History

History, peeping coyly through the windows of far forgotten forts, palaces and temples.
Doubtful of how it is remembered, how it is twisted, how it is altered to attract and serve tourism.

Looking with pride at the palaces and forts standing their ground for centuries.
Awed by the river that once embraced and blessed all, now swallowing sins of people. Worshipped, for soul cleansing, while choking her.

Remembering the tenderness with which the sculptors chiselled each design. Caressing, worshipping each goddess they carved out of stone.
Recalling the rustle of the silk skirts of Queens, following their feet. Soft, tender, adorned with heavy tinkling anklets.


The reverbrating sound of the brass bell at the entrance of the temple. Recollecting the fragrant, colourful flowers she offered  with her eyes closed and soul awake, pure, in reverence.

Remembering the blinding reflection of swords shining mercilessly in the first light of the Sun.
The Sun, the sword's metal and water of river turning into gold alike.

How it was, how it is remembered now. How was it written by whom? How it was kept true and intact, how it was changed!

History, like an old lady remembers helplessly, peeping through the windows of palaces, forts and temples.

Gold in the Ganges

A friend of mine, while visiting Varanasi, was posting photos on Instagram.She was telling many stories through her pictures. I happened to borrow  one of her stories and a picture.



Little girl always drew rivers, with the Sun rising in the East.
She drew boats sailing, fishermen rowing, not worried in the least.

Painted pictures but by imagination, used reds and yellows.
Blues of the water, boats always black, in the shadows.

Grew up, restless, looking for calm.
Travel seemed to her like balm.

Wanderlust pulling and pushing.
Mighty rivers always calling, inviting.

So..which legend to cruise on, better than the Ganges?
Capturing childhood paintings in real life,
with strokes of melted gold in the Ganges.

Photo Credits Go To Ruchira Asthana.

Skyscrapers

 The most striking thing about this photograph is,  it looks like a painting. The buildings are reflecting the colours of the setting Sun in a surreal way. The skyscrapers look like people with their arms up trying to hold the sky. I did not have to write the poem, it came to me.

Like Atlas, they stand tall, holding the sky with their arms.

Like giant chameleons, they change colours, from dawn till dusk with  dancing shadows.

Like diamonds, they glitter, in the neckline of Hudson.

Like warriors, they hold their ground, no matter how the weather.

Winter, Summer, Spring , fall; they have seen  everything and  suffered all.

Clustered together like spears of Gods, are the skyscrapers of New York.

Photography Credits Go To Shaishav Agarwal.