Song of a Hippie

1:15 AM

Moments of reality strike in patterns, 
When expressions run low
& expectations look beyond...

Silence has its own way of speaking
The rhythm with which the rains fall
Parched souls & overjoyed hearts, all alike

The last drag of the joint the hippie inhales
In the forest of his desires
While his senses meander.. Searching 
For the fruits of freedom
From his fears in the prison of his making, 
From his acquired faith in the garden if his memories

Moments of reality are like 
The last spark of a bonfire 
Oblivious of its burnt glory
Raging on as the rain drops touch them
First in spurts, then pounding its spirits

The stars in the sky have seen all for a night..
Sky becomes a canvas where the storm clouds
Create patterns if reality 
The songs of a hippie start...



Ashk snippet - I

8:06 PM

She used to ask me often,

'You are a poet, an author. Why don't you ever describe my love? Not me..
But the way I love. Not the way we make love..
But the feeling that my love is..

Why don't you tell me if I am a storm or the gentle patter of the rains? No actually..
Not me, my love.. What's it's character to you?
Does it remind you of the constantly restless, unsettled desires & inquisitiveness of the Renaissance?
Or is it like the after shower of dust post an air-raid in World War II?
Or is it the rage, despair and audacity of the World War itself?

Why don't you ever write about the anchoring emotion of my love's personality?
Is it like a wild fire, or does it incite in you
the feel of touching the surface of the lake?
Is it grounded as a serene meadow besides a stream
or as flamboyant as a thunderstorm?

Does it smell like a crowded city night,
or like the sultry afternoon on a sea shore?
What taste of fear does it have? Like entering a volcano or a cyclone?'

And so she used to often ask me....

- Ashk


The Creaking Chair Part VI

8:57 PM

Creaking Chair Part VI

24 June 1999

It was one of those days which was tiring..
Not physically of course..that’s the usual story every day at my age
It was exhausting mentally.. and I somehow feel just as drained as in the year 1967
And I am glad some things in life never change
Like standing under the cold water shower for a long time
As Manu used to say, ‘as the drops run through your head to toe, it drains away your thoughts’

I still remember that day I took the plunge..
One of the hottest Summer we had seen was ending in June
And my father was fuming with rage watching me pack my bags
My mother was equally troubled … but with emotions much more mellow than my father’s
His was rage filled with concern … hers was concern filled with a sinking sorrow
And there was I, in my late 20’s … as rebellious as my grand-daughter today is in her early 20’s..
That’s what they call Generation Gap I guess

Did you feel a sudden edge in my tone there?
At least I thought so.. I think I could imagine the flaring of the nerves on my temples..
Oh boy.. I was angry that day..
After all what use is youth if not for foolish choices & ill-tempered decisions..
And so I looked one last time into his eyes, and there was this slight tinge of plea
But his vanity was too tall a wall for it to spill over..
And my blood was too young to see through the wall..
Today Manya signed up for the Army..
She says Navy & Air-force is just a façade to brag about gender equality
She wants to test her metal where it is the hardest to endure..
Her personal endurance test she says…

Of course, I did not counsel my Grand-daughter on her choices
I have learned my lessons in time..
And so shall she..
I only hope and desire them to be good, or bad but not horrific
And of course Kamal is agitated at me for not taking his side
But all he can do is sulk .. and not complain
Certain privileges I get with age on my side..

Though I doubt he would set up the lights
For the badminton in the backyard tonight…
I find it difficult to sleep without that hour of cheering..

P.S. -  Though angry my father never reproached me for my decision to take a 2 year break from my job & to go on a Solo trip round the world..The only regret I have is not sending him postcard from Alaska, his favorite destination.. (somewhere in the December of 1968 I guess)

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