The Wrinkled True Love

To all the parents growing old and to the grandparents preparing to be born again. Coz well !  I believe in reincarnation.

“Let me take your wrinkled hands ,
To see the sands of time settled in those crevices,

Let me wipe the corner of your eyes ,
that ooze the light that has long shone over the horizon,

Let me tell you the end of every story you have ever told me
    “There is no better teacher than time
      And no better lesson than failure”

And also let me plead with my little hands ,
DON’T LET YOUR LESSONS BECOME MY COMMANDMENTS ”

©Athena

Magical Kasol

.I wrote this poem while sitting at the MoonDance cafe on Kasol in the late evening , listening to the sounds of the flowing Parvati river 

The roaring river … roar like the anguish of  a long lost love,
The pain of unrequited love so vibrant in its roars,
The cry so vibrant ,so shrieking as if calling the rest of its soul, gushing downstream… running, cutting across the so called stony sledges, wrecking them , burning there arrogance down over the years,
That’s the mighty river Parvati behind me…
Ironical it sounds … why they call it Parvati, its forgiveness us like Durga , the dark moonlight night makes it glow like Kali,
In the backdrop of this goddess we sit, huddled across in the chill of the valley, taking in what was so dear to parvati’s consort …
Shiva , another god that is as simple, as innocent as the child in you ,
Touching your deepest , purest corners of heart,
Oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the maddening crowd,
Two birds, to proclaim , no , reclaim their lost freedom ,
Spread their wings, melting the inhibitions, killing the selves, perpetuating oneness, offering their prayers on this magical land, to Shiva himself,
Far from the norms of right and wrong… the bird tells his other half
” far from the norms of right and Wrong,
Far from the clear lines of black and white,
Far from the crowds that know our faces but not our souls,
O my friend lets meet there,
Lets fly there,
Lets soar there,
Lets love there, ”

Ambika/Athena

They Say Men Are Simple Creatures, Yet Why Have They Made Me A Complicated Woman?

As far as I can remember and as far as we all have been told , they say,”Men are simple creatures.” Simple creatures with no complicated heads, with simple well defined DESIRES of mind and of body. I am writing this running the risk of being misunderstood but understanding is not my duty, its expressing. If any weak, faint fabric of a human is hurt then sorry but, no sorry.

So men ! Not all men but the men in general , the men that we have raised from little boys who were TOLD TO ENJOY hardcore raw , rough MANLY games. From the mud of the streets and fields their hands might have now moved to the touchscreen phones, fingers frantically tossing and tapping the X BOX games and hurling abuses thriving in utter denial of surroundings, getting all turned on by the violent porn, their phones a nest of nudity and yet their brains covered in tethered remains of the pungent smelling shreds of these thoughts and rotten ideas. Those men thinking of that girl at work making love to themselves and their hands. That’s simplicity? Is it?

A very cold relationship with my father has meant a constant quest to know what goes in a man’s head.  If a guy allowed me into the inner sanctum of their social circle I would feel a rush of triumph. That approval for me is comforting, all-consuming, highly addictive and, as it turns out, extremely dangerous.

All my life I have listened to how they talk about their women when they are with their friends

-“She wants to get married.”
-“I can’t come out tonight because her in-laws are coming over and she’ll give me hassle if I miss it.”
-“Look at that hot little thing over there, I’d bang that. Bet she fucks like a pro instead of the sack of potatoes I’ve been sticking my dick in for the last ten years.”
-“She wants kids.”
-“I can’t come to your stag party , she wants a new kitchen.”

I listened intently, noticing how they never referred to their partner by her name. I knew full well that it was how my father would refer to my mother despite my mother being nothing like the woman he would have them believe. Nevertheless I found myself resenting what females had done, the mess they had made. They had created an intolerable, generic mould that I couldn’t fit into and I was on a one-woman crusade to prove that we were not all the same.

While I don’t know how the man with whom I am in a relationship right now (I am wondering why didn’t I write the man whom I love) addresses me in his circles I do secretly wish that he proudly calls out my name… out of love and more importantly out of respect. Ii have loved before, broken before  recollected the pieces, learnt my lessons and moved on with no baggage and yet never gave up on love. Loved this man with utmost sincerity and intensity but somewhere deep down you know in those little things that you have finally decided to keep quite over that its just you alone walking the road.

Its just like loving a sponge who absorbs all that you can give him including your anger and tantrums but never reciprocate anything… neither the love that flows through souls and nor the tears , the anguish that exist in pain. Its like loving a corpse… A COLD CORPSE. Maybe or  maybe not its time to part ways for there are no words left to be said. With no mistakes of him or anyone, its probably his misfortune like everyone else’s …”To Fall In Love With The Right Woman… TheKind That Seeks More Than Money, Sex , Gifts And Cuddles”

maybe its the reality… things grow stale and so do relations. Or may be just maybe …

“The Men In My Life Have Complicated Me With Their Simplicity”

-Ambika (Athena)

Selfless Creators

I love those content smiling blissful faces ,
A soldier’s fight to serve a nation that may not even thank him,
A musician’s play with his music unmindful of who hears or not,
A painter’s imagination painted in colors oblivious to the eyes who may or may not see beauty in it ,
A writer’s bleeding pen which pours over paper and dances with his heartbeats irrespective of who reads it and who doesn’t,
A dancer’s moving limbs spreading grace and energy unmindful of flaws and techniques ,

And the whole sham world which categorizes, classifies , quantifies and qualifies their art may as well go to a laboratory and trust me … trust me !
Even there they shall not find shrewd quantities and degrees , neither the unmindful boasting ,
JUST PURE UNADULTERATED FREE FLOWING HUMAN GENIUS SEEKING NO AWARDS
‪#‎Athena‬
p.s -You know what is purpose and humility ?
When an artist derives bliss by just playing his instrument or drawing a painting and the accolades that come along are never ever important and neither do they seek it .

“Karmanye Vadhikaraste, Ma phaleshou kada chana,

Ma Karma Phala Hetur Bhurmatey Sangostva Akarmani”

THE REAL FAMILY

A writer's late night desk 
-athena
The radiant skin , the shining eyes , the wide smile , the rushing tears ... Nothing shall remain ,
And neither shall our ego, our status our bountiful health...
But one thing shall always haunt ... Shall always linger , like a ghost , like the shadow of your old self ...
One thing !
Losing the one who loved you with all their heart and soul ,
Losing those eyes that waited for a single glimpse ,
Losing those hands that prayed for your happiness,
Losing that heart whose only happiness was to see you happy,
One regret shall we all have ...
When one day we stand at the afternoon n evening of our lives finding that noone really bothers , none really cares as they did and yet in the haughty arrogance of our youth , in the glittery world of the city lights , in the dripping drinks and the rising highs ,
In the puffs of smoke and the euphoria generated,
We forgot to treasure that hand which held us without a single word ,
We forgot to wipe tears from the eyes that cried for us ,
We forgot to lift the soul that bent down to support us,
We forgot to protect the love that was pure ...
And in that moment shall we realise that not just have we been fools but cowards ...
Because
'Everyone finds love , but only the brave know how to treasure it '
© Athena
P.s - Leave your home, go live alone and you will know who is your family and who isn't.

CHANGING SPECTRUM OF HOME

CHANGING SPECTRUMS OF HOME
-ATHENA

A step taken from there , a step put here,

a feeling of leaving things , a feeling of seeking experiences

few days when i missed my strings back home , now the coming day when i miss the strings i have tied here ,

i seek where was my home ,

the place i came from …

the place i lived …

the place i learnt from …

or the place that comforted me ….

home is where the heart is ,

home is where my longing is …

home is where ur arms are ….

home is in the embrace …

home is is my brother’s pranks …

home is in her lap …

home is this life which teaches me every waking second

and engulfs me in dreams …

every sleeping hour