Insomnia

As moonlight caresses my weary eyes, Insomnia's embrace, a muse in disguise.

For three long nights, its grip holds tight, 

Unleashing creativity in the dark of night.

Through endless pages, my thoughts take flight, 

Words spill forth, like stars in the twilight. 

Art and music, born from depths within, 

In this dance with sleeplessness, I begin.

Amidst a month of melancholy's shroud,

A hidden strength, like a blossom, allowed. 

This strange beauty, woven through the night, 

In embracing insomnia, I find my light.

M🦋

Illusion or disillusion

Life is a labyrinth of mirrors, or a

Kaleidoscope, where

I, you, and we may be mere reflections, or an illusion, where 

Perceptions dance like fireflies, and

the essence hides like a diamond buried deep.

Felt but elusive, or 

invisible but present, like wind, the invisible artist of the skies, or time 

a dancer of the land. 

M🦋

Agony and Anger

Not for jewels from the stars, I sigh,

Nor pearls from ocean's keep

Not for treasures in the peaks, I cry,

Nor gold from beneath the sky. 

Transient riches, I'll defy. 

Affluence's apeal, I'll pass it by, 

No grand abode, I'll seek 

Nor a draught of ale, I'll yearn 

Plenty's draw, I'll let go

Tempting sensuality, I'll withdraw

Roaming for justice, I choke back tears 

In quest of dignity, I swell up with agony 

Chasing for rights, I get a lump in my throat

Seeking for peace, I shake with suffering 

Doing dissent, I tremble with anger

O Lord, the only Begotten son of God,

In pursuit of your mercy, I shall wander

Cradle my head on your arms 

Bear me upon your shoulders

In your love, I find refuge

In thy love, I find my refuge

 I doth revel in the joy of love.

In thy beauty, I find great joy.

Thou, the only Begotten son of God, O lord

Bear me upon thy shoulders

In thy love, I find my refuge

The flames of thy love dost scorch me

Cradle my head in thine left arm, whilst  thou enfold me with the other arm.

Thou outshine the sheeny sun, and thy fragrance exceeds that of attar of roses. 

Thy lips breathe life, yet I linger in 

longing when met with kiss. 

Nobody or somebody?

No grandeur required, no extravagant facade

No need to stand out in a crowded crowd

No need to be odd

To be nobody or not to be somebody,

a timeless art you see. 

~M🦋

PS: The poet is aware of the fact that only a privileged person, like her, who holds the luxury of social and cultural capital is capable of being a nobody. No Dalit or black or queer or refugee is free to be a nobody. But, the poem is consequence of her current schizophrenic state of being, something that modernity offered. 

Am I, too, a Franz Kafka?

 Did the writings of Dostoevsky and Albert Camus evoke emotional responses within you, and if they did, how long did those emotional reactions last, spanning from three days, four days, or even a week? Why do the writings of Kafka and Plath evoke sensations akin to the experience of drowning in a vast sea? I acknowledge that these questions are highly subjective and can vary from person to person.

Last month, reading Vikram Seth's poetry collection 'All you who sleep tonight' moved me to tears, albeit in a distinct manner. Is it reasons of the 'other' or collective reasons or reasons of the individuals (personal) that lead more to sorrow? When the Lord's prayer encourages us to contemplate using "Our-us" instead of "Mine/you" binary, what lead us to place greater emphasis on individual factors/reasons? Can I, this time too, put blame on postmodernism and capitalism? Or Is this a condition deemed absurd, like Camus says? Tell me.. 

Well.. "Metamorphosis" had been gathering dust in my secondhand book cabinet for quite some time, and I hesitated to dive into Gregor's tale. However, in May, I finally began to read it, but I kept finding myself shutting the book after only a few sentences, often for days or even weeks. This novella evoked extreme emotions in me; be it sobriety, panic, grief, agony, numbness, or hopelessness. What should have been a quick read turned into my longest literary journey (around 70 pages), taking approximately five months to complete. Therefore, I won't provide a review this time, as I believe I lack the authority to judge Franz's emotions. Could it be that I, too, am a Franz Kafka, considering the diverse (spatio-temporal) yet similar realities we inhabit???

M🦋

God wept 🙂

Inside the four walls, like a wounded dove,

In the cage, like a tear-soaked glove,

God wept, like a river's endless flow,

To be with the one left.

The Dalit, like a forgotten ember's glow,

The women, like a hidden river's undertow,

The transgender, mirroring the delicate metamorphosis of a butterfly,

The black, like a midnight sky bereft of guiding stars,

The poor, akin to a parched desert yearning for the touch of water,

The earth, our shared cradle, binds them all in its embrace.

Nobody inside the walls heard the cries,

Of the God, like a whisper in the skies,

Invisible, like the moon in daylight's glare,

Yet His pain, like lightning, split the air.

Let us listen,

let us break down these walls,

Hear the cries of God, as injustice appalls,

For within us all, there's a spark of grace,

To change the world and create a better place.

~ M🦋