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Aug 2020 · 323
Darjeeling
Aneesh H Aug 2020
The whistle of the steam loco,
the dark cloud of smoke,

the appetizing aroma of momo & chai
Enough to take your senses so high

And overlook from the mountain above
At the trifle of the woes of daily life, so low!
#Darjeeling is a hill town in Eastern India, dotted with beautiful mountains, and tea estates dating back to the times of British Colonial Rule. It also houses the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway, a UNESCO World Heritage. One of the oldest steam locomotives chugs the 'toy train' up the hill there. It is sheer joy to be on that train with clear views of the estates, hills and springs.
Aug 2020 · 313
My First Limerick,....ever!
Aneesh H Aug 2020
I could never compose a #Limerick
Attempting in vain I grew sick
Trying to get the rhyme scheme A A B B A
And scribble incoherent verses everyday
In vain, to the good ol' free verse, shall I stick!
I attempted a Limerick
Aug 2020 · 1.5k
The Railway Museum Hubli
Aneesh H Aug 2020
Memories of a railroad era, bygone,
Nearly seven score years ago
Stories carried on the wheels,
With the coal and grain to go

A saga of the rail,
Now and again told
The charm of this tale,
Never growing old

Of modernity and mystery,
A kaleidoscopic visage:
An ensemble of hope and history,
A treasured, eclectic heritage

The railfan’s fervor: in full galore
In silent splendor, the glories of yore
In this humble house, come awake
A radiant reminiscence evokes!
Recently, a Railway Heritage Museum was opened at Hubballi, Karnataka: the HeadQuarters of South Western Railway. Hubballi or Hubli is a twincity of Dharwad, the erstwhile HeadQuarters Office of Southern Mahratta Railway, which was a private Railway Company founded in 1880s during British Colonial Rule.
I wrote a poem for the Museum, which is framed as a permanent exhibit on the Museum Wall!
Jul 2020 · 280
A poem a day
Aneesh H Jul 2020
I desire a daily verse:
A dose of well-worded fun;
Be it verbose or terse
Wrap it in a witty pun!
Jul 2020 · 205
Redolence of her memory
Aneesh H Jul 2020
Do we need a verse
To heed, To converse?

All that this vagrant begs:
A gentle caress, a soft murmur
A warm embrace, a wafted whisper

Pumping up each vein:
Memories of an incurable pain
While you feign nonchalance
Of the nightly jasmine's fragrance
Apr 2020 · 198
Hope..belied
Aneesh H Apr 2020
Every night I shut my eyes
In the hope of a new 'morrow
Only to see the sun rise
To the same, sullen sorrow!
Mar 2020 · 152
Growth
Aneesh H Mar 2020
Every experience of mine - high or low
Is a seed I sow
The time of Sun, doth shine
Blossoming into a flower
Or remain buried in the soil
A silent testimony of my toil
Etched in the mind of Earth
Lighting a poor man's hearth.
Mar 2020 · 124
Disconsolate
Aneesh H Mar 2020
Giveth but half a description: crude,
The state of the self incessant, I brood
Fatigued; In vain, in the dark
I await, a patient ear that lark-

My pain, a frozen litany but to utter
Unconsoled, feeble, I stutter
That, my desolate heart belongeth not in gaiety,
nor misery..an existential entity, a lost liberty.
Mar 2020 · 159
Insomnic Awareness
Aneesh H Mar 2020
After the cows come home
And the sun goes down
And the moon spills milk

As the world shuts its eyes
Withdrawing its senses
Like a still tortoise

I awaken to life
Perched upon the Parijata;
Taking unto myself
the agony of the world
in silent contemplation.
What of the haunt of the night
Before the haunt of my heart!
Parijata is a mythical tree supposed to be in Heaven. Associated with the love story of Lord Krishna and Satyabhama
Mar 2020 · 152
A letter to Myself
Aneesh H Mar 2020
A portrayal of showy farce
With truth and fact quite scarce
A look at my own face in the mirror-
To be dead is more acceptable than such horror


A letter to myself at the end of the year
Of memories far and nightmares near
Is an idea so full of fright
I could never bring myself to write
Jan 2020 · 182
Encumbered Self
Aneesh H Jan 2020
Success is not a standalone gain
Nor your own crown: ye alone, not pride
For the sweat and toil of a collective whole
Who, in adversity, stood firm, by your side.
Can we claim, that all success is one's own,  by him/herself? I answer with an emphatic No! In political theory,  the celebrated political philosopher and theorist of justice,  Michael Sandel critiques hyper individualistic thought.  I tend to agree: we are all indebted right from birth to Nature,  our parents and the like.  There is a share of all of them,  in our success.  We should be grateful to everyone who helped on the way,  for we couldn't have achieved anything purely on our own.

In India,  we are born indebted to the gods,  the sages and the parents.  More on this,  another time!
Jan 2020 · 483
The source
Aneesh H Jan 2020
Be like the Ocean - majestic, serene, resilient;
Accepting all, rejecting none.

Calm, Vast, Ageless, Timeless, Guileless:
Unto that source where all rivers become One.
The majesty and calm of the ocean has had a humbling effect on me,  each time I witnessed the ocean.  

It is said that the ocean is the true source of all rivers.  All major human settlements right from Egyptian, Indus Valley Civilization were borne on river banks. Thus,  rivers have sustained humanity since forever.

The source of all rivers,  it is said by the learned, in reality,  is the ocean: the ocean might also be their destination.  

I dream of a day when our hearts become as large as that of the ocean,  free of discrimination and deceit,  full of acceptance with no exception.
Jan 2020 · 134
Awareness
Aneesh H Jan 2020
Each day hundreds of cells die
And hundreds resurrect - those who
Compose my body, my self.
Thus, I change each moment, bit by bit
Without realisation - a continuous transformation.

Each cell that composes my body
-Living and Dying-
Is as much as heir of my existence
As any other.

A collection of all cells
Makes what I 'am'.
The thought that holds onto a desire of immortality-
Amidst a continuous flux of birth and death
Is perhaps what 'I' am.
I have always been fascinated by the unreal, the surreal and the imaginative. I have found metaphysics attractive: loved a poem of John Donne (Ask Not for whom the bell tolls). For me, engagement with metaphysics is a means to self-inquiry: the real question of identity. Not mere physical identity, but a meaningful conception of one's own self, a sum total.

It is insightful for me to note, that amidst so many changes, something deep down, remains constant, a sort of witness to all the changes occurring, but not being a party to the same!
Jan 2020 · 219
Thee
Aneesh H Jan 2020
You are not what you have been, or are
You are what I have remembered you as-
A carefully curated assortment of
memories
Preserved in my very own imagination
Kept alive within myself
Nourished by a soulful of emotions
Nothing in this world is constant, ever. Our bodies, mind...nothing. Our associations, relations with family members, friends and others are also not constant. Like a wave it the intensity, meaning and purpose rises and falls.

This poem is not attributed to a specific person, or memory. 'Thee' is a generic pronoun that I have chosen to allude to everyone who has had a contact with me, at some point of time or the other.

In short, nothing is permament, except every memory solemn or trivial.
Jan 2020 · 253
Anguish
Aneesh H Jan 2020
As the eastward Monsoon winds blow
Dark clouds hover above
The summer sunshine fading
Dawn and dusk now look alike -
In the same nightly hue.

Inside, my insides echo a nasty white noise
Of the rain birds' incessant caws

Lightning flashing, illuminating some
Darkest corners - wh're I haven't ventured yet
A rapturous thunder, in shocked wonder
I break into a silent sweat
As the pregnant cloud precipitates
My frozen heart aches - in shades myriad
- An unwilling contrast against the crystal clear vapour of a cloud
surrendering itself as the monsoon rain!

The heard wrenches - in agony
With each thawing drop of rain
Of a lost hope and frozen wish
A facade of happiness, I feign.
I had written this poem about 2 years ago, when I was immobilized and confined to my house, thanks to a fractured foot. I was depressed, and unable to share my thoughts plainly with anyone. This was the time of (ironically) the inspiration to this poem.

It is surprising, that not joyous feelings, but sadness brings us close to art (poetry). It is said that the great Sage Valmiki, author of the epic 'Ramayana' was inspired when he saw a 'Krouncha' bird die, being hit by the arrow of a hunter, when it was engaged with its companion. From out of sorrow, the first verse was born.

Tough times of our life, make us introspect. The profundity of experience is higher in grief, than in joy. Tough times, have lessons to teach us, to make us learn to accept that all is not fair in life, and move on.
Jan 2020 · 272
The Outsider's Lament
Aneesh H Jan 2020
'Every competition - is not
A struggle to win over others
But a battle over one's own insecurities
To overcome a perception of exclusion'
I have been a part of the rat race, yet did not want to be a rat. I have often felt, that there is so much of aimless competition in our daily lives that the purpose of doing an activity and experiencing it without the secret feeling of jealousy, and an urge to win it, is nearly impossible to have!

I look at this maddening race of life, from an outsider's perspective. Rather than be a part of the mad race, I would be happy to stand outside and introspect. I
How graceful and more fulfilling it would have been to progress at each one's own pace, pausing a moment in between, to reflect upon the freshly bloomed flower and its beauty, or the morning chirp of the the birds, their flight and gaiety?

Is competition a necessary outgrowth of civilization, or a gangrene that the body of civilization can do away with? Has it dis-cultured us?! What are your thoughts?
Jan 2020 · 296
Photonic Love
Aneesh H Jan 2020
I some times think
That love is electronic
Like matter-wave

Elusive to capture in time or space
Yet travels at the speed of light

Capable of transmitting energy
Yet unable to completely fathom its form

Impossible to hold or capture
But without which, life is incomplete

Like Heisenberg's uncertainty principle
I cannot understand it, while i am in it

I would rather be absorbed like a photon
Gets absorbed in an atom

You be my atom, I shall be the photon
May you and I merge and reach a higher state
Of fulfilment.
I wanted to specialise in Physics. At the same time I was enamoured by literature and humanities. Unable to decide, immature and not knowing how to express clearly, this poem was written during my college days, just past the teenage years. I had not known how to think beyond binaries: my world view had not expanded beyond matter vs energy. Attempted a rather amateurish or foolish, trial in synthesizing physics with feelings of love.
Jan 2020 · 414
A Question to the Sea
Aneesh H Jan 2020
What unspoken grief
Have you hid in your depths?
What reply do you seek
That, you visit the shore
as a recurrent wave, incessantly?

What is it that you look for?
Bowing down your mighty self
To a shallow wave that wets my feet
And the sand underneath

You roar in fulsome furore
Yet grieve in silence
I cannot fathom
The depth of thy grief-
You are borne out of your own tears
The ocean is majestic, serene. It is also deep that we don't truly know what it has hid in its depths. Metaphorically, I imagined the sea (or ocean, I am using it interchangeably) to be a living organism, nurturing numerous beings, and one without bounds. But, what feelings would an ocean or a sea have. Did it hold a lot of anguish inside, or was calm on the inside as it did show outside? Would an ocean cry to show its grief? Would its tears be distinguishable from its being? Would we be able to see, if it cries?
Jan 2020 · 415
Spring
Aneesh H Jan 2020
The Sun rose in the East
Mother Earth demurely smiled
And a crimson spread across the East
And their love did a hundred flowers bloom
the bees buzzed, the wind swayed, the bird
A new song did sing
It is Spring!
Spring is a season of joy. The gloom of winter is cured by the friendly, lively warmth of Spring. Spring brings hope, cheer and new energy. It is the season of love. In India, it is also the season of harvest festival as well as Basant Panchami, the festival to worship Mother Saraswati, the Goddess of learning. Also, an Indian version of the valentines day: a festival of passion, anticipation and preparation for the upcoming season of bloom.

During harvest festival, worship of Mother Earth signifies the deification of the only planet we have, thereby spreading the message of sustainability and healthy living.
Jan 2020 · 995
Wishful Thinking
Aneesh H Jan 2020
Let me be a bird
And fly in the sky
Free from all fetters

Let me be a fish
And swim across the seas
Free of all bounds

Let me be the wind
And flow everywhere
Free of all barriers


Let me be the sun
Let me be the moon
And caress the nightly Earth
With my cool milky warmth

Let me, let me just be
Myself...!
Freedom or Liberty is a value that every living being longs for. For me, freedom is the escape of my mind from the inevitable mundane. An elevation of my spirit to something transcendental, and not ephemeral. Not necessarily a permanent refuge but even a momentary catharsis in the continuity of chaos.
Jan 2020 · 143
Separation/ 'Viraha'
Aneesh H Jan 2020
Bid not ye goodbye
For- you have not departed

Miss ye not me
For - We haven't grown apart

Look not for me
For - You have not lost me

Look ye, within thy heart
I am there, I am there!
Viraha: is the Hindi/Sanskrit word for separation, specifically the longing experienced by lovers. This has been the subject of many paens, poems and elegies through millenia till the present day!
Jan 2020 · 169
Blame me not! 'Madhura'
Aneesh H Jan 2020
Am I to be blamed,
If
your alluring eyes
Captivate mine
And my mind

And angels in Heaven
Unleash their wrath upon me
For ignoring them?


Your eyes have already said
What your lips struggle to withhold

Your eyes betray a sense of victory
Yet, little do you know
What my heart has won!

Or perhaps, it doesn't matter...?
Madhu, in many Indian languages means honey. Madhura is the feeling akin to honey, sweet, ageless, pure love. It is not a love that wants to barter for a gain or an aim. It is natural and selfless. Like Meera's love for Krishna.
True love is perhaps true salvation. It is rarest of the rare. It needs not validation by tradition nor a certification by custom. Yet, it is not immoral. It is pure. It is rare, hence sweet: like the nectar created by countless honey-bees through the labour of day and night.

— The End —