tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114251442011-10-18T18:18:57.777-04:00..through poetry.Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.comBlogger741100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-78340134864068558722011-05-01T09:50:00.003-04:002011-05-01T10:30:47.078-04:00

April seems to inspire haiku - something to do with the season changing, I think. Wrote some in 2005, some again this month (below). Fall - October - had the same effect one year. -- The wind rustlesempty treespoised to flowerRiding the trainInsulated by ear plugsNo one talks.A foggy morningReminded of the mountainsEven in the city.April showersPurple crocuses peekColors of springA rainy

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-43683746669081753622011-04-18T07:20:00.003-04:002011-04-18T07:23:58.060-04:00

With due apologies to Donald Justice, whose poem, Men At Forty, inspired this. Men Turning Forty by Sanjeev Naik Men turning forty wonder which doors to close and which new ones to explore. Anxious in the waiting room, they shuffle their feet, balking at the idea of the doctor slipping his blue gloves on. This is the age when they worry and think of men whose obituaries they have read: "

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-78477413454306631452011-01-16T13:33:00.001-05:002011-01-16T15:14:57.933-05:00

Open the throat that let out the voicecreating original speech! -  Bella Akhmadulina (In Memory of Osip Mandelshtam; from: The garden : new and selected poetry and prose / edited, translated, and introduced by F.D. Reeve.) Avocation Vowels bounce around and play in my sandbox, littered in a disarray of exclamations.  Slowly, they seek others,  arranging themselves, in collusion with the

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-37061915309954852602010-11-20T07:47:00.001-05:002010-12-20T15:02:14.738-05:00

"And there is the silence of this morning which I have broken with my pen, a silence that had piled up all night like snow falling in the darkness of the house — the silence before I wrote a word and the poorer silence now." - Billy Collins (Silence) Silence -------- Quiet November morning Only the ticking of the heater Outside, red leaves quiver silently and a car floats by. Another weekend

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-51764687256052950252010-11-07T17:37:00.000-05:002010-11-07T17:37:52.138-05:00

November Haiku Weekend sorrowAnother year of loss Cold November rain - ~ -  An autumn eveningIn the empty children's parkA leaf falls  - ~ - With the evening windRed fallen leaves flutterThe trees sigh  - ~ - Fighting the chillHer black cat curls upDreams of spring  - ~ -  At the pondThe geese and swan still hereBut for how long?  - ~ -  Darkness comes earlyFire engines scream in the

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-10660876709002600142010-08-01T20:28:00.026-04:002010-10-07T17:48:29.466-04:00

I think this poem is just another version of my poem Presences, written last month. It is essentially the same poem written on another day. "what has escaped us, we bring with us." - Heraclitus. (As quoted in Preface to W. S. Merwin's The Lice (1967). Absences I sift through the words  relentlessly seeking reflections in a long arduous stream of memories. They are not here, but the shadows

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-35626641045387686192010-07-20T08:51:00.001-04:002010-07-20T12:56:03.184-04:00

"Poetry is not truth, it is the resurrection of presences" - Octavio Paz "The old words are dying, everyone forgets them, pages falling into sleep and dust, dust and sleep, burning so slowly you wouldn't even know there's a fire." - Mark Doty (Apparition) Presences -------------- I have been sifting through words trying again and again to captureall that had been and now is lost. We are all

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-59620213241155636052010-05-01T17:52:00.000-04:002010-05-01T17:52:32.692-04:00

"The poem supreme, addressed to emptiness - this is the courage necessary. This is something quite different" - Robert Creeley http://bit.ly/aRaWfW    "to lose again and again is to have more and more to lose..." - Mark Strand Tristesse The night she devours us, hour by excruciating hour, imprisoning us in its arms. Led astray forever, this occasional affair, our love consummated, the allure

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-78506675259985895942009-12-06T05:50:00.017-05:002010-05-17T16:12:00.598-04:00

A long one... (could be even longer.) ... and like most of my poems, a very rough draft.  I rarely go back and edit my poems; so this is what it will likely remain as, other than some line break changes. (I write from instinct and do not really pay attention to line breaks as much as I should. I really am not good at it!) "Poetry has its balms. It makes us less lonely by one. It makes us have

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-29259667769018379702009-09-14T04:20:00.002-04:002010-05-16T17:06:55.317-04:00

Change Things always are as they are before they change. We dream of these symbolic measures - not to remember but lest we forget. Our life is a discourse between then and now, until the essence dissolves. This essential song links us to them, those that were here but had to leave. These are the things we seek, hoping to retain strength and fortitude in all that is left behind. Our ruffled

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-75105338397892591732009-09-13T16:25:00.023-04:002009-09-15T04:43:08.348-04:00

We have gone so far into your past that nothing reflects us.... ... the perfect map of this return where I have met and lost you willingly in a dead and living place.               - Tess Gallagher (Disappearances in the Guarded Sector, Amplitude - New & Selected Poems) Dissapointments Reading a book of poems once enjoyed, and groping for words savored - an army of syllables that nourished

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-10190781640505150142009-09-12T09:48:00.004-04:002009-09-15T04:25:00.458-04:00

"How does one get back on, brother? Whereever you're going is fine with me. Anything I've got is yours and always was."         - Robert Creeley           (Poem: There, Book: If I were writing this) "I must start from what I am.  I am those monsters which visit my dreams and reveal to me my hidden essence."  - Czeslaw Milosz in 'To Raja Rao' Analyze This In my dreams, lost on my way to get

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-49073419542120387722009-09-09T14:23:00.006-04:002010-05-16T17:09:51.409-04:00

To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company. - Anne Sexton, "Letter Written During a January Northeaster" I am filling the room with the words from my pen. Words leak out of it like a miscarriage. I am zinging words out into the air and they come back like squash balls. Yet there is silence.  - Anne Sexton, "The Silence" We don't have to know, only to be: let go

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-17448679152697767452009-09-01T08:56:00.012-04:002010-05-16T17:44:12.907-04:00

Only in books the flat and final happens,Only in dreams we meet and interlock.... - Philip Larkin (Observation) Common sense tells us that the things of the earth exist only a little, and that true reality is only in dreams. - Charles Baudelaire (Artificial Paradise, Dedication, 1860)   For Dad. (After another night, another dream... ) Possibilities------------- Fretful shadows flit across the

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-47008280426704601892009-05-05T06:06:00.003-04:002009-05-05T15:31:37.368-04:00

And the loud chanting of the unquiet leaves Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry                 - W. B. Yeats, Sorrow of Love, 1892 [1] Unquiet Soft steps down the creaking stars; its 3am and my weary eyes awake to the burden of the night hour - where the hushed thoughts flutter like pigeons disturbed in their eaves. Outside, the sky is a bluish steel gray and the leaves in quiet murmur

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-12821243422105956562008-10-28T11:48:00.002-04:002008-10-28T11:57:33.626-04:00

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Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-35730716583695643362008-10-27T11:41:00.005-04:002008-10-27T18:32:57.280-04:00

i.Shedding modestythe trees stand in a shallow red seaScattered memories.ii.A shy squirrelGathering for the winterScampers up the tree - October 27, 2008

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-26478385303276469112008-10-13T13:09:00.012-04:002010-05-16T17:27:32.874-04:00

There you are and I look to see you still, all the distance still implacable. - Abstract, Robert Creeley (Echoes) For my Dad.     Echoes     He     who breathes                  today     cries         muted tears,     traveling alone       along the edge         of life.     The coffee percolates,         the sun hides              for the day.                     Squirrels    

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-31563999402882882962008-05-19T07:45:00.006-04:002008-10-27T20:05:39.013-04:00

"DeathYou isolate me, you give me the certainty of life." - Pier Paolo Pasolini.For my Dad, who passed away in February.i.My father comes visiting butnot a word spoken between us;the moments play out in silence- like a silent movie, only withoutthe exaggerated emotions.Today, I rue the words we never shared,the moments unspoken.ii.Not a word, no voices in my dreams.Just a smile to delight

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-73332560242818871632006-11-25T04:48:00.001-05:002008-08-05T06:53:33.419-04:00

as life is short.But desire, desire is long.- Heat, Jane HirshfieldThe second-hardest thing I have to do is not be longing's slave - Hell, Sarah MangusoWriting her nameon the frosty windowsThe cat curls up knowinglyEyes open and closeA swarm of kids get onThe train rattles onPebbles in a vaseCounting days to the new yearToday's mail unopened.The snow falls relentlesslyErasing the kid's

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1689174133442271932006-10-17T04:45:00.001-04:002008-08-05T06:53:48.742-04:00

Because we cannot accept the truth of transience, we suffer. - Shinichi Suzuki Life distilled down isnothing but a series ofhours filled withirrelevant details, fraughtwith possibilities but lacklusterwithout the defining moments.And yet beautiful - likethe bare muted trees I see,as I tiptoe through the houseat 3am in the morning.- Oct 16/17, 2006

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-43878492188572868642006-10-15T16:15:00.001-04:002008-08-05T06:53:59.395-04:00

Let us stifle under mud at the pond’s edgeand affirm that it is fittingand delicious to lose everything. - Donald Hall, AffirmationClosing in on the midnight hour, caughtin between yesterday and tomorrow,there is just you, me,and the silence.Driving back, our eyes focus on the road,as we float through the fog, beyond whichthere is always the possibility that itall ends suddenly. Afterall,

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-65909489689754621712006-09-21T15:40:00.001-04:002008-08-05T06:54:32.076-04:00

I want to... write speak flypaint crylove protestlive forever and ever before I DIEand yet all I do is sit here & m o p e!

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1156615777937611892006-08-26T14:08:00.002-04:002008-10-13T14:21:57.537-04:00

i...falling in love is so easyit's snapping out of it that takes the life out of you!ii.Amazing how lovebrings out the best in usand a lack thereofthe worst.

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1157595889114054032006-08-20T22:24:00.001-04:002008-08-05T06:54:53.764-04:00

withdrawn into a painfulprivacy learning to livewithout words - Denise LevertovA lot goes unsaid in thisthe summer of our discontent,living in the empty spacesbetween words.Only our weary clothes slowlytumble together, contentin their togetherness. - July/August 2006

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-29121197304168570292006-07-22T13:50:00.000-04:002006-09-22T13:51:42.091-04:00

Some people find respitefrom the daily grind of lifein God.I find refugein music andpoetry. - July 2006(work in progress - needs to be further fleshed out)

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112984066854638912005-04-15T14:12:00.001-04:002008-10-29T19:21:51.953-04:00

April 1stbirds a-twitterchilly spring morningbulbs peekingApril 2ndopen windowswinter chill persistsillusions of loveApril 3rdSun out of hidingMorning fog dissolvesLove's true delightApril 4thSummer's assaultAnts get organizedRecalling last yearApril 5thSpringtime chatterWhirr of lawnmowersWars rage onApril 6thWord for the dayFrugivorous birdsStrawberry delightApril 7thPicket fencesChildren at

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112984274599266872005-04-07T14:17:00.000-04:002005-04-08T14:17:54.600-04:00

There was always the chanceshe'd come back. He kept the doorunlocked always - the shotgunnext to his bed and a .38mm Colton the nightstand. Everytime he heardsomething scurry on the gravel outside- a possum, a hedgehog or some stray cats,he thought he heard footsteps.He once stepped out to find herbut finding a cat, frozenin the glare of his flashlight,he shot it right between itseyes.- Sanjeev

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112541191139690612005-04-03T11:11:00.000-04:002006-06-13T19:58:25.316-04:00

You cover up your inadequaciesin a bluster of incessant talking- if you ever stopped to listen,you'd know that I do not care.- Sanjeev NaikApril 3, 2005

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112538091449798582005-04-03T10:20:00.000-04:002005-04-03T10:21:31.450-04:00

Learning to say goodbyeis finding a new tomorrowon some cooler planetbarren and unfamiliar and guiltless.- Audre Lordes (Dream/Songs from the Moon of Beulah Land, Black Unicorn.)Some mornings we need to talk,some we can do without. Insteadof reliving the beleaguered hours,we choose to conceal our fearsbehind shameless words of comfortand our collective tears. Our griefin assonance, a

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112537923810975022005-04-03T10:17:00.000-04:002005-04-05T12:10:13.016-04:00

Knowingit does not pay to cherish symbolswhen the substanceis so close to hand- Audre Lordes (Walking our boundaries, Black Unicorn).I wake up to find she's still herebut no longer with me - the distancebetween us in her eyes.We have lost more than just an hourthis night, the grief of lossnow concealed in a cocoon of silence.Our desires discarded between rumpledsheets in a tenuous mingle of naked

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112477819177230802005-04-02T16:35:00.003-05:002009-09-09T20:19:54.396-04:00

Into the company of love, it all returns - For Love, Robert Creeley Love is eternal, and pathetic equally - For a friend, Robert Creeley i. Peek in through the blinds into the slanted down of our forlorn room, mysterious in its shadows and awash with morning hour sentimentality. Saturday is a time for incongruous ruminations of intangible dreams. Her reticence merges with my lack of anything

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112538226711024242005-04-01T10:22:00.001-05:002005-04-04T14:56:21.380-04:00

Is writing a form of exhibitionism,even if no one reads?2am is the time for reviewing thecatalogs of old memories in the mind.What color pill does one prescribefor emotional reflux?How can the blues sound sobeautiful?- Sanjeev NaikApril 1, 2005

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112641243423015642005-03-28T14:59:00.000-05:002005-04-08T14:27:40.253-04:00

Transit lounges smell of powerlessness and deportation - Said, in Landscapes of a Distant Mother.Never arriving - alwaysin motion..... fluid ... longing .... desire;Caught in a haze of jetlaggedlanguidness, hourless and caughtin between day and night, amidsta thousand other fatigued facesand the gaudy exhibition of overpricedduty-free shopping: perfumes,alcohol, chocolates

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111539923000878732005-03-21T22:04:00.000-05:002005-03-22T20:05:23.000-05:00

Sad how the concept of a nationis above that of beinghuman.- Sanjeev NaikMarch 21, 2005

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111333869561123732005-03-20T10:48:00.000-05:002005-03-22T19:50:30.750-05:00

In them the divine mystery..- Walt Whitman, I sing the body electric At the public library,racks and racks of books,just no readers. Are these books mere tokens for our collective memories,their authors mere names to someand unknown to many?I check out books of poetry,Lorde, Carruth, Berryman, Gluck,and Kenyon and Don Hall. Afteryears of whispering their secretsbetween closed pages, tonightthey

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111331652508316862005-03-19T10:11:00.000-05:002005-03-22T20:04:27.736-05:00

There aren't too many happy men at happy hourJust people too unhappy to go home- Song I heard last night on WWOZI.Zero is never a numberof comfort, it is somethingwe endure - indivisibleand yet integral to all ourexperiences.II.Worry is a closed tractto nowhere. It is not throughour impulses but our sensesthat we live.III.Like asking a blind manif he misses a sunny day- more to life than what we

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111176479421617502005-03-17T15:06:00.000-05:002005-04-04T15:02:48.280-04:00

"I travel through the invisible country. . . . I create a world which submits to no laws save the shadowy laws of my own feeling. ... The invisible realm is the adobe of attention and imagination" - Yury (Karlovich) Olesha, in A Cherry Pie, 1929 "By means of an image we are often able to hold on to our lost belongings. But it is the desperateness of losing which picks the flowers of memory, binds

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111022505691357042005-03-16T20:18:00.000-05:002005-03-16T20:21:45.696-05:00

"On the wall the shadow of the firein the fire your shadow and mine "- Octavio Paz.I.The words dissolveburning the whiteness of space,but never time.II.Time constructs and destroysthese mesas of dreams,echoes of silences.III.Amidst paling memoriesvoices in the shadowsweightless whispers in the night.- Sanjeev D. Naik May 2, 1998 - modified Mar 16, 2005.

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110752255029413282005-03-13T22:15:00.000-05:002006-09-05T00:43:50.026-04:00

But there's nothing in it of meBesides my dream of the journey.The rest is just land and sky.- Fernando Pessoa*In the quiet spaces of nocturnal hours,I wrap myself with raimentsof childhood memories - winding downfrom a day of restlessnessand disquietude. I visit friends I haven'tseen in twenty years - time collapsinginto a moment of unadulterated reunion.It is as if I retrace my stepsto the

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757179234605302005-03-12T20:37:00.000-05:002005-03-16T20:03:55.613-05:00

Why cannot I find better wordsthan these - aphorisms and pithy sayings?There is always a lost opportunity- the road not taken - because where we end upis often not where we intended to go.But while there, enjoy the scenery,new experiences, new opportunities.Life can be as vibrant as we allow it to be,as dismal as we decree it to be.- Sanjeev NaikMarch 12, 2005

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757653893011542005-03-12T18:47:00.000-05:002005-03-16T19:54:54.393-05:00

Since when did life get so complicated- our conversations full of interrupted pausesand stilted mumblings.Life is what we ask for, not what we plan foror deny ourselves through our inhibitions.And yet some days we have to planbeyond the taste of fear on our tongues.Life is about managing our needs,balancing expectations, and most of all,peace of mind.- Sanjeev NaikMarch 12, 2005

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757132642584172005-03-11T23:37:00.000-05:002005-03-16T19:47:55.690-05:00

And love is a certaintybecause it is sure of itself- For a Friend, Robert CreeleyThe banality of symbolic gestures,like flighty kisses blown in the spring air,of little consequence, I thought. But she'daccept love in any form - little knowing,she had it all along.But love alone is notenough.- Sanjeev NaikMarch 11, 2005

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757037583624982005-03-11T22:03:00.000-05:002005-04-03T10:37:38.810-04:00

Only emotion endures - Ezra PoundNo harmin the emotionalnor in remembering allyou can or want to- Still Dancers, Robert CreeleyHow can I say what I feel -how does one translatethe language of dreams?We never talk in my dreamsbut we never meet elsewhere. So,how does a memory sustain itselfacross all these years? Our feelingsa construct of our imagination, manifestedas a measure of knowing amid

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112642128121334892005-01-09T15:12:00.000-05:002005-04-04T15:15:28.123-04:00

I.Memories need no metaphors,it is all a matter ofmoored emotions andconvenience.The existentialists sayforgetting is also a choice.II.Missing heris another way of experiencingalienation. She always said'Life is about managingexpectations'.Life, I say, is about extendinghorizons.III.Breaking free from my poeticinsomnia, these wordsliberate me from the inadequaciesof time and place.It is too early

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112641456380261432005-01-08T15:03:00.000-05:002005-04-04T15:04:16.383-04:00

Do we find this gameof hiding behind pretencesalluring? No element of suspenseeven to tempt us.Maybe we want it this way,necessary gestures ofself-delusion.The darkness of my skin now contrastedagainst a flush of red - wispsof fragmented memories in the air,as we attempt to salvage the past - unitedin a fleeting rapture of flesh and bones.My fingers trail a silent trail alongher back - an hour of

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112641626662919462005-01-07T15:05:00.000-05:002005-04-04T15:07:06.663-04:00

Today she visited me again,alive and sprightful,and in an unusual hurry -asking me for directions.She needed to take a wash,soon..now...even in my dreams,the urgency was palpable.What does it meanwhen we dream of the dead?Necessary purgatory?Waking up, I remember heron the desolate charpoy -ten years or more sinceI last saw her - life's finalonslaught leaving her wordless.Her feistiness subdued

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112641795812434242005-01-03T15:07:00.000-05:002005-04-04T15:09:55.813-04:00

I cannot find the words to write about the actual tragedy... its scope too big for any words I might cobble together... but here are some random thoughts about things I read or saw the past few days. This minimalistic way is perhaps the best way to deal with it..because I know that trying big words, I will fail...Choosing the option toturn off the radio wavesIgnorance is bliss?PBS documentary

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112641877430550932004-12-30T15:10:00.000-05:002005-04-04T15:11:17.433-04:00

Flying home tonightChristmas cards to writeA cold house awaits.A quiet cab rideNew hue to the December skyPurple hazeA solitary leafMemories of happier timesHanging off-grooveTime tiptoeingWeek of imprisoned sunlightSilence reigns.Naked trees shiverFirst winter by myselfTired eyes shutWisps of thoughtsclouds whispering in cahootsWhere are the answers?Arriving homeThe neighbours are movingThe

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112538828702143922001-10-17T10:28:00.000-04:002005-04-03T10:33:48.703-04:00

i.After he lifted me into his sinewy arms,I passed my fingers through hisgrey beard - I could see he'd lost one eyein some battle past, the other now merelyclosed because he was tiredof seeing.I asked him about his family -whichone, he asked - the brothers he lost tothe Soviets or the daughter-in-law he lostto the Taleban's atrocitiesor his grandchildren deadin the rubble after the bomb hitlast

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111345164766246612001-09-27T13:45:00.001-04:002005-03-20T13:59:24.766-05:00

i.cloudy autumn daypetunias still bloominggeese in flightii.plan for the day,tap-dancing arounddrifting memoriesiii.nostalgia todayregurgitated patternsunlike my poetry?iv.flailing for rhythma riff to the rescuepoetry and jazz todayv.placid noon hourreflections in the shadowsstability is a farcevi.memoirs and portraitsdestiny and fatecycles of truthvii.sunshine in hidingleaves scatter in

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1112539376485264992001-09-20T09:38:00.005-04:002009-09-11T06:57:52.959-04:00

It is stupid to protest against death as such, but you can and must protest against violent death. It is bad when people died before their time from disease or poverty but it is worse when a man is killed by another man - Testimony, Memoirs of Dmitri Shostakovich, 1979. I. 7p.m., Central Park - dark clouds drift by, tinted with the red hue of blood filling up the New York City skyline. Even

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757896462954082001-08-29T18:51:00.000-04:002005-03-16T19:56:26.626-05:00

(Because) beyond this open skybegins the desert and oblivion- Alberto BlancoShe asked me, Why do I write?and I said, let me count the reasons why...To celebraterhythms in the rainsongs of the birdsthe freshness of flowersdances of the leavesand the permanence of first loveTo cherishmemories of the seathe calm of artthe tranquility of hopemysteries in dreamsand the magic of loveTo rememberflights

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757989802569522001-06-17T18:52:00.000-04:002005-03-16T19:55:11.866-05:00

There, before dawn,when gestures are softand sad in solitude- Maria Baranda (in 'Gardens of Enchantment')I.I wake to the chirping birds,the sunlight streaming in - hot andbright already. No tired faces, no shadowsin the streets, no barking dogstoday. Sundays were meant to be quiet -only the lingering aroma of coffeeand memories of you.II.The early morning sun - quite distant fromthe cold Iowa

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111344904236328072001-06-09T14:50:00.000-04:002005-04-03T10:35:02.016-04:00

This poem, perhaps to be read as a sequel to "Never again" is about where we (mankind) have gone collectively since those two dark days in 1945. Is there a recognition of the perils and inhumanity of atomic warfare? Au contraire.. we indulge the cowardly use of nuclear weapons as a blackmailing weapon and shroud it in jingoistic rhetoric. This poem purports to be a statement of indignation

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111345043731217982001-06-09T13:55:00.000-04:002005-03-20T13:57:23.733-05:00

We seek sanctuary in memories- build memorials to wars, glorifythe heroes, but ignore the disgraced,and forget the lessons. Paraded in gaudy garbs of celluloid and fake realism, we lose our honor and respect - no oneends up better than before, except the coffers of the rich.History does repeat itself!- Sanjeev D. NaikJune 9, 2001(Summer blockbuster movie of the year: Pearl Harbor)

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111344630077947942001-06-09T13:49:00.000-04:002005-03-20T13:50:30.080-05:00

For the hibashukas and for those men and women everywhere that had the chutzpah and temerity to stand up and fight against the inhumanity of nuclear weapons and war. More power to them!1.Sunrise, August 6thWalking to the Buddhist templeSuddenly, ricefields on fire2.Waking to ma's songThe cicadas abuzzAnd then.. silence3."Early morning wartime routine"Half a million dead in secondsHow does one

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757827854093712001-04-23T21:49:00.000-04:002005-03-16T19:57:22.366-05:00

The shape of my thoughts blur and thecolor of my dreams intensify, in vivid technicolor,as I sit on the nose of an airplane andfly over New York City. My dreamsthey take flight - literally - holding onas the plane rises. The city weaves in andout of my vision, riding through the night- the sky radiant in the city glow. Like alonely daughter waiting for her parentsto come home, waits Liberty - as

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110758028099262472001-04-22T18:53:00.000-04:002005-03-16T20:08:18.390-05:00

I.They say love can be found any time,especially when you least expect it.Maybe it can be lost the same way too,lieing here in bed, our faces turnedaway, me listening to the static hissof the alarm clock radio, youadrift in your tears.When the lightning strikes, the roomlights up - and it seemsdarker thereafter.II.Our dreams they lie among the stars,seared by the day long sun, nowprosaic in their

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757767021968702001-03-23T18:48:00.000-05:002005-03-16T19:50:01.300-05:00

Poetry is an act of both solitude and communion- Octavio PazThese are the words we have lived,not learned - slowly dissolving intothe shapes and forms and colorsof our dreams. The taste of the wind,like the lure of fame or money- intangible, but always there.But as mortal men, we crave andlong - every feeling needs salvation,every boundary draws the limiton our excursions. Exerting our

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110757951082396612000-12-24T18:51:00.000-05:002006-09-06T22:27:12.766-04:00

Desire is imaginations best offering - Renee Gregorio*Desire is a cold drinkthat scalds the heart - Kim Addonizio, in Full MoonOminous rain filtering in throughthe clouds that collude in conferenceto trap the light - light years of traveland now stopped cold by water anddust. But light prevails - peekingthrough, voyeuring into my bedroomwindow through translucent curtainsthat are no match for her

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111344475451598082000-11-14T13:42:00.000-05:002005-03-20T13:47:55.453-05:00

Why this incessant need to unburden myselfthrough words - attempts to quell the silence,fill the void? Maybe this is my wayof having a yard sale for my collected emotions- necessary purging.I thought it was a search for myself- growing pains; trekking throughalien mindscapes, looking for answersthat weren't there. Mere mirages of the mind?Do I write to forget? But the memories these words keep

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111344282462761602000-08-29T13:42:00.000-04:002005-03-20T13:44:42.463-05:00

Every night I unweave thememories - shadows flirtingin those secret placeswhere the color is lostand the motivesunknown.Soundless, they scamperacross the turnstiles of my mind- exalted in their temporaryresurgence. How cold the gesturesof our past feel now,how frigid their touch.Some stories have to be told- but silence singsthe loudest songs.- Sanjeev NaikAugust 29 2000

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1114202204290108332000-08-22T16:35:00.000-04:002005-04-22T16:36:44.290-04:00

Juniper to me is a stock,not a conifer;And Amazon a book-store,not the rain-forest.I know my plastics - polyethylene,polypropylene and PET, not to forgetpoly-Bd and SBR; butask me about the woods- balsam and oak,maple and cherry- the rhubarbs and rhododendron,and I need an encyclopedia.Trying hard now toremember the taste of mangoes,chikoos, and papaya;pineapple is the most tropicalI get these

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1110758115883445632000-08-13T18:54:00.004-04:002009-09-09T17:42:18.963-04:00

Fact is, silence is the perfect water: unlike rain it falls from no clouds to wash our minds, to ease our tired eyes, to give heart to the thin blades of grass fighting through the concrete for even air dirtied by our endless stream of words. - Philip Levine, in the poem "He would never use one word where none would do"   silence is the perfect water------------------------ I. In the stillness

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111022274849999351998-05-02T20:15:00.000-04:002005-04-03T10:34:46.683-04:00

Crushed dreams, left alonelike waifs now, dissolved and discarded inhistory's burdened river.Another life eclipsed by itslongings - the momentsstill burning without any fire -we inhabit the forsakencaves of memories - spiralingto nowhere. From these dateless memories the nameless wordsspill - ageless and barren,unheard and doomed -" the passage of wordsfrom silence to silence"-Sanjeev D. NaikMay

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111022108853144291998-05-02T20:11:00.000-04:002005-03-16T20:15:08.860-05:00

"When words leave off, music begins" - Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)The face of unchained sleep- tormentless, resting in a void. I open my eyes to the memories of you- white, clear of all illwill and love. The cold fingersof the night clasped with mine- the moon awake peeking through,the magic fluttering through thestars. An unfinished journey thatleads us through a whirl of dreams,

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111020450724998681998-03-16T19:45:00.000-05:002005-03-16T20:11:25.476-05:00

"Poetry is not truth,it is the resurrection of presences,history transfiguredin the truth of undated time."- Octavio Paz"We never saythe words of the poem.The poem tells us."- Octavio Paz (in Return)I.Why do I write again,if not to save myself- to hear the careless whispersof the early spring flowers,or the music of the wind?This lilt or lack thereofgets hauntinglydeafening sometimes.II.Love is

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111033345770149001995-07-17T23:20:00.000-04:002005-03-16T23:22:25.773-05:00

Waiting for freedom to be liberated, still inexorablyfalling. Walking into the darkagain - I try to run but stumble.Can we run faster than time?Chasing her in never endingcycles - I wonder - is thisall a premeditated mystificationof love and life.An apocalyptic presentiment-waiting for the skyto open up again.- Sanjeev NaikJuly 17, 1995

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111033870148443351995-07-11T23:30:00.000-04:002005-03-16T23:41:20.120-05:00

I. Little by littlewe run these riskstill sooner or laterflying higher than beforewe have to go down again.II.Crimson tides.Sunset spreads a bloody gloom.Splits the sky asunder.III.Continual denial of thought,suppressing feelings and ignoringthe stark realities- hurting.Why hide from oneself?IV.Bifurcating notions in the mind- stealthily sneaking into quietcorners, points of no return.This

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111033211088779511995-07-06T23:15:00.001-04:002009-11-30T20:44:00.173-05:00

I. Time, with all its maternal affection, caresses the mountains to sleep under the dark desert sky. Standing  at the precipice of time, I look  out into space and see her  everywhere. And yet here an infinite  expanse of nothingness. Everywhere. And I lose  myself again. II. Stratified layers of ennui, creeping back again - to be peeled away in time - but now I must sleep. III.

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111032893899645851995-07-01T23:10:00.000-04:002005-03-16T23:31:56.143-05:00

I.Boiling in a dark couldron,yet firm and resolute, she rose- agitated yet vulnerably stolidin her ways. True to herselfthrough the silence, yet searchingand not finding herself within. Inthis dismissive contradiction ofopening closed doors, she soughtto reshape her lives througha denial of being without.II.Wandering herds come hometo roost, but the irrelevantfacets of life blend in with

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111345431719198091994-02-07T14:00:00.000-05:002005-03-20T14:04:41.280-05:00

We all shine onLike the moonless skySeeking the starsWe dance in the darkFear the lights will go onAnd find we're dancing aloneAnd we seek the stars again!And we all dance on...aloneWe are like the starsSo many of usYet all alone..- Sanjeev NaikFebruary 7, 1994Published & Copyrighted at the Green Cart magazine

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11425144.post-1111034970050555311990-01-01T23:42:00.000-05:002005-03-16T23:49:58.610-05:00

Has to be one of my earliest attempts at poetry!! And though we never talked of loveOr of the moonstruck chirping dovesOur eyes to talk were forever freeThey shone with loveYoung and unbound glee- Sanjeev Naik1985-86I'm ashamed i wrote such poetry...cliche-ridden and *shudder*... what can I say? I feel the same after a few years of writing all my poems though (these days I cringe when I read

Sanjeevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14503892343682253668noreply@blogger.com0