Mute Poetry

So, the semester finally got over and I have started feeling alive. Yesterday, I was taking a leisurely stroll at the Bookstore by the University when I noticed a book titled 'Poetry of the English Language'. I don't know why but it made me a little uncomfortable. It seemed like poetry being forcibly caged to the confines of a language. I flipped through the pages. Quite interesting pieces they were. Someone thinks of a brilliant thought and you need to know English to relish that. What a pity! (Well, yah u can translate stuff into other languages, but we want to taste the original) What if there could be some media which would transcend all these earthly barriers(like language), a media which would be universal and deep...(as deep as your sixth sense :-) )

MUTE POETRY

Lets write words
which know no language.
Words which are mute.
Let them not be English
not Hindi either.
Language is a limitation.
Lets be free.

Lets write words
which can't be seen.
Words which are blind
And which can be seen
even by the blind.
Vision is a limitation.
Lets be free.

Lets write words
which can't be heard.
Words which are deaf
And can be heard
even by the deaf.
Sound is a limitation.
Lets be free.

Lets write words
which can't be touched.
Words which are numb
And can be touched
even by the numb.
Touch is a limitation.
Lets be free.

Lets write words
which can't be written.
Words which have no script.
And which can be written
without any hands.
Writing is a limitation.
Lets be free.

Lets write words
which have no form,
no body but a soul.
And which can be felt
beyond the five senses,
by our soul.
Our senses are our limitation.
Lets be free.

A Piece of Trash

Its like one of those times when u feel tired of life.... and you don't care for 'almost' anything... u just wanna take a big sigh, lay back, look back or may be even not.. U just want to forget about your existence... you wouldn't even care for for a fresh lease of life or a miracle even if they are knocking on your door vigorously... you! are simply not interested... You just want to be like those used packages, broken stationery and paper-trash strewn at a little distance from me.

One good thing about trash is that it does not complaint. It lies wherever you dump it. (ok, we r not talking about the foul smelling kind of trash)... Trash just lies there, quietly, motionless, without any anxiety, happiness or sadness, not caring for anyone, not being cared for either..
So, in times like these if ur hands are on the keyboard, what can u expect...just another piece of trash as follows ::


LINES

Someone told him
that someone
took a pencil
in hand and
started drawing
some lines
never lifting up
the pencil
from the paper.

Someone told him
that someone
is still drawing
those lines
and still hasn't
lifted up
the pencil.

why the hell
should he care?
Let him draw.

Someone told him
that those lines
tell his life,
his history and
impending fate.
When they get dense
his life gets screwed.
When they get smooth
his life gets cool.

Someone told him
"hey, they might be
the lines of your life"
Oh ! He was struck
for a moment.
"Does he have enough paper
to keep drawing?" :-)

Someone told him
"hey i think i know
the whereabouts
of the guy who
draws your lines"

"oh you do.."
he said lazily

"yah..wanna know?"

"no thanks..
let him draw
let me rest
zzzzzz...."