Monthly Archives: September 2014

On Writing Poetry

“Do not fall in love with a poet
they are no more honest than a stockbroker.”
– Poetry Anonymous, Prageeta Sharma

As thoughts of melancholy enter the
Beleaguered poet’s mind he forces pen
And paper into a marriage of thoughts,
Truth, lies, facts, and fiction.

Drawing from the deep well of experiences
He begins; a discourse about a loved one,
Of conquests and inevitable defeat
Starts to assume definite shape.

He sprinkles figments of his imagination
False names, new contexts, and time periods
To hide that the persona’s struggles
Are really his. It is finished, he says.

Another thought of melancholy enters the
Beleaguered poet’s mind and again he forces
Pen and paper into a marriage of thoughts,
Truth, lies, facts, and fiction.


Fragments: Memories

I would often wake up in middle of the night
And clutch at lost memories in darkness.
Sometimes I succeed. Scents, sounds, sights
Come flooding back, and I am plunged back
To two years ago, your hand in mine
As we threw all our troubles and caution to the wind.
I would see fragments of your radiant smile –
Fragments, because my feeble mind cannot –
It cannot comprehend abstract concepts like beauty.

But sometimes I fail, and I am left in the darkness
With a mind and memory as clouded as the inky blackness
Of the lonely and decrepit room. Again, I am reminded –
I am reminded of my sudden solitude. A year ago –
was it a year ago – a year ago –
I lost you. I lost you to life, or rather its sudden absence
In your being. The inevitability of disease has taken you –
But I could never prepare for your loss. Those days I wondered
If with you I have lost myself.

I try to return to sleep, but you coax me to stay, to stay awake –
And join you in this party of two. And I do, for this is the only way
That I could be with you, if only in the world of memory and remembering.


Behind me I could hear fire and brimstone
Raining down destruction on the damned cities.
I listened to the deathly cries and screams
Of family, neighbors, and friends.

Never look back, a voice told me last night –
Take your family and flee.
Do not worry; I will be with thee.
Take your family; quickly flee!

But I turned my head ever so slightly
And fully witnessed the carnage that was Sodom –
Badly-burnt corpses, flesh, and indignities.
There was rubble where buildings stood.

And instantly my hands and feet turned pale white;
I soon found myself frozen where I stood.
My family never did look back and left me.
I found myself turned to bitterness incarnate.


And as you said the final farewell
You turn your back and leave.
My eyes followed you until
You became one with the horizon.
But you did not even look back.

Happiness to confusion to sadness
Nothingness to something to nothing again.
Slavery to freedom to slavery.
Emotional rollercoasters in moments –
But you did not even look back.

Of course, I look again like the fool I was.
Maybe you’d forget something and return.
Maybe you would return to me.
Perhaps you would find the journey futile.
But you did not even look back.

A dialogue in a classroom at 9:34 AM



“C-can you spare me a m-minute?”

“Okay, what is it you want to say? Are you okay? You look kinda nervous.”

“I just want to – I just want to ask you a question.”

“Oh yeah, sure!”

“Can you help me with this problem?”

“Oh, that’s actually pretty easy! See here. Add this item to this one, and subtract this one from that one. Finally, subtract the sum of the two numbers from the value you got a while ago. There you go!”

“. . . Thanks! T-that was pretty swell!”

“But I have another question to ask.”

“. . . Oh okay, sure! Just feel free to ask.”

“. . . C-can you be . . .”

“Can I be what?”

“C-can you be . . .”

“I’m waiting.”

“C-can we have lunch later?”