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A Caged Bird

A friend asked me this morning if I was a Maya Angelou fan. 

I replied her "Kind of".

I had never asked this question to myself. 

Perhaps I considered her more of a feminist than a literary figure. 

However it was her poem 'The Caged Bird' that startled me. Till then, I saw poems in black and white - they could induce either happiness or sorrow. 

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

We have associated songs to happiness and cheer. Without them, the world would have been too drab. 

But these lines ! They shatter all romance associated with music. These 'songs' are born from intense pain. Pain of magnitude that we cannot imagine. The more the pain, the sweeter the song. 

They sing as they have nothing to do except cry at their destiny. Who sings when there is a pressing need to cry ?

But these 'birds' are one of its kind. Instead of tears, they fill the world with music. 

Maya was perhaps the first persons to write on this 'grey' theme. 

I proudly proclaim to be a 'Maya Angelou' fan.


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I cannot remember my mother,
only sometime in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air,
the scent of the morning service in the
temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.

~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.


Concealed by dark clouds
You keep shining.
Bright streaks of light
Dazzle me.
Enchant me.
And keep me waiting..
Waiting for you.

Amidst Soul-lessness

There is smoke somewhere. 
I cannot seem to figure out where. 
The lights are here, the music is here.
Has it been home here ?
Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain.
Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter.
Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
Or maybe when I realized I was okay.
Had it been always like this ?

Not really. 
Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together,
Played this game. 
Amidst soulful solitude, it was love. 
Maybe appreciation.
Another journey, another dry spell. 
Will it ever be home again ? 

P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017