with water
both clean and dirty,
is this consciousness -
which I call mine.
The cup of my mind -
is tightly shut up.
Within the boundary,
and the familiar space,
I move during sleep,
and after I wake up,
shifting and adjusting -
fixed to the known base.
The cup of my mind -
is all my knowledge.
Visible and invisible,
currents of memory
flow within its hedge;
the water, the flow,
and the cup - indivisible.
The cup of my mind -
is the center of all sorrow.
Within its walls,
the many images;
some bring pleasure,
some bring pain;
the former I gladly borrow,
for the everlasting morrow,
till the latter comes along-
with its sting.
The cup of my mind -
is made up of time.
Filled with fear and longing,
ambition and desire,
and lost in its own pursuits.
Deaf to all rhyme,
and blind to nature's fruits -
in the race to climb higher.
The cup of my mind -
is full of itself.
Drops of sorrow fall on it;
brooding on those drops,
it makes them into a river,
using clever excuses as props -
a tree which was once a sliver.
The cup of my mind -
full to the brim,
with many horrors inside,
I place in front of you.
Look at it,
don't let it make you grim.
To see the true in false,
and the false in true -
you have got to trace it.
Now that you have the clue -
let us together embrace it,
without much ado.
So, come now,
let us face it -
I'm not much different from you.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 08.16.09)
UNCATEGORIZED FEELING
I was having a feeling
unrecognized and uncategorized
"should I seek to express it?"
is what I was thinking
when a very sick friend came to my mind
a poet whose only comfort, consolation
lay in expressing every encounter, sensation
by putting them in words and images
and entering her creative zone
a mental universe, a dimension unknown
full of mystical rainbows, mythical beings
when I, who lack imagination
and the bent for conceptualization
asked myself if escape is beautiful
and must beauty be expressed
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 07.16.09)
CONTAINING BEAUTY
As the invisible music flows
evoking from sleepy depths
the untouched distant chords
urgently seeking expression
I struggle for a moment
first with recognition
then with verbalization
of this unknown apparition
Notwithstanding the urge
to purge myself of the weight
of this unexpressed composition
barring all sensual imposition
But sometimes
words are not enough
language is insufficient
and weak and limited
Struggle fruitless
forced expression incomplete
suggesting that it is better
to contain beauty than do it injustice
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 06.09.09)
BLINK
The world is not the word
The word is not the world
The lamp burns all night
The flowers bloom stealthily
But soon the many colors fade
And light comes under a shade
Money and Youth
One day disappear
Moments of joy and pleasure
Are momentaneous
The whole world itself
One day comes to an end
Three days of life
Pass away in a blink
Only love lasts longer
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 05.13.09)
THE OLD STORY
A soft whisper knocks on my heart
Beseeching me yet again to take heed
Of the swirling whirlwind of newborn
Emotions: the new-sprung sensations
While unprecedented, my old heart
Captures the immense impression
Pervading the universe once again
Conveying: the world is full of sorrow
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 04.23.09)
A GARLAND OF VERSE
Let me make a garland of verse
For words are all I have to give
Let me create a new word music
And elevate you to soaring realms
Where the milky white clouds floating
Upon the lustrous night's canvas
Shall give testimonies of your poetic grace
And words will join together in applause
Let me open a bottle of our mutual wine
And sit by the door to our love street
On a dreamy morning reminding you of me
While the music of the spheres plays along
And while the music plays, let me also sing
With an eraser voice smoothly dissolving
The frozen tears on your time-weary face
Through the distance of the empty space
Then let me strike the chords of harmony
And breathe poetic melodies in your jaded ears
And take you to a mind flight on the word ship
Bound towards the port of our purple sanctuary
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 04.12.09)
REFLECTIONS ON TIME
What is time? I asked a beggar:
It’s the change of sun and moon, he said.
What is time? I asked a gentleman:
It’s the change of fortune, he said.
What is time? I asked a writer:
It’s the change of thoughts he said.
What is time? I asked a philosopher:
And received some mumbo jumbo instead.
Then I asked myself: what is time?
There is time by the span of existence.
There is time by the measure of distance.
There is time by the watch and by the sun.
There is time according to the fancies of one.
I asked myself: is there any other time?
And as I lay thinking, on a flat bedded rock,
I realized that time is not just by the clock.
I saw the threads of time woven through a thousand
Yesterdays, and moving towards the many tomorrows.
I felt time, and saw the linear progressive movement,
As memory, as hope, as becoming, as self improvement.
Putting aside all abstractions, and the ideas of surreal,
I looked around at facts and let the fallacies reveal.
The inward time I saw, the constantly turning wheel -
The continuity from yesterday to tomorrow I could feel.
I had got it at last - the truth that none could steal.
For many an hour I had been sitting lost in thought,
This I realized suddenly, as I glanced at my watch,
Finally, I had overcome that in which I had been caught.
I looked at the sky and saw that the moon had come up,
Picking up my jacket, I walked away from my lonely spot.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 03.31.09)
TO INNOCENCE
Innocence, you have left me long ago.
Experience leaves too many marks!
Not long ago, did I delight in your sunshine;
Now, I drown myself in memories,
Problems, sorrows, and worries,
That I don't even know are mine.
Not long ago, did I with your eyes,
See the dancing leaves and feel
The perfumed wind all over my being.
Where is that sense of tender joy?
Where is that unburdened ecstasy?
Tis’ lost somewhere beneath this
Mass of knowledge that I can't peel.
O innocence, since I lost you,
I have known time.
You left me, and I started
Thinking of the yesterdays and
The tomorrows, the endless continuity,
To which I never gave a dime,
When, O innocence, I had you.
Beauty has shunned me,
Intellect I have cultivated,
Love I have formulated,
The skies I have analyzed,
And to beauty, to simplicity,
I have died.
I have become hard, O innocence,
And you, the elixir, have left me.
Where is the music, where is the flight?
Nowhere do I see it, but only in the dead past.
I am tired of reviving from the ashes
Of yesterday that which is no more.
Is this going to be a never-ending cast,
Set in iron, which struggling,
I am doomed forever to fight?
O innocence, sing a song to me.
Let me hear that music once again.
Let me die and be born again,
So that I with unclouded brain
And unblemished eyes, behold thy glory
And in that eternity, forget the numbing pain.
Let it rain like it has never before,
And wash my senses clean.
Let me take a flight once again,
Let me die to the past,
To the thousand yesterdays.
Let me break this chain
And be with you again.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 03.19.09)
END OF THOUGHT
Hounding subliminal sensations
Vague undercurrents of feeling
Confusing concurrent creations
Storming sea of sorrow unappealing
Definitions, conclusions, conceptualizations
Twisted, limited, illusory projections
Continuous, continuing, continual complications
Imitative, burlesque, counterfeit intimations
Timeless sorrow, the bondage of man
Ignorance without a beginning
Unlimited chaos without a plan
An injured bird without a wing
Recognition
Familiarity
Projecting the unknown
Of its own knowledge
Imitation, solidarity
Like a nameless clone
Never original, and never free
From its own inherited bondage
The end of brain
Is the end of thought
Sane, insane, both caught in its chain
The mind of man in its network fraught
The end of thought
Thought can never see
Beyond it's self-created frontiers
It can never be
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 03.10.09)
SUGGESTIVE STIMULUS
My lovable pal
Pesters me often
To write a poem on paper
The adorable gal
Persuades me often
To sing without a reason
Write I can, sing I can
Music and poetry
Bring together I can
Rhyme or no rhyme
Reason or no reason
Whichever be the season
I find myself ready
To oblige her already
With my mind active and my hand steady
To mount the poetic horse
Without changing the course
Producing yet another piece of creative force
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 02.27.09)
BEMUSED
What when the lamps burn
And the tides go out
And the rustling of leaves
Creates the sound of music
My forgotten barefoot muse
Goes out of printing
Into sprinting out of its cage
Overpowering itself in its rage
To where lie the clusters
Of unfinished muses
And clumps of unattended bruises
Clambering to meet each other
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 02.27.09)
POETIC DREAMS
Poetic dreams my newfound friend
Seeks to instill in my
Unimaginative psyche
And as I contemplate
This untried venture
While searching for synonyms
In the thesaurus of my mind
She tells me
I was born to dream
That is why I don't take my head
Off at night and put it in a refrigerator
Very well
I shall attempt to unfreeze
Hidden dreams she claims
I should sample at least
But my mind doesn't move
No visions appear to me
No unheard melodies penetrate
No words form themselves
Leaving me dreaming
Of untried poetic dreams
And a stocked fridge
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 02.17.09)
TIPSY WINDS
Caressing the tipsy winds
He fumbles and stumbles
Over the small stray stones
That lay in his slippery path
The cool fool sails roughly
Towards the rear window
Of the house, in darkness
With light, stealthy steps
Careful of not making sound
In the wake of early morning
While the minimal populace
Of the silent household sleeps
He gets into the welcoming bed
And feels the touch of a soft hand
Before the hard blows start raining
Bringing home the late realization:
That he's entered the wrong house!
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 02.08.09)
TERRITORIAL MARKS
The orange sphere is visible
between two ugly buildings
as it's rays diminish to announce
the arrival of late evening
And the hustle and bustle
of people passing by in rush
as the honking horns amplify
the afflictive sounds of traffic
And the dustbins, the litter
lying around them alongside
the poor beggars beside the
traffic signals and the smoke
And as the neon lamps light up
the busy roads, the purple sky
I pass by a dirty wall which says:
Don't pee here you dog!
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 02.08.09)
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
With the Golden Treasury in my hand,
and the fading light falling
onto the yellow pages;
filled with music, rhyme,
and words so grand,
I bathe myself in the glory of bygone ages.
With the viewless wings of poesy I fly,
passing by the daffodils,
a nightingale, and a Grecian Urn.
My mind flowers, my heart utters a joyous cry;
Abounding beauty fills my being,
as each fruitful page I turn.
The Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics is a popular anthology of English poetry, originally selected for publication by Francis Turner Palgrave in 1861.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 01.28.09)
TO BEAUTY
Beauty, the glory and elixir of life
Without you, there is no living
To this life of endless strife
The light of love you keep giving
In the smile of a child
In the joy of a dancing leaf
In the color of a blooming flower
In the lonely hills gloriously aligned
In the depth of a heart kind
I see your shadow pass through my mind
Through all the sorrows
And sufferings of mankind
Through the negation
Of all knowledge blind
Through piercing all veils
Making the intellect refined
Leaving all the burdens behind
Denying my self, my knowledge
My experiences, all my luggage
The very foundation of my mind
When I come empty handed
In every corner you I find
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(featured in the poetry forum 01.28.09)
THE SURFACE
I often have a waking dream
In the background of my mind
Of being at the bottom of a sea
Of trying desperately to move my limbs
Of not knowing whether there is a surface
Of trying to swim upwards
Without knowing the direction
Towards an unknown destination
Of hardly making any progress at all
Of feeling this heavy weight upon me
Of the web of water about me
Of desperately wanting to perceive the surface
To get on top of it and feel the fresh air
The light and the freedom
From this heaviness
The more desperate I become
The more I move within it
The more I move within it
The more I am engulfed in it
Sometimes, the surface comes closer
Uninvited, unrecognized
And then disappears again
Like a mirage
A traveler weary from thirst sees in a desert
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 01.17.09)
THE DOOR
I look at my face in the mirror
It looks sad and weary -
With what I do not know
I look at my face in the mirror
And suddenly, lose all focus
And my vision, for one instant
Goes behind the image
And falls onto the shadow behind it
A swift but infinite moment passes
And I look at my face again
It doesn't seem real
Then I look at my mind
It too seems unreal, transitory, and not me
I close my eyes and try to see what happens
Nothing but vast blankness, of no color
But on trying to see color I see all colors
Whence do these promptings come?
To see this, to do this
And how mechanically I follow them
I become blind
I become blind to this game
Constantly being played in my head by me
It is none other than me who is at it
Though I think I am just a spectator
I want to see, I try to see
But a vast heaviness overweighs me
I sense there is a door
But in that vast blankness, I see no door
I have experienced it for few moments
Timeless moments
For infinitesimally short durations
Then, the door gets closed and passes out of my memory
Leaving no impression that I can carry in my mind
I know not what this door is, where it comes from
Where it goes or whether it is a door at all
The moment I try to pursue it, hold it, recognize it
It closes, erasing all memory of knowing and recognizing
I want to recognize it
But how can I recognize it if I have not known it?
And how will I know when it is?
That is my dilemma
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 01.17.09)
A DREAMY MORNING
Lovely, bright sunshine!
All enclosing, warm, glowing sunshine.
Walking in the sunshine,
Among bright green trees,
The road I see,
The sound of traffic reaches my ear,
The song of birds I hear distinctly,
I see people pass by,
And feel the slight breeze blowing,
While I watch the color of sky.
And here all words are lost.
The verbal doesn't come forth.
Just the feeling,
Of that which is.
Not a word shapes itself,
From the recesses of memory.
There is the seeing, the feeling,
But no one feeling.
Everything is
And I am everything.
There's nothing ugly, nor beautiful,
Nothing good, or bad.
There are no problems,
No cares, no worries.
There is nothing to do,
Nothing to achieve,
Nothing to become,
No past and no future.
I'm here, now.
I am nothing,
I don't belong to anything.
I have no religion, no country,
No caste, no creed, no possessions.
A poet, I must write a verse on it,
Verbalizing the sensations,
To communicate through feeble words,
The immensity,
Limiting it to a few words.
Still, share I must,
And reach out,
To pour forth,
From this eternal fountain.
But I may not succeed,
I may not be able to reach out.
Because
The word is not the thing,
And the description,
Is not the described.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 01.17.09)
HORROR
Let me show you what horror is.
Horror is just a little word,
And the word, is not the actual thing.
Horror of a movie, or horror of a story,
Is no horror at all.
That is just an idea, just a sensation;
A reaction, which is over in a few seconds.
The greatest horror of all,
Is the Horror of something else.
Beneath the many layers of consciousness,
Lie the untrodden waves of fear,
Covered up with words, activity, and entertainment.
Remove all that, have nothing to do,
Be unoccupied, be alone,
Have nothing to fix your thoughts upon,
Nothing to engage your mind,
Nothing to indulge yourself with,
No rationalizations, no ideations, no escapes.
Then look at yourself,
And see what you are.
When you see that,
You will know what horror is.
And that horror,
Is not a sensation or an idea,
For that horror is what you are.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 01.05.09)
THOSE HILLS
Those hills, so close, yet so distant
Looking at them, you forget yourself
For one timeless instant
Overwhelmed by their overwhelming beauty
Standing there, you grow aware
Of the age of this earth
And of your own impermanence
They will remain, and you, with your
Sorrows, pains, and worries, will pass away
They will be there, as they have been
Since long before you came
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 01.05.09)
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
I
Like a strange unheard melody,
was her velvety voice.
When I heard it, time stood still;
and that moment lasted forever.
I heard all the music I have ever
heard in that voice of hers.
I lived all the lives I have ever lived
at that moment.
II
Never was I more unconscious of myself.
She was there, like a dove,
and she was all I saw.
Nothing else existed,
I was enveloped in the mystical mist of love.
All senses heightened,
blood rushing up my veins,
my heart crumpling like a sock,
I beheld her with a bated breath.
III
It was a soft, magical night,
as if out of a dream. Indeed, it was a dream!
What else it could be?
In that dream, I spent a lifetime with her.
Standing at that corner,
I sang songs with her, I drank with her,
I slept and woke up with her.
I saw the meadows, the greens,
and the birds flying in the sky,
singing with a thousand beautiful voices.
I saw the brilliant rainbows, and the sunlight
peeping through the trees.
IV
Softer than the softest were her hands,
prettier than the prettiest was her face,
denser than a rainforest were her lovely hair,
lovelier than the loveliest was her voice,
with which she said my name.
My name, was it MY name she said?
It never sounded so different before.
But wait!
V
Was it all just a game?
I felt something. What did I feel?
What was it that in my consciousness did linger?
Then I saw the scenes fading before my eyes,
the birds vanishing, the trees evaporating,
and emerging from the clouds,
I saw a thing shiny and sparkling;
and felt a strange sensation in my throat,
and let out a groan,
as I beheld the ring on her finger!
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 12.25.08)
A MENTAL PICTURE
Suspended in the air,
A ring of smoke.
Stuck in the ear,
A resonating note.
A glass of wine,
Half filled.
A captivating smile,
A twinkle in the eye,
A single soft heartbeat,
And a lingering touch...
A mental picture taken
Of an ageless moment.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 12.25.08)
ENVY INCARNATE
I am Good,
You're okay.
I can do differently,
What you can do
Incidentally.
See my stuff,
It's great.
I'm not appreciated,
As I ought to be.
I don't care for others,
They don't care for me.
I can do things
Brilliantly.
Pay attention and you will see.
The world is yet to recognize,
My unrecognized genius.
All you have to do,
Is wait.
I wonder why they don't
Understand me.
I wonder why they won't
Admire what I create.
I'm better than the rest,
At any rate.
I wonder why they call me,
Envy Incarnate.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 12.13.08)
THE SEARCH
Searched in vain,
I have,
Grappled after the unknown,
I have,
With the memories of yesterday,
Projected the images of tomorrow,
I have,
Sought to seek,
I have,
The object of my own fancy,
Crafted out of my own wish,
I have,
Many a tantalizing carrots,
Dangled in front of me,
I have,
With promises of another life,
I have,
Deceived myself endlessly,
I have,
In hope of arriving at the unknown
Destination of my own knowledge,
I have,
Blind to the ever near,
Sought after the far away,
I have,
Till the seeker and the sought,
The thinker and the thought,
Vanished into thin air.
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 12.13.08)
RESPECTABILITY
You shut your mouth
You shut your eyes
You suffer in silence
You make others suffer
by your stupid escape
to which you give a name
the disease called respectability
You become a clone
A thoughtless machine
You imitate, follow, try to fit in
You're swallowed into the rat race
You become self-conscious
You think of how to keep your face
You build an image of yourself
You try to protect that image
You project your own
self-created ideals
You clothe yourself in
various forms of virtue
You imagine yourself to be
Righteous, noble, and holy
You are gradually devoured by
This disease called respectability
But look a little closely
See the tentacles reaching out
See how the disease spreads
See how it is born
See what it does to you
See how you get caught in it's trap
Look a little closely
Fear lies at the bottom
Fear of what may happen
Fear of making a mistake
Is the germ
The desire to be secure
Is the catalyst
Thoughtless imitation
Is the act
The disease called respectability
Is the product
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 12.13.08)
ROMANCING THE PEN
My silly pen scribbles
Loftiest and poorest
Crystallized moments
Elucidated concepts
Connecting with thoughts
Copulating with feelings
In the oddest of times
Frivolous instances
Wherein the surreal
The material
Interject
Ejecting
Brimful of immaterial
Verbal Compositions
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 11.14.08)
UNTRIED VERSE
There it comes
Like a pebble dropped in a still pond
Making unknown ripples
With the few stray drops of water
Flying just above the surface
I keep my eager net ready
The empty drum beats
I catch the notes drifting in mid-air
And with one flash of sudden glance
The organization and the categorization commence
Like a weaving bird
I gather the straws that come my way
And like a recreational jeweler with ready pearls
I string my thought pieces
Into a musical necklace of untried verse
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 11.14.08)
JUNK OUTPUT
I feel like a poem again today
to convert and attest a feeling
an uncertain vibe, a vague flavor
an impression of somatic sensation
While I sit in complete idleness
facing the machine with a screen
full of frivolous nothings
With a blank mind, I probe into
The nothingness full of things
created and collected by myself
in the files and folders of my mind
unorganized yet systemized
I feel like a poem again today
searching through the many drives
of my randomly operating memory
to come upon some data I can use
In the endeavor to innovate upon
already existing, old, used, reused
bits of information, twisting them
for another creative purpose of mine
Still, the program doesn't run good
the bits of raw data don't collate well
the input doesn't give the desired output
leaving me feeling like a poem again
- Ashutosh Ghildiyal
(added 11.08.08) |
