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Showing posts from May, 2010

The Seventh Drop.

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The Cure

I shed my blood,
for you.
You shed your tears,
in love.
The salinity in your tears,
cured my wounds.
But, I could not find out,
the wound that gave tears to you.

The Sixth Drop of "Tears"

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Salvation


Nothing is salvation,
until the first drop of tear,
sprouts in love.

The Fifth Drop.

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The Sixth Element Sight. Attraction. Love. Dreams. Hopes. Tears.

The Fourth Drop.

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The Blindness

Tears in eyes, blind.
But in a poem,
they fascinate.

Tears are running. Third drop.

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The Ritual


Tofly high and to rain down,
is the destiny of the cloud.
Don't ask me why I am crying.
It is my destiny,
to lay down my heart for you,
and observe this ritual,
And an endless waiting.

And the Winners are...

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As per the rule of the Cool Blogger award, I must hand it over to some really cool bloggers. And I thought I would declare 'a winner' today. But now I realise that the task to proclaim any one of my friends as the winner is really difficult. Because I find a lot of good talents among them. Therefore, I decided to give away this award to four gifted bloggers.

The criteria I followed to decide the Cool Blogger is the dedication with which they engage themselves in blogging and their individual talents that they show through their blogs.



And the winners are.....


Terri L. Hadji-Gauthierfor her excellent works of art and dedication to blogging.

Rachna for being a mother who writes blog.

Rohini for her dedicated blogging and for keeping two beautiful blogs even in a mothers busy life.

and Anya for her Beautiful blog, which shares love for animals and poetry.


CONGRATS winners!!

The Indian Commentator.

Awarded.

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This award has been bestowed upon me by my blogger friend, Tarun Mitra for "heart rendering poetry", as he puts it. Thank you so much Tarun. It is a great pleasure when you are acknowledged for doing something that is very close to your heart. In my case, it is writing.

This is the first time that I am getting this award. So thinking to whom shall I pass it on. Because, as I saw in Tarun's blog, the person receiving the award has to pass it on to his friends. Well, let me think. I will publish the winner's name the next day.

Anulal.
The Indian Commentator.

Here is the Second Drop of "Tears".

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Distances
My tears are not of sorrow,
not of joy.
But of wonder in seeing how,
the distance between you,
and me has transformed,
into something saline,
soothing, and overflowing.

The First Drop of "Tears".

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Destiny

Everydrop of tear has its own destiny.
Some roll down for sorrow,
some in extreme happiness.
But luckiest are those,
which found their way out in love.
For, they will be transcended,
into words, spaces and signs;
and will be known as poems,
which convey sorrow and joy, the same time.

i-poems

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The i-poems began  as a  technical application. They were made for the Apple i-phone applications and that is why the name i-poems. The i-poems became a literary endeavour in the creation of a new genre in poetry; a genre of very short poems. It is through the Indian Commentator that the i-poems took a shift in their implications as a literary genre. I crossed with i-poems in the literary magazine, The Narrative.
The i-poems appeared for the first time in this blog as a series titled "Eyes". The series of eleven poems received wide appreciation from my readers. Let me note my infinite gratitude for all my readers here. The series of eleven poems had a common theme: love. The concept of love was revealed through the common metaphor of 'eyes'. Each of the poems had the same title too. It was that common element that prompted me to name the whole series as "Eyes".
It is a wisdom that no one can write and communicate what love is. One can only write or talk ab…

The Writing Desk

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The Sunday morning was fine. The air was crystal clear, bright, laved by the previous nights rain. The rays from the sun slanting through the trees and thick leaves created beams and lace-works on the ground. The nature was complete, full.
But my writing desk was deserted, except with a couple of text books, which in comparison with the arrays of books and writing materials formerly occupied the table was next to be negligible. And I was sad. However, as it was a Sunday, I have nothing much to do the whole day. So I decided to postpone my sadness and to utilise the rest of the day to study some Literary Theories of criticism. I woke up late. It was already half past seven in the morning. 
I had an instinctual pull to read. But suddenly, mom interfered and insisted that I should take a bath. It was summer and two times bath a day was a must for survival.I bathed and had my breakfast. Until I came back to my study table and restart my reading and writing, a mysterious emotion had captured…

The Lost Pen

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The boy was crying silently. He did not want anyone to sense that he was crying. But his father noticed him sitting in one corner of the house. When he realised that the boy was weeping, he asked why he was crying. The boy replied: "I lost my pen." 
Father smiled and patted his back: "No worries. I will get a brand new one."  "No, I do not want a new pen. I liked the old one very much. And I know that I am not going to get it back ever." 
"What happened to your pen?" "My teacher took it, for writing some emergency notes during the class time. She forgot to give it back." The boy said: "When I went to the staff room later and asked her my pen, she said, she forgot where she had put it after her use and she gave me a new pen. And... And I know that I will never see my old pen." 
"Well, son, I do not think your old pen was costly. It was an ordinary pen that I bought you, wasn't it? Let me see the pen that your teacher g…