The Unadorned

My literary blog to keep track of my creative mood swings with poems n short stories, book reviews n humorous prose, travelogues n photography, reflections n translations, both in English n Hindi.

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I'm a peace-loving married Indian male on the right side of '50 with college-going children, and presently employed under government. Educationally I've a master's degree in History, and another in Computer Application. Besides, I've a post graduate diploma in Management. My published works are:- (1)"In Harness", ISBN 81-8157-183-5, a poetry collections and (2) "The Remix of Orchid", ISBN 978-81-7525-729-0, a short story collections with a foreword by Mr. Ruskin Bond, (3) "Virasat", ISBN 978-81-7525-982-9, again a short story collection but in Hindi, (4) "Ek Saal Baad," ISBN 978-81-906496-8-1, my second Story Collection in Hindi.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Tweaking Poetry

A poem should come of its own and that's the best thing to expect. If it doesn't then what's the second best course open? I remember I have read it somewhere: to prevent a writer's block setting in one should write, just go on writing at random. Something nice eventually comes out of such flippancy. And what about a poem? It's true as far as I can feel. Like the way I composed this poem. Suddenly I felt the burden of my work was taking me away from my muse. I should slog if I meant survival. So this poem came out as a survival instinct--word by word fell into their places after a lot of tweaking and a lot of polishing. Did I do justice to the idea I originally thought to express? My answer is funny--I really had no idea as I started! It came like the words themselves. Could there be a meaning at the end such sloppy endeavour? Let the poem speak for itself.

The Green Gardener

To deserve every whiff of fragrance
that wafts across to you
Live near the garden and love it too
Love its cool green and damp foliage
Its messy brambles and its zigzag trails.

Fresh and charged, when you are
In the morning after your beauty sleep
Just spend your moments there
along those aimless strides
Tending and praising those stirring buds
Eager to open and cheer the yard.

They'll wink at you, the souls mischievous
With their suggestive movements but inane nods
Fed on dew drops and stroked by breeze
Out of their dreamy snooze they're indeed frisky
Look, look at them but give no touch
They are born to endure just that much.

Surely, they'd make you happy
But how far can they go?
Living for others is a burden onerous
And no happiness could be a daily chore
The petal would wither and fragrance would fade
But the demands remain and where's the end?

I know you're not the one
to vie for their life's blood
Safe in your care they'd enjoy the sport
Smile and giggle until the sunset
and linger with friends until it's late
And return to their bed with no bad scars
And go to sleep with the twinkling stars.
A. N. Nanda



Blogger prakash said...

this is prakash.i will take time to go through the blog in seems to be intresting
wiht warm regards

9:30 PM  
Blogger A_N_Nanda said...

Thanks, Prakash, I'll look forward to your encouragements.

2:23 AM  

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