"curd" poems
The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.
And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world's tears,
And all the trouble of her laboring ships,
And all the trouble of her myriad years.
And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,
Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.
28.7k
And, you left me all alone,
left in such a silence that
I could't even believe you are about to leave.
You left an undefined scar in my soul and
my teardrops enchanted those memories we shared together
and laughed over them hours.
You went away in such silence
that all I could do is just NOTHING
but hearing you to mourn in such dogma.
Tears just drop by my cheeks and I just
wish you to come down and tell me,
"I am here, my darling,
Don't you worry child....
I can't ever leave you alone."
They said, life isn't fair, life is never trustworthy.
Now I see an feel that hard every night.
I never felt that I can't hear your voice anymore anytime sooner or later.
It all comes and goes....
what matters is the in-between time
you spend together by thick and thin holding on to each other.
You were lying on the bed when
I last saw you and there also you were fighting
to get over that period.
Remember? We laughed there too when you said
you had 26 milk pies and I strictly said,
"Get well soon Dadu. After you go home you will be having curd-rice and "Khichudi".
..... And God never wanted that to happen maybe.
After that you couldn't go back home,
you left this virtual world that very night after suffering so profusely.
You were 72 and I was 22;
but we never bothered about this algorithm.
There were healthy talks over he sunsets, over the pages of my sketchbooks.
You were my biggest inspiration and critique for every work; cause you
always questioned their existence and morality.
You always chanted honesty throughout your life and give me
strength, so that I can follow your path.
One day, you will be a proud grandfather who will be seeing my works getting recognised all around the world and then we will laugh together...
Me, from the terrace and
You, from that sky.
Come soon,
come in a disguise,
come as my soulmate,
come as my midnight friend.....
....... but come back, please.
because Payel misses your presence and laughter.
I will weep and bawl on my bed some nights,
knowing I can't see you anytime ever.
That heart-wrenching pain and undefined scar in my lotus-heart will bloom someday with your desired presence in my success and failure both.... I believe so.
I believe in you,
I believe in us.
Because, God snatched one of my biggest possession without even asking for it.
You have to come back.....
... and you will.
To those talks and platonic love,
you are being missed Dadu.
I wish, I had some digits to call you up just to ask,
if they are providing you with some spicy food or not.
LIVE FOREVER.
YOUNG HEART N SOUL.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Golden, crisp, buttery base
cups the lemon curd,
creamy, zesty-sweet and rich
silken on my tongue
Fluffy flower-crown
tips soft-brown
Hmm!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
My grandfather passed away on a dewy September morning;
About 17 years ago;
My grandmothers glass eyes still draw a picture of fright in front of me;
I remember as she sat silently for hours;
Cold , vulnerable;
As if she was robbed of her breath;
Since then she has sliced her life into two parts;
Before baba, after baba.
Yesterday as we sorted her cupboard;
Over hot chai;
I asked her about a saree;
" I think it was before baba" she says , like an unconditioned reflex , an involuntary knee ****
They don't teach you how to love like that anymore;
Love like this swallows dictionaries and renders meanings, meaningless;
It moves mountains and drowns rivers;
It spoons the hatred and vaults it.
My grandmother never went to school;
Even at 24 today, whenever I see her;
She presses a 500Rs note into my fist and asks me to buy something sweet for myself;
Last time she did that, she told me he taught her how to count money after they were married;
And to say words like "curd" and "rice";
Every year on his death anniversary;
She still cooks food for people;
With a metal rod holding the bones in her thighs;
And pressing the bleeding points of her psoriatic palms;
She keeps adding cards to her monument;
And remembers love;
Everyday;
In hushed muted tones;
In lemon pickles and measures of salt;
And in a way that stuns me the most;
Without even realising.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
On a sudden,
the sight.
Your look of light
stills all,
stills
all, The curd-pot
falls to the ground.
Parents and
brothers
all call a halt.
Prise out, they say,
this thing from your heart.
You've lost your path.
Says Meera:
Who but you
can see in the dark
of a heart?
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foisting up at the strop of yawn
i remark,
impared
at the bluffers worn
it is kildy and capy
i'm underly mistaken
i plonder on my clothing
and part the towd ranglings
blind are the dawnings
it's still a mite
at four gone the night
and more a tune til the mourning
i am blowtard and sworn
i mumble back to kibble
and a mount full of scorn
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
Birds jump to the branches
of trees at sunrise,
But in the morning man
wrestles with whys.
Why do there seem to be
too many cuckoos?
Why chirping so noisy
what are the clues?
In morning the sleep
descends from its core,
and chittering of pigeons
hurts a man more.
There is a lot of tension
and a lot of stress.
Working late at night is a
suffering a mess.
Yes fatigue on mind,
whenever Man feels,
At times, smoking or
drinking appeals.
At roaming late night
the cosmos retort.
A Reckless freedom is
not its support.
Be it testy coca-cola or
a pizza or a cake,
Nature always opposes
without a mistake.
The sweet, the chicken,
the fish, juicy curd,
The cosmos advises
that these are absurd.
While Orderly pattern is
nature's workforce,
But freedom is nature of
a man of course.
As many are options and
choices so gobs.
A Man and this nature
are always at odds
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 11:33 PM UTC
My country does not believe in equality.
It buys excuses for elitism and misogyny.
It covers up its greed and its brutality
And makes up ugly labels for decency.
My country sings its songs about freedom
But often denies it to those who need some.
It celebrates our heritage with beer and ***
And marches to the beat of a fascist drum.
My country was founded by nice words
Some of the finest man has ever heard.
Then shows the intelligence of a cattle herd;
And the social conscience of rotted bean curd.
My country labors under some illusions
That contribute to a national delusion
That fame will ultimately cure all contusions
And eradicate the effects of collusion.
My country thinks pretty people are sacrosanct
So, they let the beautiful load up their piggy bank.
We see reverence for the most egregious crank,
And have many of our countrymen to thank.
My country isn’t very good at followup.
It adopted the behavior of an untrained pup.
As long as it has its favorite pablum to sup
It will drink any poison that’s in their cup.
My country is this way, has been for too long
And if you disagree with the words of my song
Write your own treatise to try to prove me wrong.
For now I will keep on banging this protest gong.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
Milk rice curd and fish
brinjal chilli and gourd
not one item I would miss
not forget one word.
Mom would say write them down
so don't you leave anything
banana butter tea bread brown
a world of goods to bring.
I run on the way muttering those stuff
curd and fish fine tea
on my head they hit me rough
jumble my memory.
*The sky today is yawning blue
clouds sail like milky raft
in the wind is a drift of sweet brew
incense's misty waft!
Walk easy boy don't go so fast
aren't the birds on mystery flight
look up to see how in wind's gust
soared high in the sky the kite!
There's a crowd in charm of magic wand
a snake dancer with his wooden flute
brought bagful tricks from distant land
snakes caught from jungles remote!
On the playground is running a match
ball rolling from net to net
why not stop for some minutes' watch
keep brinjal and gourd on wait!*
The field is green trees' shade alluring
dreams come in bird wings' flap
milk rice curd now a distant thing
the boy takes a nebulous nap.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Aiyo I'll turn ya body into bean curd **** what you heard move the herd through my choice of words
Vocal chords Slashin' through billboards
Number one on the chart bullet accuracy sticking like darts flows part
The skies light to dark my rhymes'll park like Noah Arc chillin' on a fountain ain't no mountain
High enough call out any bluff who says their tough? Sniff crime call me McGruff leave a *****
Worse than a Iraq war fourscore my styles pour
All over the radio stations blood bath graphic wraths drawn from my mental graphs
Fools smile but I get the last laugh
Deaths makin' face now ya body trading places
With ya soul as it races
To the skyline no rewind ya legacy decline times is mine a barrier to the sun and shine
All day we grind while y'all remain inline my mic skills got me frontlined
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
bone traitor.
Skin viper
Edge Stealer
Ridge maker
Health reflector.
Mirror- you liar!
Rogue on the scale...
Signs that my brain has duped me;
Floating oily in the
Basin
Phantom aches
Blood test lies
Powdery remedies pressed almond abandon all cows
Bean curd body snatching
**** the doctor to get a clue
Girl in pain this isn't me so-
Who the hell are you?
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
Cold n cough,cold n cough,
very tough, very tough.
caught on 16th december
Amid cold and thick fog cover.
first made sore throat,
Then made nose tight.
In the night robbed rest,
That led to lose sleep the best.
Tried haldi-milk of grandma
But sleep was still away .
Tried tulsi kwath of mama
that led pass the night anyway.
In the morning nose started
Used the wife's formula of
Warm salty water gurggles
As sun started setting down
Cold n cough again grown.
Amid this called to daughter
She advised to go to a doctor.
Doc gave antibiotics n advised rest,
O my god what a bad taste.
You made recall four generations ,
You're great for those nice reasons.
Lack of sleep led introspection
That led scanning thought congestion
That is why thanks for coming,
For the reasons of my inner cleaning.
Forced to wear coat n jackets
Paving the way for hot snack- packets
Reminded me to stop sour & curd
Start milk ,cheese and bread.
One week surrendered to you,
But still I owe a lot of you.
Dress well and eat warm .
You would be whole year in form.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 4:39 AM UTC
There was a street of crocodiles
Somewhere far away
The floor was made of dark blue tiles
And everyone ate curd of whey
The plastic palm trees and electric sun
Made everything seem fake
Like in a second rate movie set
Where props would always break
The crocodiles cried a lot
They sold their tears in jars
Their tears were put in copper pots
And used as fueling for the cars
The crocodiles were all peace and love
They wore velvet on their legs
Spending the days singing Jethro Tull
Eating organic cage-free eggs
Miraculously in a day
They smoked ten pounds of ****
And soon enough they were pretty broke
Living on the street
This was the street of crocodiles
Somewhere far away
The floor was made of dark blue tiles
And everyone ate curd of whey
The plastic palm trees and electric sun
Made everything seem Fake
Like in a second rate movie set
Where props would always break
The crocodiles cried a lot
They sold their tears in jars
Their tears were put in copper pots
And used as fueling for the cars
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
Child, your cry reminds me of my pain
So intense, fruitless and without any gain,
In my mother's womb, I bled my last
Memories of me aborted angers me to lambaste.
I hoped to taste the joy of being born
And caressed like any other child's horn,
But mother did you ever love this child
To have denied him access to your guide?
Hope you gave me when you thought to bare this child
Little wonder I choose a mother like you as my guide,
What then went wrong to have my blood shed?
So innocent a child you gave me no chance to be loved.
On you alone, I placed all my hope and trust
In your womb I thought to avoid rust,
But mother did you hate me that much your own son
To have a harmless child suffer the scorch of abortion?
Mother, you gave me no reason for my crime
To have loved and chosen a mother like mine,
With your hands you murdered your own blood
Oh mother, why the cruelty on this child whom you never did curd?
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
Among the pale Elm trees, many things appease,
Like the glorious song of the Hummingbird.
I sit admiring the birds as I please.
The Evening’s blue fog wheels in Elm’s mystic leaves,
Hooting owl’s decibels sing loud and absurd.
Among the pale Elm trees, many things appease.
To feed sugars to the Bluebirds and the Bees,
I ravaged the branches and made lemon curd.
I sit admiring the birds as I please.
My ****** structure is sets of flattened lees,
Defying the winds, the winds, the winds that heard.
Among the pale Elm trees, many things appease.
In colonnades of wavering Ulmus trees,
I watch men’s mesh catching a baby Bluebird.
I sit admiring the birds as I please.
Up and come kill-tree mushrooms, all life forms seize
To fierce, teeth-tusks of ivory, undeterred.
Among the pale Elm trees, many things appease,
I sit admiring the birds as I please.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
An unintelligible verse,
Is worse than a curse.
A badly worded rhyme,
is a literary crime.
Instead of rhyming ‘bird',
With a word like curd,
Some people are plain absurd,
And will use lacquered.
Poetry is emotion,
Expressed through lines,
Not word commotion,
Going off like mines.
The rules of grammar,
Have to be in place.
So please don't anger,
The grammarian populace,
By confusing their and there,
And misusing you're and your,
And using any word anywhere,
And thinking your poetry is pure.
Big words make not a poet,
Hyperboles won't add to the meaning,
So when you poeticise please know it,
Short stanzas are more appealing.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
(This is a poem I wrote with a friend. Her lines are capitalized.)
THREE-LEGGED CHAIR
From start to finish
Never diminish
I ALWAYS TRY
I GIVE MY PLENTIEST
This I say
Sometimes I follow thru
That's me
What about you?
I DO WHAT I CAN
IS THAT ENOUGH?
SOMETIMES I WONDER
THOUGHTS...YEAH THEY'RE TOUGH
Don't forget to breathe
It's an always
And most underappreciated need
When everything seems wrong
Take time
To take time
To see the best
The pure
The beauty
Of being good
No one can be you
But you
WHEN TRYING ISN'T ENOUGH
WHAT DO YOU DO?
NOTHING IS GOOD ENOUGH
SHOULDN'T THAT BE A CLUE?
I SHOULD GET ONE
YEAH I KNOW
An ever attempt
At bettering reality
A step is a step
An attempt at betterness
To sate destruction
Never let it listen
To ********
Never give up
Ever
WE HAVEN'T
WE WON'T
WE CAN'T
WE HAVE HOPE
Don't be a dope
Always and forever
More than a chance
Sometimes
A dance
With possibility
Forever
Reality
LOOKING THRU THE WINDOW
STARING AT THE TV
ANYTHING I CAN
TO ESCAPE REALITY
I LIVE AND BREATHE
I TRY MY BEST
An attempt gives you strength
Because it's more than the rest
WORDS OF WISDOM
WORDS OF TRUTH
Actions
See what is being said
SOMETIMES IT'S THAT
THAT HURTS
EVERYONE DOESN'T NEED TO KNOW
ALL OF YOUR THOUGHTS
But if you keep the hurt to yourself
That's your fault
SOMETIMES TRUTH HURTS
THIS I KNOW
I'M AN ADULT
WE ALL HAVE ROOM TO GROW
No matter how much
We know
Or have learned
Stand up
To be loved
Or burned
IT TAKES HEART
TO HAVE THAT DONE
IT TAKES TIME
WE'RE ONLY ONE
PERSON
THAT IS
WE'RE NOT THE SAME
WE ALL FEEL DIFFERENT
WE ALL HATE PAIN
WE'RE ONLY HUMAN
WE ALL BLEED THE SAME
SOMETIMES LIFE *****
I WONDER
WHERE'S THE GAIN?
Humanity has survived
Up to this point
With or without a joint
Keep trying
Never lying
Breathe it
Live it
NEVER A LIAR
I KEEP MY WORD
IT'S NEVER BOUNCY
NOTHING LIKE A CHEESE CURD
Yeah, nerd
A bottle in a brown bag
Never is an
End
Until this one
How many times
Saying
Never again?
YOU WISH THIS WAS
THE ONE TO BE DONE
IT'S FUNNY
SO I'M NOT READY
TO STOP
THE CLOCK
THIS POEM
IS GOOD
SON
DON'T HATE
APPRECIATE
WE'RE SITTING HERE
PLAYING A GAME
Somebody won
Somebody lost
Hello and Goodbye
Always lost
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
****** on a bun
or bean-curd-veggie-burger?
The cows win—and lose.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
The words that are on my lips
Fall away like water beneath ships;
There is not a soul to give me tips
In this unfamiliar territory of pips.
I cannot utter a single word
To another person I'm like a bird,
Whose cries are far too high to be heard
Thus my insides begin to violently curd.
Under a rug my emotions have been swept
And only on certain nights have I wept,
All of my unruly doubts have leapt
Yet I still appear to be quite unkept....
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
I heard you were serving cookies.
We both know i'm a ginger snap.
Know you have a thing for coconut,
but by no means are you a ****
I was thinking Dutch Bokkenpootjes,
but when transcribed to Goat Feet - just won't due.
Ice cookie would bring ill fame,
Meringue too light,
Lemon curd too sour,
Oat meal too hardy,
I'm thinking chocolate reflecting your darker moods.
I think I have it!
Mint liqueur double chocolate.
Now, do I have your permission to eat you up?
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 12:48 PM UTC
You may look for me on Oxford Street
At dawn or dusk or night.
Or downtown where the down-and-outs meet
To drink and sleep and fight.
You may catch my shadow lurking on the curb
In the rainy middle-class suburbs.
(You’ll be chewing on the cud and on the curd,)
And they’ll all think you quite absurd,
And pass you by without a word
Without a care.
You won’t find me.
No, I’m not there.
You might get a glimpse at sundown
Of me and The Sundance Kid,
Riding onto Cape Town,
Or sliding through Madrid,
Or stealing through the byways of Turin –
Winking at the bottom of your glass of bitter gin,
Breathing through your window, on your skin,
Guessing what I think, just like a twin
But I swear,
You won’t find me,
No, I’m not there.
Chase my name to the horizon
Or the shores of Timbuktu;
Just be sure to keep your eyes on
Those two feet in-front of you.
I’ll be biting at your heels,
The stinging citrus scent of the fruit you peel,
The whirling hub of your bicycle wheel,
The hassock you fall upon when you come to kneel
In prayer.
But you won’t find me,
No, I’m not there.
Do not think that I will answer
When you ask or shout or call.
The figure of the folk dancer
Will not be me at all.
I’ll be the one that you’re not looking at,
Sitting in the place where you just sat,
Wiping from my face what you have spat,
Sleeping in every dark empty pocket of every new coat that
You wear.
Oh, you won’t find me,
I’m not there.
In every crowd and every gathering
You will turn around to see
That where I am not standing
Is not where you want to be.
Somewhere between you waking and your sleep
I swim the deepest secrets that you keep,
Silently catching the tears you weep,
In the kitchen cooking the food you eat
Minding what you sow you reap!
I am one step ahead of a sentient sweet
And fair.
But you will not find me.
I am not there.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Ginger nuts, melted butter
crunchy, sweet base chills
Lemons squeezed, zest grated
sugar, cream cheese, whisk!
Pale gold cream on base
Drizzle curd
Mmmh!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Shrouds glinting
Spirits flickering
The dead being raised
The sacrifice is placed.
For the pain a soul carries
Only her sweet mother marries
Sons and fathers though, unite
In the glory of the horror night.
Wine glasses clinking
High peasants blinking
Doomsday is arriving
With them men not realizing.
Further down the hill
Where all hell kills
The dragon awaits
The forests set ablaze.
What's left are the stones
They tell stories worth the tones.
Hurriedly arranged in cabinets
Then left for the joy of lunch next.
I lingered a while longer and smelled the dirt
The blood on that shirt
Rotten wine on the curd.
And I sigh off the pie.
It made me realize
We are merely an ant long
And yet we strive for a mile.
What shall happen in this Halloween rite
Is definitely a mystery worth the while.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
Eat this poem
Savor its taste
Feel it on your tongue
Then swallow without chase
Take this poem in
Digest its every word
Take apart its meaning
Don’t let it curd
Absorb this poem whole
For it is as it is
Give it life
And meaning
Simply let it in
And then let this poem go
It may linger for a while
But let it flow like the river
Now, say your goodbyes
Apr 10, 2022
Apr 10, 2022 at 3:11 PM UTC
Mr Pig rose from his chair
His tummy full of crackers and cheese
He’d polished off another éclair
And wiped the cream from his knees.
Mr Duck was devouring cheesy strings
And a sandwich crammed with ham
He’d got lemon curd caked in his wings
And his beak was smeared with jam.
Mr Pig was in a daydream
Thinking of something sweet
Perhaps some juicy cherries and cream
Topped with chocolates and wheat.
Mr Pig retired to his sty
He had become quite ill
Mr Duck knew the reason why
And told him to stay still.
He asked Mrs Hen for advice
While Mr Pig counted sheep
Mrs Hen said he was paying the price
But nursed him while he was asleep.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC