A LIFE WAS IN MAKING….

A life was in making
Blooming,
From his forest of thoughts
And the beauty of it was
Words were still travelling inside
Like it should have been
Preparing for the journey
With a silent commitment
Yes, time had stayed on
But only in some quarters
Like an important reminder
That where had to be the path
Speaking to themselves
Singing in unison with soul
Sometimes hammering
At times chiselling
Thinking now consciously
Of balance and rhythm
To stay on where it had to be
Yes, thoughts were taking shape
And a life was in making
With elements it had craved for
From his forest of thoughts
And the beauty of it was
It came with a curious attachment

A LIFE WAS IN MAKING….

©SantoshChaubey

THE GREY OF SKY

The grey of sky had brilliant shades
Singing along a vibrant sensation
And when it took a break midway
To let us in its enchanted halls
Traversing through its dancing alleys
It was like the day was waiting for it
To speak with it’s blue to go beyond
And to mingle with shades of its grey
That had for so long stayed there
In the galleries of white and black

THE GREY OF SKY

©SantoshChaubey

ON MY LIPS, PLAYING VIVACIOUSLY..

Well, nothing historical like Roman Elegies in this journey,
But it still has a story that stretches back to the days,
When I used to love its amorphous sharpness.

White, or black, or pink, or yellow, colours adored me,
When you were on my lips, playing vivaciously,
Dipping in me with a tippy playfulness.

Today always waited for tomorrow, in jocular anticipation,
When it will be the time of the day of emancipation,
In unison of us, and your piquant acess.

Having you was always complete and the feeling was so intrinsic,
Penetrating deep, melting in my thoughts at the moment,
That I would have you before all caress.

Scalding or piercing, yes, at times you would intently act so,
But then you had become a tale so personified in my soul,
That I would always look beyond, inside me, for address.

Then suddenly, one day, you told me you had a revelation, for me,
That gone are the days when you used to be mutual with me,
And the piquant was to be bitter now with sullenness.

I didn’t accept that, and like a child’s virtue, I still don’t follow it,
For, what you felt to me, was basic to me, pure and pointed,
Yes, it soured initially, but never in absoluteness.

I know the story is yet to be told, I don’t know how, and when,
The piquant is still not bitter, though is bereft of touch now,
Missing that flavour of life dipped in your playfulness.

Colour Collage 2

ON MY LIPS, PLAYING VIVACIOUSLY..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THERE IS THIS STREET THAT I MEET EVERY DAY..

It is basically from an old poem that I wrote in ‘different and sometime overlapping’ units in August 2014. For the day-7 requirement, I have reworked and rewritten it – with modifications – and with ramifications :). I chose to do so because I found it close to what I wanted to do when the mail about this assignment dropped in my mailbox. Here it is:

(And on a day, when you are overworked, it proved more ‘thought-engaging’ than writing a new one altogether. :))

THERE IS THIS STREET THAT I MEET EVERY DAY..

There is this street that I meet every day,
Walking along its passage, talking within
But I don’t look back at its corner on my way
As I am aware of so far, as I have seen
I know its life as felt in my many 10 minutes
It’s, like life, is full of life, striking a chord within
There will be something in those 10 minutes
To know about but not the thing that I have seen

While passing through the street of my routine
I find the point to go within because there is more
The life in 10 minutes, scattered across, umpteen
Randomly stacked with identities on my daily chore
Every other day of its mundane life is a screen
That prevents me to look back at its encore
Pushing me to become we to look at its sheen
A canvas so vibrant, a view panoramic at its fore

I don’t look back at its corner because I know
There is this street that offers to open up to me
Every day, going beyond the horizon to grow
Much more, seeking me, seeking when I am free
The street calls me regularly saying a new hello
Asking me to go past, to see what I need to see
Teaching me how varied and how parallel can it go
Telling me how different and how routine days can be

From its shades to its elements the very next day
It’s a kaleidoscope waiting for me when the street calls
I know I have to be earnest with the way I sway
To know what I learnt today, to see where it falls
To realize life’s one more existence on this today
On this journey of togetherness that mutually enthralls
On that errand of indifference and selfishness that way
Sometimes, a day of meaninglessness is all in my halls

There is this street while on itinerary to somewhere
Consciously reading the juxtaposed formations of its being
We converse but the exchanges are silent and are in clear
The understanding demands no interference annoying
And respect for independent existences in our sphere
Yes, the street does indeed extend invitation assuaging
But we both know the restriction it may bring in its rear

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

A CITY THAT CALLS ME..

Where death enlivens as life
Where wisdom speaks in God’s words
Where religion shares space with spirituality
Where culture sings odes of its antiquity
Where tradition speaks of the wheels of change
Where life has the best living possible
The city I come from, there I live, and there I go
In search of peace, to converse within
To live sensibly carefree
Away from this maddening daily excursion
To sit with the human conscience
In the abode of the Trinity
Of Lord Shiva, the Ganga and death
Where life is a celebration in moments
Where living is the healing the soul seeks
Where existence is the song worded by you
Where identity is not the question that haunts you
Where days are eternally yours
Where you can sense what going ‘beyond’ means
A city that calls me back to my roots
To help me add to my questions
And with answers that help me with my reasons
Yes, there I am, in the lap of the Holy Mother River
On the footsteps of the Abode of its founding Lord
In the city that still shapes my thoughts..

Ganga1032015-5

A CITY THAT CALLS ME..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

WHEN I FELT ALL WAS AMISS..

“I had questions, and I had reservations, and
With time, I had learnt to live with those unanswered questions
But, only to come to this
When I felt all was amiss
Like a life with vague directions and all its ramifications..

Then, all of a sudden, I met some colours so overwhelming, with
Uplifting vibes that took me away from everything denigrating
I felt like in a trance
Far removed from that day’s comeuppance
Filling those voids in my thoughts that were so suffocating..”

Colour Collage 2

WHEN I FELT ALL WAS AMISS..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

WE ARE ‘ME’ AND WE ARE ‘WE’.

We are ‘me’ and we are ‘we’. I don’t look at you yet I know you are an inseparable element, like we were, like we are, like we will be. I know you are my precinct, a sanctorum distinct.

We have been in this communion for so long that I understand your silence and you follow my provenance. I know where to go in times, when I feel oblong, and thus jaded and lost, and you take me in, within your lines.

We know what colours we wear and we consciously try everything else to bear. We have remained together in life’s summers and winters, we have sailed through the waters of its rainy days, and we have relished on its fruits of spring.

We are ‘me’ and we are ‘we’. You give me a shape and I am your escape, skinned into togetherness of us. I know you are my limit and you know I love to go beyond this limit.

Contemplation & The Reflex

WE ARE ‘ME’ AND WE ARE ‘WE’.

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/