Sunday, September 21, 2014

raman mundair

In your dreams you had wings,
butterfly wings, wet whispers
emerging from a cocoon.
In your nightmares you fell,
wings aflame like the painting
you saw made in memory

of Hiroshima. In my life, you
blazed. The smoke of your wings
brought water to my eyes. 

Saturday, September 20, 2014

akka mahadevi

Akka Mahadevi (ಅಕ್ಕ ಮಹಾದೇವಿ) was a prominent figure of the Veerashaiva Bhakti movement of the 12th century Karnataka. Her Vachanas inKannada, a form of didactic poetry, are considered her most notable contribution to Kannada Bhakti literature. In all she wrote about 430 Vachanas which is relatively fewer than that compared to some other saints of her time. Yet the term 'Akka' (elder Sister), which is an honorific given to her by great Veerashaiva saints like Basavanna, Chenna Basavanna, Kinnari Bommayya, Siddharama, Allamaprabhu and Dasimayya, speaks volumes of her contribution to the movement that was underway. She is in hindsight seen as a great and inspirational woman for Kannada literature and the history of Karnataka. She is said to have accepted the god Shiva ('Chenna Mallikarjuna') as her husband, traditionally understood as the 'madhura bhava' or 'madhurya' form of devotion.
Born in Udutadi (or Udugani) near the ancient city of Banavasi (in Shikaripura taluk Shimoga district). She was born in 1130CE and lived until 1160. She worked for the welfare of women.
She is Kannada’s first female poem writer (poetess).
don't despise me
Don't despise me as
She who has no one
I'm not one to be afraid,
Whatever you do.
I exist chewing dry leaves.
My life resting on a knife edge
If you must torment me,
My life, my body
I'll offer you and be cleansed. 

habba khatoon aka zoon

"i have adorned myself lusciously from top to toe; so enjoy my youth as lively and inviting as a pomegranate flower." habba khatoon

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

how to live like a dead person

Lately death seems to be all around, not that it had ever stopped being around, but somehow it seems to have gotten more intimate.  In my closet, in my coffee, in my bathroom, in my garden, in my hair, in my cat, in my cuticles.
Post my father’s exit in 1989, a button of unattachment attached itself on me.  This button lacked a control button.  It was like death itself.  Always hovering.  
And when Shivraj died, he killed whatever life i had residing in me.  When i say life i mean the emotion of life of holding on to dear life.   The silly notion of "forever" built with others, with platinum rings, with infinity symbols inked on our hearts.  The silly notion of making “alone” a state of patheticness (yes I know that’s not a word.) But are we really capable of loving anyone beside ourselves? and is that so wrong? Is life only marked by the physical presence of loved ones? 
The idea of going thru the rest of my journey like a dead person seems to be the greatest gift of all.  To see the beauty in living life unattached, unattainable, unavailable; to live life like a dead person and feel the most alive.

O look the leaves have started falling
Yesterday was summer and
Soon the trees will be bare
I will see you there