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Riotous Lancing of the Intense Tagetus Sanctums~ (an aromatized nostalgic journey zoomed in...)
is it the droplet heart~ leafy 'dhavanam's'
in their bold wooden notes.. in an unexpected,
a mixed fruity touch...
.. along with the dove~ white bouquet mikes
of 'semmangi' ~ tuberoses in sweet mild
milken rosaceous honey tones..
.. also with the bloodred spike heads in folded
velvetty bunches of the cockscomb 'kozhi kondai'
florets in their prarie raw greeny grassy tones
these all three above... in a close-knit combo
of pretty hand tied garland strings of the busy
4ish morning’s Madurai’s temple flower street
bazaars?..
...in their picturesque unshrinking decorations
as if an awakened fresh virgin fragrance... of this
home’s pooja altar’s the sanctum sanctorum's
deities...
that's in this riotous twilight’s mixed crises
or (still guessing..)
are they the densely packed hard, the flashy earthen
musty Chrysanthemums...
or must it be a punch of clove~ly Tulsi with a
sweetsour dash of lemony balms..
all in a piercing guerrilla warfare... over these
sweetly flummoxing nostrils…in drowsy trancing
submissions... to the deep long yogic inhalations
think, I zeroed in to the exactness of an ever-lingering
source from the undated frozen pages of a scribbled
chaotic diary called life... its the intense Tagetus
of the titillating senses... the marigolden aromatic blooms…
in even more striking hues... in incrementalshades from a
pale~ bright yellowsto the redsun flames.… their pigmented
black tiny floret bases bundled inner each flower receptacle...
as these tender childish fingers of a wildly curious innocence...
spread out their each towering tangerine slender finger~ florets
from their held bundle... to thinning singlet as if tiny sugarcanes,
aloud in their divinely pleasant pungencies, better said no more
of their so indescribable a hellishly~ heavenly mix...
a nostalgic force majeure time(less) journey zooms into….
the conjoining holy aromatics of a marriage home..
with the deep cranial awakening 'chandanam'~ the
tranquilly ivory sandalwood pastes smoothly running
in rectilinear fingerprints bits.. over the wooden doorways
& altars..
to the sublime camphoraceous 'aarthi' holy fire dristhi done
to the bridal pair.. & thrown over the street to ashen those
gazing steamy eyes in evil. along with redblood vermilion
& leafy green betels with browny harddried arecanuts..
to the organic hungers of banana leaflets served with the vegan
rice~ sambar feast with 'payasams' & crispy "appalams'...
to the silken seducing jasmines of her love in the bonding
righteousness.. & his coming together warrioring labour..
earned by his majestic masculine virtues ... all in their life’s
'one' amalgamating amphitheatre..
ahh..that holy togertherness.. once that adorned in all its
ritualistic celebrations .. this rustic one too..
nowhere now..
a solitaire nightshade belladonna.. to my own aching shadows
templed within
as I climb the twilightic spiralling rusted stairways to the open
terrace.. magnetic fragrance of the mystical 'Shenbagapoo', the
Champak tree orchid... & the mogra ahgarbatti ~ the Arabian
Jasminum incense sticks of evening pooja diffuse through
the nearby windows..
& in the terrace, am left to all by myself .. beaten even more hard
by the periodical sounds of aggressive catfights .. & the dreary straw airs
of the drying coconut leaflets.,, fully arted with the multispiralling rows
of whitefly infestations on their folded down reverse sides.. abuzz as the
random feathered cottony clouded bits
& then there’s a depressingly dominant note of uncomfortingly sweltering
silence from the rainless corners of the stoic skies .. brewing worse as sandy
dust storm airs..
only the sudden rising voice of mosque’s Namaz amplifications instil a sense
of a lilting hope.. in texts & hints of a Persian Mysticism.. in their Sufi’s trancing
whirling dervish intonations..
I scribble these verses in dimlit haze now..
& I breathe in my memory fingers over the
generous nostril gateways.. into those ever
fresh sprouting pages of my childhood alleys
.. that same packed lunchbox in the open..
the whitish soft creamy curd rice shines an
indulgent slurry sensorial from these lickable
tender fingers of a schoolgirl curious with
twinkly eyes.. her mom’s handmade recipe
with diced carrots to the capsicums to the
spread red beady eyed pomegranate seeds…
“I love you Mom, love my lunchtime shared
with my best mates ever..love the geography
class later, the tutor who got the best out of me..
somehow don’t like the history ‘hitlerist’ teacher,
her ways of punishing me & my mate amidst
classhour in kneeldowns for no reasons.. though
we are the constant noisemakers to her tinted
eyes
.. & but love the Biology Mam too.. who found in
these raring eyes a hunger & ease to do something
worthwhile if not big.. & which this child did fulfil to
all her unshaken faith in me.."
those acrid decades of corporate jobs,, in bitter
noxious daturas & thorny Nerunji caltrops .. &
those disillusioned years of the so~ marriage
now lost into the unreturning blankness for good, had
much accentuated the search ever.. for the utmost truth
of Love..
..syncing the everest vibes of an intense love
..in the purely souling you Rob, in the flowing poetry
of scribbling emotionalities , in the inner peace of Yogic
asana~ dhyana ..in the butterflying eyes of my princess
girls.. in the gracing bless of mom & dad .. in this each
short life's warring to merging spacetimes each now
..in the micromacrocosmic eternal 'one' soul continuum
felt with~ within ev
...& of course
in the simply divinely delicious white curdrice still
(unadulterated)...
#14 ERULGCT
Published 16th Apr 2020
Author's Note
#14 ERULGCT. a longest blabberations till now perhaps.. but with the scents & accents of nostalgia.. this zooms in to the core of Love, that is the search & journey & destined destination ev.. you know. Robonoid. Love You & All DU xx
* some italicised words, are Tamil nomenclature
**pic: web, Tagetus (Marigold)
* some italicised words, are Tamil nomenclature
**pic: web, Tagetus (Marigold)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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16th Apr 2020 2:13pm
In my humble opinion, this is one of your best scribbles. A slight step away from the abstract. A poignant, tender and brutal-ish tour de force of memory and searching. Guess we have all misplaced our love at some time. I adore the school references and the cornerstone of your Mom/Dad and daughters as an unmovable landmark. There is always hope and love - without such, what are we but filtered grains of sand? Beautiful and elegiac. Love me xx
17th Apr 2020 1:16am
Just a supperb rush of thoughts uma...a magnificent Jackson Pollock painted with wonderful words my friend.
Peace...Harry
Peace...Harry
18th Apr 2020 8:26pm
You're astounding. Rob struck the quick with his awareness I think. My mouth is dry from hanging open like a stupified animal listening to thunder.
