All posts by ippljournal

Extinction: A Ghazal My mind is gone where the birds have goneSome peace it has found where the birds have goneWhat happens to abducted love stories?They are all unbound where the birds have goneAll unkissed moments of our lives gatherAs the sirens sound where the birds have goneIn the nest of dreams twigs and memoriesEach…

Birds of a Feather The day draws on… A minty morningDusting feathersPecks at a plum;I hear your callPicking at small hopes,Sowing seeds at random.Ta-ra-dum-di-dum. The day draws on… A jaunty mid-daySwings on electric line,Then settles to lunchOn the core of my heart;Splits wide like pink guava,Tearing into its lush cauldron.Ta-ra-dum-di-dum. The day draws on… The…

Distances Distances are blurred horizonsand carry smell of ruined hills.Distances create distances of their ownand arrival or departure repose in a mausoleum.Distances are worlds unto themselves where everythingis orchestrated into a mirage-symphony of images. You, My Poem Oh! my poem I try to create you,I undo you, you who bring me sleepand stories of Shangrila.Vibrations…

The Homeless Guy The homeless guyIn a heartless worldSat helplessly, leaning his backAgainst the traffic light postThe homeless guy sat a few steps awayFrom the busy churchWhere well-heeled footfalls resoundThrough the days and nights Was he sick, drunk, a drug addictWas he jobless, did he not have a home, a familyHe looked neither young nor…

On Rabindranath’s Birthday On this quiet humid morningWhile the world sleepsThe birds are delirious withA wind of promiseThat shuffles their summer nestsAnd capers through the branches.They do not know that the voiceOf tolerance has prevailed in FranceBut maybe they feel a presenceIn the essence of their free flightsThat whispers to themThat they are the icons…

Story of a Night My feet walked the corridorendlessly, moving towardsthe room, moving away. The night shifted, hour by hour,the rains increased, the nearby housesstanding like witnesses to a distant fear. A long time later, I stepped inside the room,where she sat on my bed. Blue, transparent,her body flowing inside her like sea water. I…

Cactus Thorns are my language.I announce my existencewith a bleeding touch. Once these thorns were flowers.I loathe lovers who betray.Poets have abandoned the desertsto go back to the gardens.Only camels remain here, and merchants,who trample my blooms to dust. One thorn for each rare drop of water.I don’t tempt butterflies,no bird sings my praise.I don’t…

A Dream is Also A dream is also an island,surrounded by the swirling watersof myth-memory;surrounded by the stillness of the nightand mother’s anxiety,which is only another wordfor the currents of the night. A dream is also an allegory;only I distrust its hierarchy of veils,and the masks nailed to the doorsyou have to pass through—form within…

Poetry Matters SHARMILA RAY Poetry creates an atmosphere of words and words only, biting, caustic, lulling, loving. The words get blurred, but it leaves me contemplating, a bit like in what Tocqueville calls touching the ‘hidden nerve’. I get transported to a universe which is expansive, spontaneous, artless and also self-indulgent. So it is not…

Poetry : The Healing Touch MALASHRI LAL The millennium dawned with a UN pledge on poverty eradication, environmental protection, human rights and care of the vulnerable. Less than two decades from then, it is clear that dislocations, exile, migrations and displacements have brought new forms of violence to civil society in many parts of the…