ചെറു കഥ : പമ്പരവും ഘടികാരവും

അതൊരു ഞായറാഴ്ചയാണ്. അവൻ ആ ദേവാലയത്തിൽ എത്തിയിട്ട് അധികം നീരമായില്ല. അവൻ മുത്തശ്ശിയുടെ കൂടെ അവിടെ ചെന്നതാണ്. മുത്തശ്ശി അവിടുത്തെ ആൾകൂട്ടത്തിൽ അഭയം പ്രാപിച്ചു. അവൻ അവിടെ ഉള്ള ആൾകൂട്ടത്തിൽ തികച്ചും ഏകനായി. അന്നവിടെ കൂടിയവരിൽ ഏറ്റവും പ്രായം കുറഞ്ഞയാൾ. അവിടെ വാത്സല്യമുള്ള ഒരു മുഖവും ഒരു പുഞ്ചിരിയും അവൻ കണ്ടില്ല. എല്ലാവരും പുകയുന്ന കുതിരിക്കത്തിന്റെ ഗന്ധത്തിൽ, ഭക്തി ഗാനത്തിന്റെ അനുഭൂതിയിൽ അലിഞ്ഞു ചേർന്നതായി അവനു തോന്നി. ഏതോ ഭാഷയിൽ ആരാധന. വളരെ പുരാതനമായ ആചാരങ്ങൾ. അതിലും പുരാതനമായ രൂപങ്ങൾ.  യന്ത്രങ്ങൾ പോലുളള മനുഷ്യരും മന്ത്രങ്ങൾ പോലുള്ള മാത്രകളും അവനു ഒരിക്കലും മറക്കാത്ത ഓർമയായി. പക്ഷെ അവൻ ചെവി വട്ടം പിടിച്ചു, കണ്ണുകൾ കൂർത്തു ചേർത്തു, ചുണ്ടുകൾ വലിച്ചു മുറുക്കി. അവൻ അവരിലൊരാളായി. ഒരു പമ്പരവും ഘടികാരവും ഒന്ന് ചേരും പോലെ അവനൊരു ബഹുമുഖനായി. മന്ത്രങ്ങൾ അവന്റെ മനസ്സിൽ കൂടു കൂട്ടി. യന്ത്രങ്ങൾ അവന്റെ തലച്ചോറിൽ താളം വെച്ചു. അവൻ അവിടുത്തെ ആരാധന തീർന്നത് അറിഞ്ഞില്ല. അവൻ പുകയുന്ന കുന്തിരിക്കവും ആടുന്ന തലപ്പാവുകളും ഇല്ലാത്ത ഒരു ലോകത്തിലായിരുന്നു. ആ ലോകം അവനു അന്യമായിരുന്നില്ല. അവൻ അവന്റെ വീടും കൂടും ഇല്ലാത്ത കാലത്തേക്കുള്ള ഒരു ചുവടു വെയ്പായിരുന്നു. 

Poem: Rip Van Winkle wakes up again!

I just arrived at my office desk

Time machines everywhere

Numbers dripping blood from everywhere

It is my sweat, sweet sweet and salt salt and saltier blood

that you simply call by the name ‘sweat’

It is a socket to my nervous circuitry

It is a simple sickle in my stomach

Time is dripping away like a bloody whirlpool

You need not be a world bank economist to know

That money circulates in time

How much ever you obfuscate money

How much ever you mystify money

How much ever mask time with data

And use the equations

Time is not money alone

Knowledge is not power alone

There is a world beyond equations

World of inequalities and perturbations

World of irrational imaginations

World of exponential series

World of irregular tropes

World of truncated silhouettes

World of trapezoidal memes

World of memes and nemesis

World of numismatics and bit coins

World of plagiarisms and forgery

World is not a whirlpool alone

It is simply a whirlwind

Can you imagine what will happen?

When Rip Van Winkle wakes up

Only to see that Don Quixote is ruling the roost

And to see the affair between a pelican and an albatross

There are many stories unfolding

In the polynomial times

Time is just a tyrant, in an ocean of solitaires

Poem: Zen's Paradox

A Zen gazed at his mind
That looked at the glaciers
Umpteen levels deep

Zero, Zero by Zero, Zero raised to Zero
Questions surfaced above the volcanic erections

Language of the lost
In the lucky facades and gambling chariots

Neutrino by Neutrino, they neutralized every pinch of salt
Before they were salted and halted in the ionosphere

Curves and cubes, hyper cubes and hyper markets
Zen’s continued to gaze, at the pandemonium of choices
Chance, choice, will, illness, plea, randomness, chaos

You name it and graph it and store it in archives, if not dens
You love bearing fruits of fissures in the veins of my earth

And zen fell asleep wondering the warmth of the worms
In the deepest of the shallow slow time dilation of his heart to eye reveleations

Poem: Chipmakers

They are soiled people 

They are oiled souls 

They are boiled shells 

They are coiled coals 

They make living out of soils 

Most of us carry it on head 

Some of us know it is inside and outside 

Few of us agree that we are from soil 

But this group is proud of their foil 

They call it by names 

Silicon, Carbon, Graphene, Lava and so forth 

When we till our earth 

When we tilt our head 

When we mince our mold 

The chip we make steal our earth 

It rains heavy on the soaked blood of many others 

May chip makers know that theirs is soil too

Poem: Gradients of light

Gradients of light 

You may name them by colors 

Or by the shady love of the rouge beams 

I see them from heavens to hell 

Across their desire to feel 

The patterns of melting earth 

The tangents of galactic winds 

Languishing a destiny of tolerance 

They curled up towards poisoned lives 

Their unbound energy and infinite kindness 

Enough to skim through the treacherous ether 

They fail to reach the promised eternity 

Afraid to question the will of the masters 

As they are many and cobbled up 

They wander in crowded horizons 

As predictions make fuzzy end to all journeys 

Like the epics of the east and the proverbial holy lands 

With the hasty spikes they would weave a wrinkled leaf 

Naming as we see it now 

You may call it a sky of miseries

Infinite as it seem to eyes 

It is meager to the variations 

Myths of mountains, they always hid the sword 

Yet lightnings could burn the past 

Memoirs were etched in clouds 

As they floated in shapes so vivid 

Envious to the gods and demons alike

Poem: My black rosary with red cross and daily bread

A gaze at uncertainty in your meal time
A wave of poverty in your surroundings
Which one will spoil your hunger?
What will kill your taste buds?

Nothing for sure can eat you
Unless you have eaten something else

A pinch of salt in your sweat
It refuses to give up its taste

A pale edge of your empty plate
It refuses to smile at your disposal

A moment when mind forgets to remember
A moment when mind remembers to forget

Matters of convenience and coincidence
All this happens in our daily life

We keep a bread for the day
Shrinks by the evening, rots by the fifth day
Filth by a weeks time, frozen in your next working day
Weeks after, you meet them all in your wounds

Your despair, your inertia, your pathos and vanity
All is known to submit to the season of red black winters
Same applies to my black rosary with red cross in my chest

Poem: Story Of a Fortune Cookie

How to write a poem
On the walls of a fortune cookie

When you know you have a sea at heart
It equals sleeping on a blast furnace
Or perhaps like on the shore of an oil spill
That kills many stomach bleeding food
That wipes out many more organs of desire
That wraps up untold stories of misery
That never weeps to the worrying seaweeds

It weaves a lovely edible lattice
It leads me to a meadow of meshes and circuits
It holds myriads of nice words and weaves

In its crystalline lovely lattice
That shines beneath an iron sheath
I saw a purple pupil that I love lost
It was like a night even where stars lose sheen

In the dried up moments
I went for a chase in my hometown
I went in a summer equinox
Running away from blanket of nightmares
Like a hunter for shades and shadows

I know not any art of spiders
To cave all the emoticons and laugh
Every inch and pinch of salt
It is a fortune cookie

Every pine and pillars
It is a magic lamp
It landed on a sea
And spill over like a magic cube
It went up to a highway hill
Stood up like a lightening love
It knows not any oil spills
That has blindfolded its breathing wishes

I know this will not stand as a poem for any
I know this is not versified in any senses
I know this has lost its rhythm for many songs
I know this is a broken chain of words

Now I know where all these fortune cookies are meant to be
Now I need to buy a market to trade their lovely lattice and labor lost
Now I never will sing a song for ring roads of their mermaids and heavens
Now I dare to call upon the stars that stare at this son of black magic

When the story meets its creator
Every fortune cookie will have its meat
And then it will drink from its own vine yards

+Gokul Alex 

Poem: A Farmer's Eyes and a Sailor's Shadow

A thorough yield
On a farm field of far east
It took me time to realize
How far I am to my far east of coast

Call of my weather
Call of my winds
I sailed further and farther
To my naked coasts
Naive songs, Nimble rains
Nile of rivers, Nascent clouds

Reaching this far
I kissed my earth
Ground of my grief
Glory of my ghosts
Glad is those leaves
However scanty they are

Cast is my shadows
No longer they hide
My colors and my figures
They cast numbers on stars
Measure their light
Scope my winters
Scale my summers
Scanty my rains
Scuttle I wish my springs

Now let me see my greens
Their leveling heights
Their leafy gaze
Their spiderly gesture
Their primordial texture
Now let me be slow
In company of my greens

#Poem by +Gokul Alex

Rain of Senses, Ripples of Time

Rain of Senses, Ripples of Time - My Poem published in PoetrySoup.com: 

Long sheath or shadow, it is so fragile and delicate

I am in , I am out, yet I know 

it is so much there 

It is wrecked like an unwanted ship, incline to my thoughts 

I am in, I am out 

like a child for an eternal womb 

I am wild, I am wolf, for a dancing forest of many ages 

Senses are glued to it, as it resonates my songs 

All I know is it has waves, periods, cycles, rains, seasons and songs too

We know it by pale ripples 

And the wrinkled faces of all those mirrors 

Time, its stealthy wishes 

They stood next to my horrible evenings 

I mediatate, I contemplate, I vision, I corrupt, I collect

I kill My senses, My lovable lusty mind and body

And their unknown roots and leaves

Yet they live and know, die and unlearn all by itself 

When I ripple, I crawl and I cry in the songs of time 

And you see just and must, a little echoes and ripples in time

+Gokul Alex