Have you lived the day?

A day smiles; a day cries. A day can be a beach carnival or a requiem in a grave. Amen. Someone is born. Someone is dead. A day is the whisper you hear in your ears, a flicker you see before your eyes until you don’t; a day is a breath you can’t hold dear. You can’t define your day, but you can certainly live up to. Live being you as far as you can, if there is a tomorrow you can say – Yesterday I lived the day!
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Monsoon is Greening Here!

The colour of Monsoon is green. When Monsoon invades with its lunatic wind and fierce supremacy all my senses get drenched, it conjures me to be in its magical delight till I see the blue sky once again. Until then my colour is green, my happiness is green, and my dreams illuminate in green. I get displaced from reality.

These days, other than the green slimy frogs which croak-sitting on the newly shaped red mud heaps-I see every image in green. I see the vegetation around me in never ever seen freshest green shades– may it be the creepers or the soul cleansed thick-wood trees which stand soaked; welcoming their sprouting infant leaves. Green is more greeny now…

I see green in its all exquisite splendour. I see newer greens in the grass, shrubs, and the moss. I see the fresh green in drenched guava leaves, mango trees and in the papaya orchards. I see the green a little more greener- similar to a green which you would probably imagine if I ask you to think of a virgin rain forest in a far off island not necessarily named after an emerald.

The relentless Monsoon always awakes my most surrealistic dreams in green. I saw a dream in which I was in a paddy field, which was a whimsical green expanse stretching far to a lake flowing by the side of a mountain- which made me impatient to explore my newly popped up desire to see the shade of green in my foreseen meadow of dreams across- seen in distance.

I saw a woman who had a familiar face, even though I couldn’t recognise who she was, as I instantly fall into a trance seeing her or might got trapped in her enchanting charm that let my vision go blurry. Yet I could feel she was young and beautiful as every man would dream to be with in a rainy night and beyond. 

She was draped in a green saree (I’m least surprised, as it is frequent in the fantasies of all Indian men). She was walking towards me, but not in the mandatory slow motion as it would require in a dream sequence of an Indian film. She was holding a large plantain leaf over her head; in the sky, clouds were shaping up behind her. She was nearing to me looking straight into my eyes to which I stood frozen skipping a beat or two of mine. What else you need to visualise a typical cuddled-cupid-couple-dance in rain, all set in the backdrop of green...  it’s Indian Greenery! (Shrugs)

This monsoon green is more greener! Green is the colour of longing.  Green is the colour of hope. Green is colour of the distance which separates me and my desires. The Green is once again pushing me to go behind my dreams – greenhuedreams! Green soothes me now above all caresses. It’s a wicked monsoon and it’s greening here!

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വീണ്ടും മഴയോടൊപ്പം...

വീണ്ടും മഴ.

മഴയോടൊപ്പം ഇന്നലെയും, ഇന്നും, നാളെയും...

ഇന്നലെ. 

മഴ തിമിര്‍ത് പെയുമ്പോഴും മഴയ്ക് ഒരു നിശബ്ധത ഉണ്ടായിരിന്നു. 

ഇടമുറിയാതെ പെയുന്ന മഴയുടെ ശ്രുതിയിലലിഞ്ഞു ഞാന്‍ പതിയെ വഴുതിവീഴുന്നത് പൂര്‍ണമായ നിശബ്ധതയിലെക്  ആയിരുന്നു.

ഇവിടെയും  തനിച്ചൊരിടം തരാതെ പ്രണയിനി, നീ തന്നെയായിരുന്നു എന്നും അരികില്‍.

അന്ന് നനവിന്റെ സുഖമുള്ള ഒരു കാറ്റ് നമ്മളെ ഒരുമിപിച്ചിരുന്നു.
നമ്മള്‍ മഴയില്‍ ലയിച്ചിരുന്നു.

ഇന്ന്.

മറവിയിലാണ്ടുപോയ  പ്രണയവും, പ്രണയാഭിനെശവും, 

നിന്നെ മാത്രം പുണരാന്‍ കൊതിച്ചചിരുന്ന  യൗവനവും, ചുംബനങ്ങളും, ഇന്നലെയുടെ താളുകളിലെക്യു തുന്നിചെര്‍ത്ത് തനിചോരിടത് ഞാന്‍ ഇരികുമ്പോള്‍, മഴ വീണ്ടും പെയ്തു.

മനസ്സില്‍ പെയ്ത മഴ എന്നെ കൂട്ടി  കൊണ്ട് പോയത് ആ പഴയ നിശബ്ധതയിലെക്  തന്നെയായിരുന്നു. അതെ  ഓര്‍മയുടെ പാതയോരത്, മഴയുടെ നനവ്‌ പറ്റി, നനഞ്ഞ മുടിയിഴകള്‍ നെറ്റിയില്‍പറ്റിച്ചു, അതെ നിര്‍വികാരമായ  നോട്ടവുമായി, എന്നിലെക്ക്  ആര്‍ത്തിരമ്പി പെയ്യാന്‍ വെമ്പുന്ന മഴകാലമായി  നീ വരുമെന്ന് എനിക്ക് ഉറപ്പായിരുന്നു.

നീ വന്നു...

നാളെ.

പ്രണയിനിയെയും, പ്രണയത്തെയും, തിരികെ തന്ന  മഴ തുടര്‍ന്നുകൊണ്ടേയിരിക്കും  എന്നും പ്രതീക്ഷിക്കുന്നു...
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(Based on today's morning dream.)

Would the Mariner reach his next Isle of Hope?

Would his dream foretell him his nearing long journey?

Would it let the Mariner toil for his first self made ship?

Would his desire help him build his ship faster than he thought?

Would it let the Mariner start his journey one day before he planned?

Would he cross the sea keeping his mind blank as ever?

Would it let the Mariner believe his woes are left behind?

Would his beliefs make his voyage a smooth affair?

Would it let the Mariner not fall prey to his languid loneliness?

Would his imaginations give birth to a Mermaid to accompany him?

Would it let the Mariner forget the gloom of his loneliness?

Would the Mermaid be his lucky Angel along?

Would it help the Mariner to ward off all sea perils?

Would all Sea-Dragons lose the fire in their mouth?

Would this help the Mariner stay unharmed in his voyage?

Would the night-sky don a deep sea-blue quilt?

Would it let the Mariner sleep safe in his boat?

Would the clouds form a long white floating roof?

Would it let the Mariner shield himself against the thumping thunder?

Would all stars blur its sheen expelling one for a reason of good?

Would it let the Mariner spot his right pole and move?

Would the tides shun the shape gaining moon?

Would it let the Mariner steer even with no shaky sways?

Would all Pirates slip into a momentary slumber?

Would it let the Mariner carry through the uninvited onslaught?

Would all winds be favourable until he dips his anchors next shore?

Would the Mariner finally have his smile?

Would he reach his next Isle of Hope any sooner?

Would the Mariner set foot on the shore in spite he will reach one day before he was expected? 

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Can, Can’t though!

I can write about rain.

I can write about sky.

I can write about a woman.

But I can’t write about all three of these together,

I’d once again fall in love.

I can’t read a thick book.
I can’t read what is beautiful, if there are many.

I can’t read women, even if there aren't many.

But I can read,

If the thick book is all about many beautiful women!

I can cry.

I can smile.

I can run.

But now I can’t cry or smile,

Both ran out!

I can’t be your opinion.

I can’t be what you love.

I can’t be your change.

But if you change your opinion,

I can be your love...

Can ….. dream?

Can ….. feel?

Can …...win?

Can’t ….. ?

(Fill in the blanks with I or You.)

Can, Can’t though!

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Sleepless Nights (2)

Fuelling my urge to catch a dream I still limp behind as a grasshopper which lost it’s identity among a clan of pride seeking self illuminating fireflies, I hope the night just get over!
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Sleepless Nights

Once I switch off the lights in my room I see thousands of crows all over my room. They illuminate in radium green. The unmoving crows begin to grow small! Growing small they become mosquito sized crows; soon they fly all over making a screeching sound much lower than the tick of my clock. They nest in my hair, they beak on my head. They kill my sleep. They turn me into an insomniac invisible crow fighter in the dark!
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