Skip to main content

Memorable Drink

Come, now for this Memorable drink;
We're now on the tip; We're now on the brink;
Hear me while - there's some music - I'm unplaying
Unsaying some things;
Be with me - there's some rain - I'm undrinking
Unthinking I've really been;
How we walked along hillsides,
How we walked for miles and miles;
Silently - How we witnessed hatred and love;
Holding on to every sunkissed treasure from above;
Many births, many deaths; And that music of breaths;
Did we ever understand; The strength of our land;
How we started to grow; But now I've come to know;

There's really no way up which we go;
This is all that there is. And this is so.

All creases that were - Have started to smooth;
All stings - all burns have begun to now soothe;
And the web - of this magic - is now deeper;
Steeper it seems;
Though not new, just as pure, just as sure;
I am of every dream;
How this novelty subsides;
How the world shows its sides;
Silently - Come with me, stop -
Some time in the shade;
Hold on to colors that will -
Never now fade.
Through this one last glance;
Now assume a whole dance;
Hear the shimmer of wind chimes;
Tap your feet, now to time;
Let this drink, for once, flow;
Now I have come to know;


There's really no way up which we go;
This is all that there is. And this is so.

- Nachiket Kelkar + Me

Popular posts from this blog

लाल वस्तू

महाराजबागेतल्या गुंजेच्या झाडाखाली आईबरोबर बसून घालवलेल्या संध्याकाळी गुंजेचा पाला खाताना गुंजा वेचून, गोळा करून, घरी आणून सजवताना तशाच लाल गुंजांसारखे मखमली किडे पाळताना, त्यांना पावसाळ्यात पकडताना त्यांचा पाला गोळा करताना त्यांना लाजून गुर्फटताना बघताना, आईला दाखवताना मला थोडेच माहिति होते की हे अनुभव, आणि ह्या आठवणी कधी अशृ होतील आणि लाल शर्ट घालून त्या पावसाळ्याची आज तहान भागवावी लागेल

dumb tweets

are dumb tweets poetry? those about comical self deprecation? those about absurdity of lunchtimes the absurdity of predetermined systems the shit that is the economy the shit that is self preservation of social groups and the shit that is my period. aren't these the footsteps of revolutions built upon the personal that is the political a naked lump of clay - the self that has no rights without its body and identifiers. weren't the beats just writing tweets words, that fill up the spaces in empty cultural discourse a space for, a valence towards charged and electric words ionic words words that seem appropriate words in a new absurdist language a torrent, a warm current of intercontinental symbolically void and poisonous words. that live for a small slice like us and cicadas, chirp and die.

plant cuttings

 i am jealous of the seven plant cuttings that i got from my friend one sunday afternoon - a succulent called vicks that smells like a camphor some spotted snake like leaves a chain like cascade with cardoid leaves some needed to be cut exactly somewhere for the severed roots to understand they cannot sprout as leaves on the underside that they are needed to draw water that they used to be something that function is something to perform not something they were. all this for houseplants that wouldn't survive a day in soil outside i perhaps send my hands in this soil hoping they will become roots and my ears someday become leaves.