Autophony

The spirit lives but one moment; it is now that is our golden age.

At first the distant mountain-tops Fade into the coming rain cloud And then the hills nearer to My village draw their misty veil. At last it pours over my home. Silent's the square, empty the shops, The street's bereft of all its crowd Excepting for the luckless few Who seek shelter to no avail. At last it pours over my home. Thus freed from care about their crops That bloom and thrive under the shroud My village came to life anew. Their joyous shouts do ring out loud - But I have strayed from all I knew Accursed to roam from vale to vale. Though I regret all that I threw There is one reason not to wail - At last it pours over my home.

J'écris cette-lettre-ci Et je la mets dans une bouteille Avec l'espoir Qu'un jour dans le futur Tu le liras. L'espoir des ondes. Il y avait des temps Quand nous étions inséparables - Toutes mes pensées Étaient les tiennes, Si je rirais, tu rirais Si tu a compris ou non, Pouquoi j'ai ri. Avec la résonance mystérieuse Tu porterais bleu Si j'avais porté bleu. Il n'y avait des lettres Ni l'espoir des ondes. Puis nous avons grandi Nous avons acquis des diplômes Et nous avons trouvé des emplois. Tu, là où nous sommes nés, Moi, dans un coin du monde Loin, inconnu - Où je n'ai que les moustiques Et l'espoir des ondes. D'abord, je t'écrivais les courriels Chaque soir disant que j'ai fait Et j'aurais un de toi Avec les succès et les échecs de journée. Puis c'est devenu une semaine Et l'épopées sont devenues Des paragraphes et enfin des sentences. Je ne souviens pas Lorsqu'ils se sont arrêtés. Tout ce que j'ai maintenant sont...

I am a ship out of wind an engine out of steam a fisherman far inland a mountain-dweller in the plains a writer out of ink a ghazal without a radeef an eye without tears a song without words... I could do with any wind - a breeze, a gale, a storm; I want a boat and a rod; ink of any colour; a day of sorrow or joy, that would fill my eyes... something, something to fill my canvas... From these I shall fashion a poem a dream an anchor a beginning...

at first there were words exchanged between eyes in the millions they became emails five in a day four three two one email of five paragraphs four three two one in a week a month a year an eternity * d'abord il y avait les mots échangés entre les yeux en millions ils sont devenus des courriels cinq d'un jour quatre trois deux un e-mail de cinq points quatre trois deux un dans une semaine un mois un an une éternité * پہلے الفاظ کی ادلا بدلہ ہوتی چشم بچشم لاکھوں کی تعداد میں وے ایمیل بنے روز کے پانچ چار تین دو ایک ایمیل پانچ دفعہ کی چار تین دو ایک ایمیل ہفتہ میں مہینہ میں سال میں ازل میں

तुम्हारे नाम पाठ पढ़े, व्रत रखे, मन्दिरों में यग किये पर तुम न आए तुम्हारे नाम रोज़े रखे, सजदे किये, मक़बरों में चादर चढ़ाए पर तुम न आए दिल को मना लिया के तुम न आओगे आशाएँ दबाए हौँसले छोडे तब तुम आए तुम आए मुस्कुराए कुछ कहे बिना चले गए फिर से मैंने व्रत रखे, सजदे किए ग़रीबों में अनाज बाँटे पर तुम न आए फिर मैंने सपने बिखेरे तमन्नाएँ दफ़नाए फिर तुम आए, मुस्कुराए, राज़ें फुस्फुसाए कुछ कहे बिना चले गए तुम दगा दोगी समझकर मैंने अपने गीत मिटाए अपने नज़्म जलाए एक नया बाग़ बसाया नए फूल उगाए नया कल्पवृक्ष खडा किया तुम्हें भूला तुम्हारी यादों को दफ़नाया उस वक़्त तुम आए बिजली बनकर आए तूफ़ान बनकर आए आकर मेरा बाग़ उजाडा और फिर कुछ कहे बिना चले गए

Silence, the silence of poignancy The silence before the confrontation The silence of simmering revolution Silence, the silence of love The silence of speaking without words The silence of conversations between eyes Silence, the silence of prayer The silence of the grateful's devotion The silence of eternity's equipoise

خاموشی ، حدّت کی خاموشی یورش کہ پہلے کی خاموشی بڑھتے ینقلاب کی خاموشی خاموشی ، وجد کی خاموشی بن آواز صحبت کی خاموشی چشم ب چشم باتوں کی خموشی خاموشی ، عبادت کی کاموشی مشکور کہ بندگی کی خاموشی ازل کہ سکوت کی خاموشی

There was a Man of GTB Nagar Who loved to eat pearls soaked in vinegar. He'd peck them one by one And proclaimed it was fun - That hennish Man of GTB Nagar.

There was a Man of Wadala Road Whose chin was always shaved a la mode. He'd butt conversations And cause perturbations - That goaty Man of Wadala Road.

There was a Lady of King's Circle Who mostly wore robes of deep purple. But she would change colour To match those in power - That chameleonic Lady of King's Circle.

One whiff of coffee: I rise, waken and grasp destiny in my hands.

There was a Man of Chunabhatti Who lived in a jade zopadpatti. He'd wrap round his toothpaste And not let it go waste - That pythonic Man of Chunabhatti.

There was a Gentleman of Sewri Who was much renowned for his bravery. For each act of valour He would want a favour - That badgering Gentleman of Sewri.

Tap Seven-Three-Nine. Sex comes first, then pew. The phone knows what folk care for.

Lakshmi is coming. SMS Diwali greetings to contacts you never cared a fuck for before. Show surplus good deeds in karmic ledger.

As Diwali departs, the cheapskate rejoices. Crackers at half-price!

There was a Young Lady of Reay Road As furious as a missile's payload. Everyday she would peck At her husband's paycheck - That fowl-tempered Young Lady of Reay Road.

There was a Young Man of Cotton Green Who'd keep even a small button clean. He'd rinse it in phenyl, And soak it for a while - That racconish Young Man of Cotton Green.

There was a Young Man of Dockyard Road, who had a house built out of cardboard. He taught all his geese To walk on their knees That anserine Young Man of Dockyard Road.

Booted laptop. Connected datacard. Check. Logged on to Facebook. Collected gifts. Sent gifts. Read wall. Commented, liked. Did what was needed on the application de rigeur. Check. Tweeted wisecracks. Re-tweeted other people's wisecracks. Check. Logged on to Gmail, Yahoomail, Hotmail, Rediffmail. Read funny mail. Forwarded to all. Check. So now I'll go have my oil bath. Then I'll put on new clothes. Then I'll eat the sweets. Diwali has begun.

He is a "Facebook" friend Someone I have never met But someone whom I know intimately - by his updates, his notes, his mystical poetry. We chatted today across a thousand miles of optical fibre cable (the inventors be blessed) but there were no miles separating our minds. We celebrate a common festival of lights, moi, where I was born he, in a distant hemisphere and we talked of origins, of wandering, and of growing of roots. We talked about poetry And photography - I told him that I must employ always thousands of words to paint my images because I am no good with a camera. And then we parted he to finish his day and I to begin we began "Facebook friends" strangers, but now we are brothers-in-arms.

Il est un "Facebook" ami Quelqu'un que je n'ai jamais rencontré Mais quelqu'un que je connais intimement -- par ses mises à jour, ses notes, sa poésie mystique. Nous avons bavardé aujourd'hui à travers un millier de miles de câble à fibres optiques (les inventeurs soit béni) mais il n'y avait pas de miles séparant nos esprits. Nous célébrons une fête commune des lumières, Moi, où je suis né il, dans un hémisphère lointaine et nous avons parlé des origines, d'errance, et de la croissance des racines. Nous avons parlé de la poésie Et la photographie -- Je lui ai dit que je dois employer toujours des milliers de mots pour peindre mes images parce que je ne suis pas un bon avec une caméra. Et puis nous nous sommes quittés il pour terminer sa journée et moi pour commencer nous avons commencé "Facebook amis" étrangers, mais maintenant nous sommes devenus confrères.

Einstein understood the universe, his wife was another matter.

What's crueller than inspiration that strikes after the job is done?

What more inspiration does a poet need than his own broken heart?

Are there things more tragic than a poem that can never be finished?

You weren't to be seen this summer. Your face is a little less adolescent than before, but those flowing locks and that red bandanna haven't disappeared, I see. I whisper softly to myself ho pai kalos. Looking closely at your lips tells me you've had your first drag of a cigarette, the way your eyes now look at girls your age tells me something is now lost. I whisper softly to myself ho pais kalos. You've taken to sitting around with some friends on walls or riding motorbikes; you no longer play football with your hairless chest glistening with sweat. I whisper softly to myself ho pais kalos . No longer a jejune, young man you've grown up, Adonis No more Laches on the shard of the ancient Athenian drinking cup, a gift to handsome boys, inscribed the boy beautiful - ho pais kalos .

Never tweet ghazals. It's painful to see them swamped by nattering dross.

Reliving memories: An ideal way to spend an idle day.

The storm clouds clear, the sky twinkles on in its bland eternity. OR Storm clouds clear, the sky twinkles on in insipid eternity.

It takes all kinds to make a world - that's what justifies my existence.

The dumb screen keeps blinking at me, but clever lines choose to go on strike.

There was an Old Man of Khopoli Who adored Angelina Jolie. He sent her some neck-ties Made up of butterflies That lepidopteran Old Man of Khopoli.

There was a Gentleman of Lowjee Who was a retired fauji. But he'd sit on a tree And talk like a monkey That simian Gentleman of Lowjee.

There was a Man of Dolavali Who was well-trained in Kathakali. He moved from place to place With unparalleled grace That deer-footed Man of Dolavali.

There was a Man of Kelavali Who once boxed with Muhammad Ali. He would butt like a boar All who knocked at his door That suilline Man of Kelavali.

There was a Man of Palasdhari Who thought he was a great shikari. He aimed at a rooster But shot a barrister That mole-eyed Man of Palasdhari.

There was an Old Woman of Atgaon Who dressed like an Egyptian pharaon. She climbed up a steeple And lived off the people That jackalish Old Woman of Atgaon.

There was a Young Lady of Khardi Who was very stolid and sturdy She'd carry her home Wherever she'd roam That testudinal Young Lady of Khardi.

There was a Young Man of Kasara Who spoke Quechua and Aymara. He came from the Andes And lived upon candies That llamaish Young Man of Kasara.

जेव्हा शेतकार्यान्नी तुला शोधले तेव्हा का नाही आलास? बालकृष्णाचे हान्डी फोडली तेव्हा का नाही आलास? गणपती बाप्पा येउन गेले तेव्हा का नाही आलास? अत्ता तुझ्याविना जगणे शिकलो अत्ता कशाला आलास?

உன்னை நான் கொஞ்சி அழைத்தேன் கெஞ்சி அழைத்தேன் நீ வரவில்லை உன்னை நான் பாடி அழைத்தேன் ஆடி அழைத்தேன் நீ வரவில்லை நீ வரமாட்டாய் என்று என் நம்பிக்கையை இழந்தேன் என் ஆசைகளை அழித்தேன் அப்பொழுது நீ வந்தாய் நீ வந்தாய் ஒரு முத்தம் தந்தாய் ஒரு வார்த்தையும் பேசாமல் சென்று விட்டாய் மீண்டும் ஆடினேன் பாடினேன் வா வா என்று கதறினேன் நீ வரவில்லை மீண்டும் மனதை ஆற்றினேன் கனவை கலைத்தேன் மீண்டும் நீ வந்தாய் முத்தம் தந்தாய் உன் மணத்தால் மயக்கினாய் ஒரு வார்த்தையும் பேசாமல் சென்று விட்டாய் நீ ஏமாற்றுவாய் என்று என் பாட்டுகளை அழித்தேன் என் கவிதைகளை எரித்தேன் ஒரு புதிய தோட்டம் படைத்தேன் புது மலர்கள் வளர்த்தேன் புது கனவுமரம் உண்டாக்கினேன் உன்னை மறந்தேன் உன் நினைவுகளை புதைத்தேன் அப்பொழுது நீ வந்தாய் மின்னலாக வந்தாய் இடியாக வந்தாய் புயலாக வந்து என் உலகத்தை அழித்தாய் மீண்டும் ஒரு வார்த்தையும் பேசாமல் சென்று விட்டாய்

My name is Raamesh Gowri Raghavan. Which means in Mumbai (where I live), I am a son of alien soil. The Shiv Sena will come after me for that. In Tamil Nadu, the DMK will want me To pay for my Brahmin ancestors' misdeeds. They'll come after me for that. I'm fiercely, proudly middle-class Not welcome in elite champagne parties. I also support free markets: The Naxals will come after me for that. I have Muslim and Christian friends But I am resolutely Hindu. They'll come after me for that. I'm an SEZ opposing environmentalist Not appreciated by Mukesh Ambani. But I don't belive in doing G20 stunts Greenpeace will come after me for that. I'm right-handed, I'm a feminist, I'm obese, And I don't like Lata Mangeshkar's songs. They'll come after me for that. I know what they won't come after me for. I'm a poet but not romantic Nor radical nor baroque nor modern. No publisher will come after me for that. I also write short fiction, Analyti...

Version I I have forgotten my ATM pin. Can anyone help? It is not my wife's birthday, or my best friend's or my mother's or any of my children's. I'm no good at remembering birthdays. It is not the date of our first kiss or our first fight or our first anything or our anniversary even. I'm no good at such dates either. No, it's not my other ATM Pin Or my bank account number Or email password Or even my voter I-card number. I was never good at such things, either. Once it was the date of the Panipat battle Once it was the loan instalment amount Both an attempt at quirky creativity But they were both changed And forgotten rather very quickly. I am still bereft of my ATM pin. Can anyone help? Version II I have forgotten my ATM pin. Can anyone help? It is not my wife's birthday, or her best friend's birthday, or her best friend's sister's, or of my boss's for that matter. I'm no good at birthdays. No, it's not the worth of my stocks w...