Why so blue?

I met with the most common question today, and I left with the same question. Why do I write dark and gloomy poetry? I was, for the first time without words and so was Jane (our beloved poet and critic). She asked me why?
It looked like a scene out of a Shakespearean tragedy, there was everything: A renowned poet, a wannabe poet and a common court jester who knew nothing of the poetry and yet thought she knew everything. I had no answer really, it was like being the mean bully who walks up to a kid with a pink balloon and is one pin prick away from innocent tears. Jane looked visibly hurt. “She fails She fails” I had written, then I wondered was I even right in giving her the poem. But for me it was a rescue line. Dark poets never WANT to write dark things, they just do because their creativity almost never manifests itself otherwise.

My words almost never think of anything else. Why didn’t I think of the pink dress in a party and saw the futility of a society’s desperate need to socialize instead? I would never really know the answer to that. No I don’t see the glass half empty, I find the beauty and opportunity in that emptiness.

I don’t believe I’m a hero of the melancholy on the contrary, the poem was meant to be a hand out to be rescued. Dear Jane, I don’t want to be the tortured poet who has tears in her eyes every time she writes a poem, who feels like she is stuck in a bell jar looking at the world every time there is a celebration of joy. Perhaps I want to be that little kid with the pink balloon. Perhaps I want a world of rainbows and sunshine and feel creative in such a world.

Somerset Maugham once wrote about how writers write because they want to, but he writes because he has to. Do I write because I have to? Or do I wait for the world to tell me a story? Do I find the dark corners everywhere because the light petrifies me? or do I try to find the beauty in the dark because THAT is a bigger challenge?

Who is the hero, the one who finds the silver lining when there is none or the ones that dance in the sunlight pretending darkness doesn’t exist??

Mrs. Dalloway : An ode to Virginia Woolf

She lives in empty rooms
she feels, she cries
she walks over shrouded tombs
she sighs as she walks away

Johnny left in spring
Little Mary didn’t see the winter
The house is in shambles
her hopes in splinters

Each stone seems special
adding weight to a soul
we’ll meet in purgatory, she thinks
the lake is just beckoning her more

The cold water pierces through
her heartless beats don’t last
It stabs like a thousand knives
It is on this cold October Sky
that Mrs. Dalloway breathes her last…

The Unknown Lover

He sits
in an open grave
his innocence sometimes sinfully craves
a morbid sense of love
who’d love him
if not her
the darkness of a hidden sky
she, who lives with a shadow
and a tear in the corner of her eye
He sits
perched on a grave
for the dismal joy
that comes in pain
who’d love him
if not her
the death of sound
she, who lives in silences
and for unknown music she dances
She is the unknown lover
a shroud, veil of secrets
the start of all of life’s mysteries
and the end of bleeding regrets..

An Evening of Cynicism

Our college had the pride of having played host to a good (not great) actor today. Farooq Sheikh at his point in time has had a marginal few roles he can really be proud of and yet at this age too he seems to be very exact as to where the mainstream Indian cinema should be. At the most, he just seemed to remind me of the millions (hope I got the demographic right) of old people who just keep complaining as to how the world has changed and “our values” have gone for a toss.

What values was he talking off? Weren’t his movies just as controversial and his comedy just as  slapstick as “some of the movies today”. At his best he just sounded like, I hate to say this – a forgotten artist taking his revenge, trying hard to relive the glory days.

This sort of got me thinking, are we ever going to grow beyond just trying so hard to capture attention. I mean look at the hypocrisy of it all. The man claims the movies these days lack conviction and goes ahead and acts in one of those very movies that overemphasizes the Indo-Pak relations (yes I was one of the 5 people who watched Lahore 🙂 )

Are artists really such huge hypocrites or are they (don’t want to join their club personally) just on a desperate journey of self realization? So desperate that they tend to forget that sometimes their cynicism can just be viewed as a little boy crying of a toy that was taken away from him. He could make us laugh then for his wit, now we just laugh for he is old and hates the world. Is there anything new and original he brought to us? No. He like the million other 50+ actors of the so called golden years just made us realize of three points:
1. We are all shallow and pathetic and vain
2. We hate the truth
3. This world of greed is soon gonna end!
Well, Mr. Sheikh for all your banter, I hate to tell you, I kinda already knew it. Why else would writers write in blogs no one reads and walk around pretending to laugh at the world while secretly dreading someone reads us and tells us we suck!