Afleveringen
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We are often given chances in life to go beyond ourselves. These could be random happenstances, things which only we notice, and which we may choose to ignore - or not. If we pay attention and choose to clutch at those moments and do something tiny, unwittingly we invite, if not the appreciation at least a nod, from the universe. Maybe nothing changes, maybe nobody notices, but hereās the thing - we change, in tiny degrees but enough to shift something inside us. The quietness in this is important, the element of shy boldness is a prerequisite, the lack of noise is a given. We should do, we should move on. So, what does this unheralded, unspoken of, often unnoticed, act do to us? I think, apart from the loud gifts of DNA bestowed onto us, we are also a growth of things we do, an amalgam of all the traces left behind in us of the deeds we do stolidly or impulsively. But something shifts inside us. Something tell us - we are better for it.To be a good human being does not need headlines or acknowledgment, as it is sufficient in itself. And this goodness radiates out, and people who know nothing of it, also wonder and gravitate towards this basic element which shines through. Because this is a secret which nobody can see but everyone can sense. And makes people dip into their better selves. The fire grows, as it were, with just a sense of the flame. And the world is a better place for it. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on good deeds which fall on us like soft rain - A Legacy of KindnessMaybe, a Little KindnessWhy We Should be Happy with Berry Jam on Table Edges
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Artemis by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/6934-artemisLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license&String Impromptu Number 1 by Kevin Macleod -
There is nothing worse than politics dividing family. I have seen people develop distaste for their dearest and closest because of being on opposite sides of the political divide. Something which is (mere) belief, takes on an expanded definition to include a commentary on character, and acts as an unsubstantiated and unsavoury revelation. And with astonishment we exclaim āWhat! You support ā-?ā As if it was the ultimate excretion and misdemeanour. In the city I stay in, everybody is a political guru. Some emotionally, and some after study and observation. And it often becomes a battle of belief vs intellect. And conversations and emotions go haywire. And become deeply divisive. And being a highly political nation, where as a people we consume (and practice) politics with gusto, finding someone close being not even close to our political beliefs is dismaying - and often unacceptable. How, then, can a conversation not be a battle? How can we not conclude that the other is at best insensitive or at worst a cretin (kreet n)?The hypocrisies are inherent in the premise. All dining table discussion on politics are nothing more than air. We criticise with the depth of our beings, lean left whilst having expensive wine, talk of one god whilst deeply suspicious of anotherās religion.How much do our politics - and religion - diminish us, how it makes our worst define us, how much something which is nothing more than a reaction to headlines makes us be judgemental of the ones closest to us. In a life which is so short, and so completely beautiful, we deliberately lean into what we think defines us, when at best it is an amorphous state - changing as we understand more, read more, feel more, see more.We bring tragedy merely because we give importance to the transient. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of how politics adn religion determine our lives - In Search of a GodMr Hoskote, have you visited Kashmir recently?The Tragedy of the Other
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Liberty Quest by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/293-liberty-questLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Heavens Gate by Frank Schroeter -
Zijn er afleveringen die ontbreken?
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We live multiple lives. Each one of us have variations, but everyday our paths fork out. And we move from the secure to the stormy; from standing naked to being armoured; from garnering the blessings of the universe to ploughing through the detritus of the denizery. Often we are able to navigate this transition in the simplest way possible - we remain the same in every world, raw and uncluttered, ready to take the blows for being us. But more often then not, we tweak our selves to the scenarios in front and archetypes expected, to fit in, to flit through, without too much damage to the world or ourselves. But itās not always easy, definitely not for the sensitive soul, which wants to remain true and get by peacefully. And I say to such people - go gently, be true. For there is a reward at the end of every struggle to fit in or not - to be recognised for being authentic. And the universe invariably converges its rewards towards such people, albeit slowly, dreadfully so. I learned to stay in two worlds as two people for a long time. And it was extremely strenuous apart from being incontrovertibly inauthentic. Until I could no longer be what I was not. I have no memory of the inflection point, the moment when something inside me said āI will implode.ā But I dropped pretences. And I lost friends. And I got peace. I seeked lesser commitments, I could speak my mind with ease, I could say no with complete peace of mind, and I walked guiltless. The drainpipe of my worlds became a bridge, and both my worlds converged into one. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the struggles we face in our daily lifes - I Like The Ordinary LifeWhat Stretches in FrontThe Passing of Autumn
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Misty lights by Rafael KruxMelodic Interlude Two by Alexander Nakarada -
They say, in actuality, there are only two kinds of people in the world - fighters and survivors. I have often thought about this grim prognosis of life, and without attributing anything dire to it, I really think it is close to truth. In seeking acceptances, we often have to struggle with the true us and the version the world wants to see. Because we are first a subset of a larger expectation before we start to even begin to be our own person. The corollary to this is often the complete abdication of lives. Most often to parents, soon enough to partners - husbands, lovers. We are first loved for what we are, and then are given a larger acceptance only if we confirm to their idea of us. If we waver from there, try to become something which is truly us, if we protest, we have to face consequences. It could start from emotional appeal, transcend to consequences, end in incarcerations of all kinds. We often seek refuge, escapes; clutch at straws, good hearts; and find ourselves giving into patterns. One prison for another, as it were. Unconsciously we build shackles inside of us. Without realising we have become our own prisoners. Which becomes difficult to break out of. There IS redemption. Alas, it comes with a high price - shame, isolation, death. Often even unconditional love is not enough, as it it riddled with complex past archetypes, windmills of the confounded mind, as it were. We are finally of ourselves, suicidally jettisoning this one wondrous life. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems talking about our relationship with parents - My Mother is Full of Water and Ready for SonographyMother's Rambling Lessons on Life Imparted in Morning Walks in my ChildhoodTea-a-Tete with Mum & Dad
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Yesteryears (DECISION) by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/244-yesteryears-decisionLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
I went to Varanasi a few weeks back, and spent time wandering the lanes, in temples, on the ghats, sitting beside the river. I was a non-sequitur: a non-believer in a holy city, amidst people who had the name of god continuously on their lips. And I saw holiness and ordinariness mesh in seamless ways. Almost like a message that a spiritual search did not entail you to be anything other than what you are - messy, complex, confused. Because that is where every journey begins. Varanasi is special because unlike other holy cities - Vrindavan, Assisi, Ujjain, Vatican - it is not a mere destination - it is the beginning of a journey. Thatās why itās co-existence as a city of chaos and one of silences, gives it a sense of transcendence. Because that is what, if you really think about it, true religion is all about. It starts with belief, not cynicism; it has intimations of doubt, bouts of questions, dollops of scientific inquiries. And the only reason a person persists is because she knows there are too many questions which the normal human experience cannot answer. And in the space of the unexplainable, we find what seems like the miraculous. We can accept it as grace, and move in our lives with a sense of utmost gratefulness. Or we can give it a name. God. The Unexplained. Mystery. Maybe - mother. In whatever way we find the Unknown, Varanasi is an immersion. With or without the holy dip. It will never leave you unaffected, unmoved or unscathed. Varanasi will hurt you - even as it holds you, heals you, makes you its own. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of the holy - Windblown OmCapturing the FeelingWhen the Goddesses Depart
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Lockdown by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/7658-lockdownLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Strange New Worlds by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/10369-strange-new-worldsLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
Whenever I see couples getting hitched, I say a silent prayer of thankfulness. Because every day the couple has a ringside view of each other, of things which they say and do. They crack a small joke, they fulfil small wishes, they stop someone from stumbling, they secretly make someoneās favourite dish,they listen with their bodies, they stand beside the window and see the morning sun drop on the floor. We all need someone in our lives who can see us for what we are, way beyond what the world sees us, as someone made of greatness and grime, someone who is beautiful and ugly at the same time. Someone who sees us as selfish and doesnāt turn away, someone who recognises the smallest gesture as generosity and embraces us for that. To be ready to be a couple is to be with each other, through the massive and the minute, to know we can be huge in tumult and small in celebration, and still not turn away, because we have promised to take each other as we are. To know that we have the capability to accept way beyond what we can dream of. Because we are privileged to be the witnesses of the lives our lovers lead. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of love as a thing to be witnessed - Coming to Your Side of the BedLetting Go (because I'm alive)The Things We Become When We Leave
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Sensitive Cinematic Romantic by Musiclfiles -
We are such carriers of burdens. We have nothing to lose, but we carry the weight of such unnecessities. In the end, irrespective of what the Pharaohs believed, we have to leave everything behind. Which then probably is the only time we truly travel light. But here we are - seducing, desiring, acquiring - and if not for things, we are busy burdening ourselves with myriad feelings, emotions which we should have experienced and moved on from, felt and unfelt, tasted, remembered and then forgotten. But such is our blind-sightedness for immortality, our instinct to persevere and our desire of acquiescence, that we give the halo of permanence to the things which are most ephemeral. And therein lies the deepest cut. Because much more dangerous than the quicksand of useless acquisitions is the accumulation of feelings. And how little do we know how to handle those. It is never our passage through emotions that is deleterious, it is our staying in those emotions which creates havoc. Because thatās when we ponder and speculate and conjure - and invariably think of the worst. Much more than the action which precipitates our feelings, it is our continual analysis which brings about fractures in relationships. We have to learn to live through passing storms of ties, be swirled, tossed around, battered, but then to survive and move back into the warmth of our mutual sanctuaries. If we realise that it is in the nature of things that they donāt last, we would be less hard on ourselves or others. If we stop being conscious of the world and learn to revel in the quixotic quirkiness of our beings, and learn to laugh at and laugh about it, we would have found the core of lifeās mysteries. Laugh and move on. There would be no need to go to another realm to find ourselves. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on things we gather and those that we leave - Balancing BeginningsYearning (and other things we carry in the journey)Gather Me
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Liberty Quest by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/293-liberty-questLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
So much of the good we have, things we are proud of, our looks, our most innate traits, are in truth merely gifts. They are an inheritance in our blood, natureās largesse for us to build on. But what we become is a factor of what we do with what we are given. We can hold these gifts as talisman, to seek the good beyond them, to figure out our dharma, the very core of why we are in this world. Or we can just let them define us in shallow ways, as we work behind the facade, building our dynasty of desire. I am just glad to be part of a family which is both my biggest cheerleader and the sternest rapper of knuckles possible. Our strictest teachers are the ones who love us the most. The ones who hammer into us where weāve gone astray are the ones who cry and pray for us in the silence of the night. I am blessed to be born to the parents I have. Not that he has much choice, but I hope my son looks back to me some day and feels the same thing. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on how kindness changes lives - Maybe, a little kindnessWhat I Miss is the Tender MomentThe Grace That We Give
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Francescas Story by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/2981-francescas-storyLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
So much of what we are is because of abandonment. Often as reality, often as feeling. We talk but we donāt get through. Our silences are many, none find a resolution. Our words come out with warm intent, but when conjoined sound harsh. We love to death the very person we find the most fault with. But in this morass of disintegrating hope, we are firm on continuums. We are not ready to give up. Because we know things change, people change. And no season is permanent. And such do relationships survive. And often, very often, they find their equilibrium. Not so much as a reconciliation, which is often there, but as an understanding. Beyond the spontaneity of an outburst, or the harshness of a habitual word, one recognises the heart, well hidden though it might be. And then everything is forgiven. But there are times when such understandings do not emerge. And thatās when two good people are found to be excavating the worst of themselves: in relationships people discover the depths of depravity or dismay or disillusionment that they can reach. Alas, that is what then defines us as people - everything else is forgotten. Even if we move to the other side of the bed, we find it empty. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which talk of the complex rhythms of relationships - Tracing Shadows on Your BackLetting Go (because I'm alive)Of love (& other bouts of sadness)
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Good men do bad things by Phat SoundsShadows of Autumn full version by Musiclfiles -
This is a repeat of one of my more popular poems, replayed with the hope of getting a new audience, who might have missed it. "We walk under boughs heavy with fragrance,petals touching our cheeks with infinitesimal tenderness,and think back to how meaningless was what weād said. In a universe of a million possibilities, we could be a certainty,but we suffered our uncertain inequities. We should have found tenderness like kittens venturing into the world -with fright and wonderand the ability to believe.Alas, we stopped at our conceptionsof each other." They say āThe only real battle in life is between hanging on and letting go.ā In that one coruscating truth lies the crux of relationships. The question then is not of doubts or misgivings or dwindling love, but it is - have you given yourselves enough time? In that one question lies an irrevocable truth - things take no time to unravel but take time to settle. You have to keep examining, you have to keep asking. Why don't you care? Why did you hurt me? Why did this happen? Why do you believe this about me? Why did you do this? The answers would be unsatisfactory, they will be evasive, but though they might not bring clarity to you, they will make the other think. And they will understand why you hurt, where you hurt. The shrapnel will be blunted. At the same time, you are embracing your own strengths, the preciousness that you bring, the value of what you are, and it nullifies when others attempt to make you think less of yourself . You will not like everything, but you will understand a few things. You will be able to cut through the fluff of your own misconceptions, and theirs, to understand the truth of what makes relationships work. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on complexities of relationships -Why Don't You Make Love to Me Anymore?That Gorgeous Evening When You LeftHe Made Lasagna Before He Left
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Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Heart Love by MusicLFilesLink: https://filmmusic.io/song/9259-heart-loveLicense: https://filmmusic.io/standard-licenseAsperger by Sascha EndeĀ®Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/9264-aspergerLicense: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
Itās one of the ironies of life that relationships which have persisted for years, often have hesitation built into their fibre. You know everything of each other, but are still not sure of your place in their lives. The important thing which keeps haunting you is - what do both of you mean to each other. You say the things which you have been saying for years, she reacts the way she has been reacting for years, and both of you dislike the way you have conducted the conversation. But you have not been able to reconcile with the hurt which you somehow convey in that interaction. You are completely off sync. You feel you are being normal, she feels she is being normal, but you are totally off kilter. And youāre not able to reconcile what is wrong in the way you are with each other. I have often wondered how misconceptions persist over the years. Itās not for want of trying. You attempt trying to make each other understand your love languages, and to show where things hurt, and how whatās normal for him is hurt for her, or how a simple word or gesture can be so irritating, devastating or problematic. But what you get in return is another layer of misunderstanding. You of course love each other. Thereās too much youāve been through - joys, pain, babies, walks, coffee breaks, loved meals, cookouts, relatives you donāt like, friends you love, movies youāve seen holding hands, music youāve both loved with tears in your eyes, the dresses youāve admired each other in, the dusks youāve spent doing nothing but holding each other. All the little things which have made you persist. But even then the questions persist. And such do simple lives find their own ways to fragile devastation. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the simple complexities of love -Letting Go (because I am alive)Of Love (& other bouts of sadness)What I Miss is the Tender Moment
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Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Natural Paradise by Musiclfiles -
As I gear up for the Ed Sheeran show, Iāve been trying to fathom the excitement in me! Iāve seen some terrific shows - Kylie Minogue, Kate Perry, Michael Jackson (omg - goosebumps!), Norah Jones, Michael Learns to Rock, and the innumerable gigs of favourite Indian singers and jazz bands - and somehow when I see tour rosters of my favourite artistes, I keep wondering if i can match my travelling plans to catch them perform. And there are so many. The ones I would love to catch - Billie Elish, Sia, Mansa Jimmy, Elisapie, Hania Rani, Birdy, Jon Batiste, Ali Sethi - just to name a few! And the ones I will regrettably never be able to hear - Leonard Cohen, The Doors, Ghulam Ali, The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkle. Somehow when I draw a circle, to denote the completeness of my life, these invariably feature as a factor. Itās easy to say that we are merely listeners, as we sit in a hall, a stadium, under darkened ceilings or lie flat with starlight above. But when a listener gets drenched in the music she loves, there is both a transcendence and an immersion, which is as much a part of music being for the listenerās soul, as it is the musicianās in creating sublimity. I have stood with 50000 fans and sang along songs which each one of us knew by heart, and felt transported. Felt communion, felt lifted, knew the meaning of soaring. Apart from the concerts, with their presence of community and crowd, for me music is an intimate accompaniment to life rhythms. I have music playing almost through my waking hours. Soft, often indescribable, often random. But for me, it is a way to be more productive, to bold-italic-underline the moment. It makes life more important, richer. Whilst it is often considered mere distraction, it never is. It is forever giving. It enriches, even as it is played in the background. I have often puzzled how the most puerile of lyrics (ālove, love me do, I love you tooā - for Christās sake!) become ear-worm and stay with us throughout our lives. Such is the power of music notes, the words and their inimitable interlinking. But in that remembrance they often transport us to some place of essential innocence, a place of swaying trees, a breezy arbour of sundrops and shade. If music is first sound, then our first intimation of love - our Mumās gentle cooing - has to be the first music note which gives us the confidence to believe the rest of the world. And possibly therein lies the kernel of musicās mysterious warmth and comfort, the reason why we often forget the notes but remember the feeling. We are home with the music we love. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the advent of esctasy -FlutterGather MeCeremony of Longing
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Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Die Unendliche Geschichte by Sascha EndeFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/512-die-unendliche-geschichteLicense (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
Ranjit Hoskote, the famous art critic, poet ,writer wrote an amazing piece on Gaza and the humanitarian tragedy unfolding there. It was a piece which broke my heart, truly, as it brought out in sharp relief the incredible carnage taking place with impunity and for days on end. But then he interlinked Gaza with Kashmir. And that was something which he did casually, as if he was duty-bound to do so, as a fact. And I was grieved that someone so sensitive and aware, could also be so frivolous, so tone-deaf. And suddenly I realised how much his words were artifice, played to a gallery, which would anyway cheer him along. It disturbs me that poets, writers, thinkers find it expedient to bring in Kashmir in all narratives of torture, pain, without delving deeper into the principal issues, without historical perspective, without even trying to find what the present reality is, the truth of the ongoing narrative. This casual interlinking, using Kashmir as common coinage is something which truly disturbs me. Hence this poem. Read the incredibly sensitive essay here - https://scroll.in/article/1063846/ranjit-hoskote-in-our-interconnected-world-gaza-is-everywhere If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the meaning and price of freedom -For Anyone Who BleedsBlood & Light in the War ZoneCrimson Flowers in Jallianwala Bagh
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Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Medieval Love by Frank Schroeter -
I have often been cruel. Knowingly, unconsciously. With people closest to me, and invariably because I take them for granted. So it is a mini tragedy, when I sit down and have a conversation - and Iām short, Iām angry, Iām sarcastic. Take my mum - she is frail now, though her voice still has passion, but is veering towards gentle tones now. And I can āwinā any battle by the sheer dint of volume. Pyrrhic victory, if there ever was one, as she goes silent, and I keep reading the newspaper as if nothing has happened. We are both in a space of a confined relationship, whose contours could never be changed. I would be her son forever - and we were tied to each other inextricably, as fact, as benediction or affliction. Our relationship is one of perfect imperfection. We come with legacy in our blood and history in our senses, as we fill each otherās space on a daily - often hourly - basis. And within that proximity lies the very seed of slowly getting blinded to the good we do to each other. We start taking each other for granted. And I mull on Oscar Wildeās symbolical lines - āYet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heardā¦ā The realisation is a sickening thud. Because to hurt a loved one is to do the irreconcilable. Circumstances might determine a future of forced togetherness , but the heart remembers what it remembers. And scars take longer than forgiveness to lose their mark. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the preciousness of gentleness and kindness -An Epitaph MAde of Light & AirHow To Hold Love as it BreaksKintsugi
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Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Motivational Soft Piano Meets Cello by Horst Hoffman -
This is a repeat of one of my more popular poems, replayed with the hope of getting a new audience, who might have missed it. "We would talk of the day to makethe outside world our own,and lay joint claimto our individual memories." A home is of so many definitions. The place we grow in, the place we get our first intimations of the living world, the place we are desperate to get to at the end of a day - but also the place we are desperate to leave as we grow. Often a shelter, often a prison, often just a roof, often the very symbol of unquestioning acceptance. We learn the meaning of bruises from those in the next room, and the ill-imitable depth of love from those further down the hall. We learn there is often no difference between the command of an elder and the confines of an ego. We learn of chains of command and of the subtle exertion of real power. We learn how some of the hardest decisions come from the softest heart, and male prerogative is often just a cover for cluelessness. We leave home for pilgrimages, when actually we are in search of a home. Home is deep nights and late escapes. Home is often of going away without looking back. And to die in peace often only means to have found that address which we can finally call home - and to have that address find us. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems which take you back home (and its strange dynamics!) - It Takes a Long Time to Arrive From Not Very Far AwayExtraordinary LifeA Morning Ramble on How Love is Rediscovered at the Bottom of Rubble
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Get in touch with me on [email protected] The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Romantic Piano by Rafael KruxLink: https://filmmusic.io/song/5471-romantic-piano-License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
This awareness, this stopping to see something insignificant, the overwhelming desire not to look at my mobile for long moments - I sometimes think itās aging which is doing this to me. The fact that I have seen a bit of life, of tragedy and joy, of the big events of life and some, and no longer wish for the large and the loud. Now what stops me are things which seem to happen in passing. A snatch of music, the stitching of a happy conversation, a stray comment followed with a comfortable silence, the sound of laughter drifting out from a street-level window. Suddenly these seem important. Often, when my dad and I stand in his roomās verandah, and watch a decaying sunset, the rays reflecting in the three lakes in front of us, his arm around my shoulder, my chest swells such that it seems it will burst open. I just know these are the things I will think of on my deathbed, and these are the things which will help me drift away serenely. So I am going about collecting these moments hungrily, as if there is no tomorrow. Somewhere in our desire to see life only as movement from one high to another or as a remembrance only of the photographable, we lose sight of the infinitesimal, the mote in the sun-ray, the buzz of a wasp going busily about its business. Iām just glad Iāve fallen in love with my common uninteresting unadventurous life. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the preciousness of the passing moment -Mornings (as entry points to life)Letting Go (A Childhood Song)Tenderness in the Pause
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Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Nothing but memories by Reegsb -
I doubt if thereās anybody who tends to words with such infinite tenderness. For her, they are rounded pebbles on a seashore, sea waves washing over naked feet, the gentle curve of the sea at the horizon. She holds words the way I hold her. But strangely when I think of her, it is always with a silent smile, like a truth which leaves us speechless, the way the sun slips out as a guest does when tired of a party. I sometimes feel thereās too little of her in this world, someone who feels the world as a good place and sees it with forgiveness. I ask her what her greatest fear is and she says āLosing you.ā I tease her and ask āNot losing yourself?ā She looks at me and says āYouāre there to find me. Thatās why I canāt lose you.ā Then she adds āBut I know something. In this life of unfinished hope, I also wish us dirt, passion, devotion. I want to burrow so deep into the entrails of life that I almost drown in its depths - and just because it canāt stand me anymore it spits me right out.ā I listen to her silently. And know the reason I love her is because she helps me see the wonder in everything which I fear. And in her boldness and her gentle desire lie her insistences. As if Hania Rani had given breath to her song āEsjaā, and her notes wanted to break out and dance on the thinnest ice possible or at a precipice which could crumble and break. And as we sit in the winter sun, our fingers intertwined, I realise how much she wanted to dance, with her words, with her life, with her being, with me. If life could be a music track, she would start with a hymn, let rap take over and then go out in a blaze of the most improvised jazz adventure possible! And as I hold onto to her gentleness, I know her to be steel. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the serenity which comes with love -Why We Should be Happy with Berry Jam of Table EdgesCome When The Heat of Noon Has Still Not DimmedI Fell In Love With You (Again) Beside the Tin of Sardines
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Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Traveling OVer The Clouds by Musiclfiles -
We as persons are so much of the people who inhabit our lives. Not only by way of how they are connected to us and change the trajectory of our lives, but what they mean to us by way of how our souls evolve. But beyond it all is their influence on our minds and hearts to define to us what we are. Sometimes we are unsure of our own abilities to achieve, to fulfil, to create. And though we might be brimming with every talent, we might be an uncertain wreck inside, unable to comprehend the intensity of our own possibilities. And then someone in our life comes by and refuses to accept our limitations. They keep seeing beyond, they keep seeking more, they keep insisting that we are much more, that we are needlessly imprisoning ourselves in a low opinion of ourselves, and we can be beyond everything we can comprehend. I remember a Japanese story where a girl considered plain by the whole world and jeered at whenever she came out of her house, is wooed by the most eligible man in the village, and he proposes with a record number of buffaloes, which nobody in the village could even comprehend. And soon enough the girl grows into becoming the beauty which her beau saw inside her. Of course the story is allegorical, but itās truth is not. We grow into our best selves when someone refuses to believe that we are anything less. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on love & trust -The Importance of Faith in LoveI Can Be Your PoemHer Grace without Notice
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected]
Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Crescendiocity by Alexander Nakarada -
We are never as strong as we feel we are. Whatās ostensible, whatās shown, matters little. As we walk, with our eyes wide open, sometimes in wonder, often in fear, we need someone beside us to interpret the world. A conversation is the blood flow of a love story. To be generous enough to listen without interpretation, to hear without interruption, is a gift we give our loved ones. Because we already trust them. And everything we share with them is only an expansion of the shared world. Thereās nothing good or bad, we are not judges, we are partners, and when we choose to let the other know everything, we let them into the fragility of our beings. Thereās first fear, a testing out, as it were, for nobody wants to be broken by unkind hands. Then thereās unabashed laughter. Tears come in the end. Because thatās when dams burst, and you donāt mind, because you know there is someone ready to catch every teardrop, so that the sorrow doesnāt go unacknowledged or wasted. I think tenderness as a vital ingredient of love is often underestimated. Knowing how the trajectory of our lives changes due to the entry of some people in our lives, we need a safe zone for our fears and vulnerabilities. Often we find it immediately, often we need to search on, often never. Much more then the highs and the rush of dopamine which love gives, what finally sustains it is the generosity we accord each other as a place of protection. Where we know we can say anything without being judged, where we can be goofy without a cantankerous response. Or be afforded a strong attempt to understand even on disapproval of what weāve revealed of ourselves. Else then love is a snail out in a tentative dawn, which senses danger and withdraws within its shell, and finds it difficult to emerge again. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on poems themselves -The Life & Times of a SongStopping by a Cafe to Drink a PoemI Don't Think Poetry Will Save Us. But Yet, and Yet....
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
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Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -Music: When Life Is Beautiful by KALAKFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/11355-when-life-is-beautifulLicensed under CC BY 4.0: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license -
Deep inside, we all seek grounding. In the complex hullabaloo of desires, facades and one-upmanship, within sudden dollops of searing clarity, we search for the timbre of our being and realise the glitzy syncretic synthetic fabric it is made of. And the disquiet emerges. If the rot in our beings is not all-pervasive, the disquiet is a beginning to our conscience wanting redemption. We want to return to a point where weād not lost our innocence though the ways of the world might have brought both wisdom and cynicism in its wake. And this shows up in all our relationships. In the way we confess to love, in the way we make love. There are truths waiting to be revealed, there are truths wanting to be told. At our most elemental state, we seek the danger of vulnerability, to come clean with our soul. We are ready to lose much for a glimpse of that one clouded truth. As we drift back into the other world of our lives, we then carry the revelation inside. We already know itās power, we know itās ability to cleanse, but we also know itās revelatory power. And we decide, through its possibilities of disruption, to letās itās coruscating effulgence to emerge, and in one stroke bring us back to that state where we might stand damaged but we are cleansed. We are one with ourselves. If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the loneliness of a craving body -FlutterOf Bodies in Bed & Uncertain JoysAn Onanist's Guide to Loneliness
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on [email protected]
Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic newsletter The Uncuts here - https://theuncuts.substack.com. The details of the music used in this episode are as follows - Music: Romantic Interlude [Full version] by MusicLFilesFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/10421-romantic-interlude-full-versionLicensed under CC BY 4.0: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Music: Time Of Mourning by Frank SchroeterFree download: https://filmmusic.io/song/9646-time-of-mourningLicensed under CC BY 4.0: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license - Laat meer zien
