Silence and Noise 

 

I chase silence 

To bar the noise returning to my mind,

My body is strife with sounds

Sound of cars, 

Sound of cries of people

Sound of screams of the vendors 

Sound of machines 

Sound of pressure cooker.

All throughout my existence, 

I seek for calm state 

Instead I get a platitude of cacophony.

In place of Beethoven's melody, I find harsh noise 

Encircling my consciousness.

Rock & roll, rap music

Seem to be the raw evocation of sound,

The meaning of these sounds I cannot fathom.

I don't chase noise 

Noise comes to me 

Like leaves appear to the trees 

Spontaneously,

Like powerful overflow of emotions 

I chase solitude 

What I get is noisy crowd.

The world is a big bubble

That emits out an incoherent sound 

Similar to the sound of the genesis of cosmos 

Similar to the sound of the collision of the planets

In dreams, 

The world at night falls asleep 

And produces an unfamiliar sound 

Of immortality,

Silence is eternal 

While sound is transient

Ephemeral- 

The life seems to be 

Which longs for immortal silence. 

Alas! I chase silence 

What I get is cracking noise. 

Apocalypse of war

 

Any kind of war is a curse

Upon civilization 

Coming down from above- 

An apocalypse 

Of spaces and mind. 

 

Morning newspaper does not calm her down 

Anymore,

The words turn into bloodshot

Of yesterday’s missile attack

At someone’s veranda,

Bombing on someone’s newly made café;

Dwellers,

Travellers,

Panic stricken

Are jumping like frogs,

Shrieking 

Like chickens are going to be killed 

For someone’s victorious glee. 

From loitering death to possible shell-shocked memory

Hovering in the air

To pierce

To slit

To tranquilize for eternity.

 

Years have passed.

Moon has changed her seat.

Memory comes at forefront

To guide the souls,

Souls of Palestine 

Collective trauma of Gaza 

Geographical disruption 

Fuelled by

Israel- Palestine conflict; 

People, sufferers, victims 

Are navigating life 

Through martyrdom and hopelessness,

A complete apocalyptic vision 

Vision of death, 

Vision of darkness 

Vision of destruction 

Of bodies and buildings,

Souls of broken homes,

Souls of grandparents

Narrating the other side of stories

To little hungry members;

Chaos has turned them into migrants 

And refugees,

An apocalypse of dystopia 

Ending of a culture 

World collapses down 

Orphans are begging for breakfast 

In the queue of hunger land 

While the morning newspapers

Paralyse the readers' psyche 

For a time being.

Identity and becoming 

Part 1

Still we are alive

Listen, we all are drowned in deep sound

but, these are heartless noises,

We no longer find the melody in a bird's song,

We no longer listen to the rustling sound of the leaves

And sighs of a flowing stream,

We fail to feel the flute,

We forget to embrace our soul's symphony.

But, we are plunged into deep cacophony.

Listen, we walk, we play with people 

But do not play

Childhood"s hide and seek,

We see with lustful eyes, we aspire a lot 

But, we do not relish anything fully.

We are humans with blood and flesh,

But, we do not mean it,

When violence kills peace,

justice cries in silence.

When a girl is raped,

the culprit laughs merrily.

When greed, hypocrisy are ruling,

Honestly,love are panting for little breath.

Listen, 

We are lost, we are dying,

Still,we do not have sense.

How- 

Why are we alive?

Maybe, this is hope,a little hope

A hope can be a dangerous thing.

 

Part 2

Still there is colour

Days are gone,

When I was dipped in multiple hues,

Colours, crayons drove away

My worries and woes.

A bright dawn, a rainbow, a reverie- 

All were my constant joy,

My blissful soul danced with a thrush's song.

Those days are gone now,

Today, I am in nothingness,

Silent as grave, deaf as corpse,

Black and white is in everywhere

But that paradise is not lost.

If a mummy has its afterlife,

If a phoenix can rise 

From its own debris,

if a candle can hold a flicker of decaying flame,

So does my consciousness,my entity.

'cause twenties, eighties are nothing

But different shades of colour and age

Of becoming and being.