It's better I dig my grave, than letting them throw me to vultures and that too is a brave new world.

Brave New World

They inspired me very little,
a time I couldn't help me inspire 
to nurse my interests, when their 
nurtures never nestled my passions
still I believed in all time grown desires
and I decided to dig my grave, 
not to help them throw to the vultures.

The canvas I held, captured all colours.
The painting I sketched, portrayed magnanimity of my flaws.
The sculptures I moulded, carved fine faces.
The poems I penned, foreran metaphysical conceits and
the writers I been in love with, 
took me to the brave new world.

Again their stories of no whims and fancies, 
showed me all realities amidst many absurdities.
Warning me again, life can hardly 
rest on time tested philosophy, 
but on pain, poverty, pessimism and persecution.

© Parvathy Ramachandran

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Can something be Constant?

Can something be Constant? Nothing can be, not even you  can consistently be constant  to a person, a place or a thing. And we bring the changes  we bring the consistent changes  and embrace them  as it let's the unbound Liberty  to shift from a person to another  a place to another place  and a thing instead of another, of all  which you were so fond of at one time. © Parvathy Ramachandran 
Read more

Yes, it's a fine age. She is in her 40's.

Image
Her 40's I have known many times- my heart stopping the beat I have known many times- my heart beating much more it needs still I keep searching for, when I ever know it couldn't be found  it couldn't be found here and there it couldn't be found now and then  it couldn't be found  in no one else  than to me… Yet the search  is one fine beautiful journey that thrills and kills. I am a woman in the 40's And I ought to go through pain  and pleasure  The pleasure of postpartum, eased the pain of all tougher journeys  yet to handle  And if I couldn't, who can  and no woman can The pain can't just kill it thrills instead, as if you race a car  and run a machine  the machine only a woman  can handle in all thrill and she deals with the  throb of a heart  and listens to the cries of  postpartum, where she  discovers a new mother a new woman  a phenomenal new woman  and the phenomenally old...
Read more

I still retain my eight letter name. I know a day when You and I got to leave I have to finely decorate the space in all extravaganza.

Image
My Eight Letter Name Clement was his name,  till sometime back. But now he is known as Ment! Who, why, when or whom- was it shortened? Nothing easy would leave it's mark, And I assume Ment too wouldn't. The sweet notes we exchanged,  never persuaded him for that. For I always loved my Clement, Exactly the way he was. And I never wanted him to alter himself even though fate accepeted him as Ment. But, soon I realized he too wanted to live  in a world that was easy, much easy. But I couldn't dare to find out the reasons Why easiness struck him too? Still I found the world turning yellow  Slowly, slowly and my desires died along. And many including my Clement, shortened their names. But I retained my eight letter name,  To be finely engraved on my grave  A day when you and I leave. Yet a day you and I should. © Parvathy Ramachandran
Read more