Anguish of a like

 

Last time I checked,
We were still friends,
on Facebook.
I think, you still follow me,
On Instagram.

Has the separation,
Of our real lives,
Affected our virtual likes?
You ‘loved” my poems, my posts.
You shared them.
I ‘loved” your poems, your pictures
Admired them, commented on them.
Now, I just ‘like” them.
Fearing, ‘loving’ would be too much.

My posts, they go unacknowledged.
A hundred ‘loves” won’t suffice,
A single like from you.
Am I asking for too much?

– Shantanu

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अपुरी (Incomplete)

 

कविता लिहिली,अर्धवटच..
वाटले की तू येशील, पूर्ण करशील.
तुला सांगितले पण बघ.
शब्द कळले नसावे, म्हणून भाषांतर केले..
कविता ऐकवली, अर्धवटच..

अपेक्षेने थांबलो होतो, चातकासारखा..
की तू येशील,
आणि त्या कागदावर,
शब्दांचा अमृत वर्षाव करशील.

मी दुष्काळातच रमतो आहे, अजुनही.
शब्द साठले बघ, आटले बघ.
कागदावर शाई अजुनही ओलीच आहे.
ते शब्दही व्याकुळ असतील.
की केव्हा त्यांचा अर्थ पूर्ण होईल.
की ते ही माझ्या आयुष्यासारखेच राहतील,
अर्थहीन.

– शंतनु

TRANSLATION: 

Wrote a poem, incomplete..
Wished you would come, complete it.
I told you about it,
Translated the words,
Hoping you would understand.
Narrated the poem, incomplete..

Waited for you,
Hoped you would come,
And pour your magical words,
On that paper.

I am entangled in a drought, still.
See, even the words have dried up.
The ink on that paper is still wet.
Even those words must be eager,
Wondering when would they give meaning to the poem.
Or would they, like my life, be rendered,
meaningless.

– Shantanu

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The Connoisseur

In a world defined by conventions,

we are anomalies.

You and I, it’s an anomaly.

Hope you find your voice,

to defy this order.

Hope you find your poetry,

to protest, to say the words unsaid.

And about me,,

I wish I’ll be the connoisseur.

 

-Shantanu

descott_evans_the_connoisseur
D. Scott Evans – The Connoisseur

Reminiscence

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I am trying,
Trying to write a poem.
Hoping it’ll convey,
Some words unsaid.

In the long walks,
On those cold nights.
Treading on carpet, marble and grass.
Finding our way,
Contemplating life, people, and friendships.
Talking, drunk and high,
Sharing nightmares,
On those sleepless nights.
Barging into rooms,
Sharing chocolates, chips, and love.
Laying on one bed, lazily,
Or watching movies,
Amidst some adventures,
And misadventures.

Eternal return is a delusion.
Moment’s gone.
Life will not come back.
But memories will.
And hope you remember me,
And hope you miss me.
‘Cause I miss you.
‘Cause I love you.

– Shantanu

Incomplete

Read me a poem, will you?
In your presence,
In your voice.
The joys and the pain,
Amidst the sun and the rain.

Soon, you said.
I’m still waiting.
Nights are sleepless, you said,
And winters are cold.
I wait, in the cold winter,
And the same night sky.
Longing to hear,
Your words, your magic.

Now instead, I wrote a poem,
And it feels incomplete.
It’s not magical, but real.
I’m still waiting.
Come, complete it.
Fill it with magic, make it surreal.

– Shantanu

 

तुझी कविता

guhagar_sunset
Sunset: Guhagar Beach, Maharashtra, India. Copr. Shantanu Gharpure
 मी तिथे थांबलो होतो,
खोळम्बलो होतो, व्याकुळ होतो.
भेटशील, मिठी मारशील
आठवून होतो तो शेवटचा निरोप,
डोळ्यात पाणी,
खूप बोलायचे होते,
पण कंठाने परवानगी दिली नाही.
शेवटचे का होईना,
पुन्हा तुझी कविता ऐकायची होती,
पण काळाने परवानगी दिली नाही.
मी थांबलो होतो बघ,
तुझी वाट पाहत.
त्या गर्दीत, तू येशील,
असा डोळा लावत.
तू नाही आलीस,
आणि मी पण माझ्या वाटेल निघालो.
आता तू कुठे, आणि मी कुठे.
तू कविता लिहतेस,मला उमगते, कळते.
आणि मी ही कविता लिहतो,
पण ती तुला कळत नाही.
– शंतनु

Prost Neu Jahr!

Let hope win over the agony,
This too shall pass.
This night, and the new year.
What would be left are,
The memories.
Memories of what we loved, whom we loved.
Love, nevertheless of the results.
Love, because we don’t know what else to do.
Love, because the world needs it.
Love, and be loved.
Let there be love, let there be light, let there be sanity.

Sam’s speech still resonates.
‘ There’s some good in this world,
And it’s worth fighting for.’

Let this be year of hope and love. Happy new year 2017.

The voice inside

I hear, I listen

To the voice inside that cries out.

The voice that has been shut,

for days, for years,.

It wants me to blurt everything out.

Wants somebody to acknowledge,

to hear, to listen.

 

It fears being alone.

It is tired talking to just me,

for a bit too long.

I find it maddening sometimes,

consoling myself,

crying myself to sleep.

Promising that everything,

will be okay.

Waking up the next day,

to the same loneliness,

that haunted it.

 

I try, to do some thing,

talk, pretend to listen,

pretend that I am fine.

Occasionally, I do not pretend.

The voice sometimes blurts it out.

I pretend, pretend that I am a winner.

Pretend I know things,

Read more to know more.

Read to convince the voice inside,

that all is well.

Try to shut it,

Because all it does is call me a loser.

 

I lay on bed, tired.

Check my mobile, read messages,

or engage in some discussion on Facebook.

To distract a bit,

To live a bit, albeit virtually.

I sleep, and,

I wake up the next day,

to the same loneliness,

that haunts it, that haunts me.

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Sense of an Ending

 

sunset_2007-1

 

We crave for endings, or do we? When you know things are going to end, you know the end, and you wish things to just fast forward, just get over with it. And yet sometimes in retrospect you wish if things didn’t. Just one more walk with a friend, one more hug, the sadness of ending, and the intimacy amidst it. People do meet after it, only to realize lot of things have changed. Life happens. Intimacy of those endings, lost somewhere.

But may be things are meant to be that way. Soon seems abrupt and long seems too much. All life is grappling with the sense of an ending. Parting ways, kissing good nights, death of someone close, or sometimes silently waiting for your own death. The time comes. Things end. Sometimes too soon, sometimes late. But they do.

A stroll on a beach

guhagar_footprints

Walking on a beach aimlessly, leaving some footprints, some shallow, some deep, ultimately to be washed away by the sea. I guess finding a purpose in life is a lot like strolling on a beach. We strive to create an impact, leave a footprint, in a world that has been here for millions of years and will be for millions more. Our lives in context of this world and universe and those footsteps on sea shore, both are ephemeral. So what do we choose, walk aimlessly, trying to enjoy the feet being washed by the sea every few seconds or walk leaving some footprints, deep or shallow, ultimately to be washed away by an eternal sea?