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Jul 2013 · 1.6k
Autumn Harvest
Milind Phanse Jul 2013
Words, once obedient servants
Now claim suzerainty over ideas.
The age of meaningful verse has yielded
To gobbledygook.

Poetry, a grey mist half-understood
Through which I stumble blindly,
A mirage I chase through the sands...

The wells of creativity run dry.
Neither outpourings of emotion nor tender murmurs;
Mere craftsmanship remains.
Lines dolled up in ****** baubles
Literary ******, soliciting passing readers,
Fireflies, impotent
In the face of the darkness within.

The autumn harvest of verbosity is ripe
For the scythe of the Grim Reaper
Jul 2013 · 1.1k
The pen goes dry
Milind Phanse Jul 2013
I long for your cooling embrace
After the relentless flames of the world;
Give me repose, Mother Ganga, for I come to your arms as ashes.     1
Increasingly irksome was the mortal garb,
And the silken ties too tight.


The skein has unravelled,
And I am one with the sky and the stars,
Those symbols of eternity;
Have left behind mortal playmates, fickle emotions...

My pen sobs
And I lack the courage to speak the truth,
To let it know
That it has finally run dry, and I, empty.
Words fail me, like the 'Brahmastra', at vital moments.       2
Perhaps I, too, carry the curse
Of some Bhargava ?       *2
1: "The river Ganga is highly revered in Hindu culture. Referred to as Ganga Mata or Ma Ganga ("Mother Ganga"), the Ganga is not merely a river to Hindus, but rather a Goddess whose divine purity cleanses all the past sins and karma of anyone who washes themselves with her waters, aiding their path towards liberation. Ganga plays a very important role during the death of a Hindu. As her water is believed to free one's soul from all past sins and karma, Hindu pilgrims will travel long distances to immerse the ashes of their loved ones in her waters to allow the deceased to move on, peacefully and smoothly, from this world."
http://goo.gl/Oq5Sw

2: http://goo.gl/FTPvB
Apr 2012 · 4.6k
Window
Milind Phanse Apr 2012
I sit by the window looking out
And see myself reflected
Outside the glass looking in.
Reality and illusion facing off -
Or is the window the only reality
Separating two ghosts;
Or perhaps imprisoning just the schizoid singularity
Of a self-absorbed existence?
A Rowlingesque Hogwartian mirror showing
My heart's deepest desire - myself -
A true inheritor
To the mantle of Narcissus
Oct 2011 · 1.2k
The Nests of Nandigram
Milind Phanse Oct 2011
Is it my imagination
Or are there far fewer birds singing ?
What dawn do they mutely await
Through the long night of terror ?
Silence speaks of pervasive fear
And of the loss of ancestral nests.

The protector has taken an axe to the trees.
Trees fall; the earth shakes.
Raucous cries of dispossession supplant birdsong
As the khaki-clad hunters *** sitting ducks
While Zeus' swans feast on Leda's flesh.

Rejoice, my countrymen, for the prophecy has come true
-The state has indeed withered away.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nandigram_violence
Oct 2011 · 856
A long way to twilight
Milind Phanse Oct 2011
It's a long way to twilight
With the day refusing to die.
The fiercely beating sun digging his heels in,
Dogged in retreat;
The stars and the moon bashfully hidden
Behind the veil of his blazing glare.

The sky cloudless, no impediment
To the spears of his incandescent beams;
The road, barren, tree-less.
Only the shrubbery of razor-sharp pebbles underfoot,
Kin to the cacti
Without even the saving grace
Of their greenness.

It's a long way to twilight
And the day refuses to die...

— The End —