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 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
Jill
Standing wild-violet-timid in careful shoes, I collapse into Monday.

My internal weather is spiky with low-level nausea. Brain fog, mind-cloudy at first, with a high chance of precipitation across the afternoon. Externally, the settling cold front will bring morning squalls before a high-pressure system arrives in the early evening.

Difficult to know what shoes are needed  
for this day, this time,

let alone what armour, masks, and steel
with this climate, this energy...

Hard to predict what will be stored in memory
by this mind, this brain...

This questionable,
yet seldom questioned,
recording of events,
from my flawed perspective only...

Should I attempt to trust myself today?
The answer neither clear nor confident
Instant reflex shoulder shrug
With gaze-avoiding fizzy nerves
A patent hint that I may be
    a trifle less than competent

What lens will shape my history today?
And will it light me kindly or in glare?
When my parts construct the story
Hope they break it to me gently
But I know that my track record
    not-so-subtle hints beware
  
If my brain detects a glimpse of faults or glimmers of malfeasance,
it will use these torts to make the case that I deserve all grievance
from a host of inner parties with a wavering allegiance
the impedance to agreeance is a tendence to vehemence, so

How will I use the playback from today?
I could use it well in kindness or in pain
With the re-runs stealing airtime
From productive contemplation
I could use it as more proof that
    I should not have trust again…

Tomorrow, I will wear my security boots, with stronghold socks.
©2024
 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
Àŧùl
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself...

If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure?

While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building.

He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all.

° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed.
° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule.
° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal.

But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death.

But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: *Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
Sorry Shahjahan's admirers, his love's sympathizers, people with softer views towards such love & romance.
But I believe that such people are just confused in their lives.
My idea of love isn't just that ideal.
My HP Poem #222
©Atul Kaushal
 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
Àŧùl
Come to a garden of roses with me,
Serene it is fuller with roses to see,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.

We shall not try to pluck any roses,
For the thorns dissuade any poses,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.

We can't sit guarding the flowers,
Very busy in our mini lives we're,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.

I'll set-up a flaming ring of fire,
Seeking fine protection for them,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.


Let's care for the roses as if our,
As if our little & young children,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.

To help us get them blue & red,
Give them all suitable nutrition,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.

Their presence is eye-pleasing,
We let them be in our garden,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
***************************************
My HP Poem #178
© Atul Kaushal
 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
Àŧùl
When I was recovering,
I used to get false sensations,
To urinate and I got illusions.

I thought that my parents were ghosts,
And so was I in hell under many pains,
That was whilst I was recovering.
My HP Poem #754
©Atul Kaushal
 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
Àŧùl
Oh how calmly she sleeps,
Carefree she always seems,
Wish she gets sweet dreams.
So glorious is her face always,
I wish her all the happiness,
All in the hue of brightness,
None equals her cuteness.

Oh hope never she weeps,
Clarity she wears in deeps,
With time get the -ve wiped,
Such the cutest nature heaps,
I'll be her guardian forever,
At heart Atul is just a loner,
Not just now - but forever.

Only by respecting my love for her,
A clear old identity is rediscovered,
I'm known as Atul Kaushal for a cause,
Singing hymns to my magical love,
Ignoring all those distractions,
And I am happy being with her,
Nirvana comes just for us.
My HP Poem #870
©Atul Kaushal
 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
Àŧùl
If one day in the imaginary ideal future,
We get stuck by the rocky Konkan beach,
And not even a decent sand bed is there,
To you for resting my body I shall offer.

Waiting for the tourist bus back we talk,
Tired we are from taking the sunny walk,
The evening the sun we wish will balk,
Our neo-natal plans together we chalk.

We shall sit on the bench by the beach,
You'll then rest your head on my side,
In comforting you I will bear much pride,
About being one forever we did decide.

Then you will soon sleep in the evening,
I will watch our hands and even the ring,
Angel on my shoulder you'll be sleeping,
And me??? Oh, I'll just be calmly smiling.

The baby bump is now visible so happily,
I'll think of unique names for the baby,
Basis of our relationship is really lovely,
The healthy baby will be so very chubby.
The most cherished dream of mine in which I visualize myself and my ultimate lover.

My HP Poem #829
©Atul Kaushal
 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
Àŧùl
All such stuff is only a myth, right?
Why else would women be forsaken?
Is having periods a grave sin, really?

Their God is just a fantasy, right?
Why else will God forsake Its kids?
The real God is sleeping, isn't It??

God could be a female too, right?
Why assign a gender to God then?
Is God so weak, kidding right???
Read about some ridiculous places of worship recently.

My HP Poem #923
©Atul Kaushal
 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
Àŧùl
So aged he is, but still so zealous for his job.
It feels like he has only known his rickshaw.
The ancient bard in him tells Punjabi poems.
He belies his wrinkles as he pedals his ride.
Just putting to shame his fellow rickshaw pullers.
None remembers or even cares to know his name.
He just pedals and remembers his deceased wife.

He told me a Punjabi tale of partition...

"We were really happy when it happened,
I was 16 and married to my beautiful wife,
But then he pressed for a separate Pakistan,
Just so much wicked was this demand of his,
Punjab was alight due to some people's doing,
We were to cross river Ravi en route to Amritsar,
In Lahore my childhood home was burnt to ashes,
My beautiful wife was still so young at that time,
She was ***** on the banks of river Ravi & killed,
In no cloth was she draped as they burnt her body,
After pouring whiskey all over her lifeless body."


His voice broke and a stream of tears escaped,
Down his eyes they flowed like the river Ravi,
"In front of my two eyes the men had ***** her,
Her mistake? Looking at them once & smiling,
Sin as great to be punished by such brutal drab?
What God, Ishwar or Allah did they follow?
I have known all & none advocates ****,
To which parents could they born?
Must be the devil & the witch."


By now his nose was red and his sobs audible.
He said, "She was not just *****, she was also killed,"
The ancient rickshaw puller gasped for breath as he said,
"Would the high heavens thank them for killing my wife,
She was a Hindu and an idolater with my mangalsootra,
Why they spared my life I have no idea but just remorse,
Will their Allah or God spare them on Doomsday?"

==============
And Google knows who pressed for a separate Pakistan in the name of communal majority.

My HP Poem #813
©Atul Kaushal
निजता को
यदि बचाना है
तो कीजिए एक काम।
मोबाइल तंत्र से
प्रतिदिन
कुछ घंटों के लिए
ले लीजिए विश्राम।
ताकि तनाव भी
तन से दूर रहे,
निज देह में
नेह और संवेदना बनी रहे।
 Nov 2024 Vanita vats
ZACK GRAM
By size we already won
Why do tiny states count more..
They got less money
Less land
Less votes
Were going to fix this tonight...
Trump
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