Uncut Poetry

Living Inside a Wound

Too often, only too often, couples live lives of quiet despair.
 
Without knowing that's not ordinary, that's not what coupledon is all about, that we can't have lifetimes compromised to the extent that an entirety passes by and there's nothing to show for it.
 
Life is valuable and nobody, no relationship, has a right to take away from the preciousness of each moment. Because we have too few in the entirety of a lifetime to be in a position to even lose a single one of them.
 
We need quick reparation, priority conversations, time to sort things out, to sit down with the intent of resolution, to come halfway - if not whole - to mend.
But that's easier said than done.
 
For the simple reason that hurts are deep-seated, more cavernous than ego. And fault lines once created are like deep crevasses. The solution is not bandaid, neither surgery because the scars which remain still hurt. It's only massive change and a change of attitude that will act as the silt to fill those fissures - a flood of gratefulness which would leave its residue behind, a continuous level of self-awareness of how our inadequacies are compensated by the other's presence.
 
Couples are a team, and much more than the centripetal forces of differences, it's the pre-assumption of intent which destroys. Close relationships have to start with gratefulness, take each other as gifts and stay in the moment, to find real joy.
Zen is not a strategy for love, it is the first principle. Nothing is impossible if intent and awareness are the emotions which lead.
 
Ordinary lives are then haloed in quiet beautiful ways.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the struggles which mark coupledom - 
Before Bruises Become Wounds
What is Loss, She Asked Me
Grief Strikes Where Love Struck First
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Evacuation by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/Evacuation
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

As Summer Finds a Beginning

Summer is late in the city I stay in. There are discussions about it but no conclusions. Some say - enjoy the extended spring. Nobody minds, as there are high winds coming in from the south-west, and windows rattle. There is more time to get the air conditioners serviced.
 
But the intimations of summer have not ceased.
 
Much before the papers announced the hot days ahead, the mornings had started to get more humid. Joggers knew. Windows in cars started being closed and the air conditioning cranked up. Summer bushes along walking paths started flowering. Pink Bougainvillea, red frangipanis, yellow elders. Flower beds had amaranths, salvias and hollyhocks nodding away delightedly. And as I went to office, Red Road and the Victoria Memorial complex was strewn with gorgeous gulmohur and amaltas, the golden yellow shower tree, the purple jacaranda and the flaming royal poinciana. My drives every morning were ablaze with colour.
 
And I knew though it was a welcome, things would unravel in different ways.
The tar on the roads would start to melt, as would the barely hidden anger on the edges of side streets. People would tend to get tired faster and more irritated. Fuses would ignite and punches landed. Relationships would begin to unravel and truths told in harsh tones. People would fall into lust more than they fell in love. And there would be too many misdemeanours conducted by common people in commonplace ways.
 
But legendarily people understand. Even as they fight and argue, they understand that the heat is a character in every situation. People make plans to go to the hills but some refuse. Summers are when they reveal themselves to their own. They write their most honest poetry. And understand the enormity of their misdemeanours- and do not hesitate to ask for forgiveness.
 
Springs just make you glad, happy to be alive, perky without reason. Autumns are for deep depression, to think of the worst life has every given as just desserts: it's the time for seeking redemption. Winters are to freeze inside, to not reveal oneself. Everyone is too embroiled in one's own battles of seeking succour and warmth, to be able to think of being benevolent.
 
But summer is when we allow everything to fall apart. Our clothes, our defences, our truths, our untruths. Even as the most iridescent flowers burst uncontrollably in colours which sometimes hurt the eyes, something soft inside wants to tell truths. It seems easier to give in then rebel, or wallow in stories with long lives. It's good to be ordinary and open.
 
Summers are the time for both passions and truths to find their own paths of destruction or redemption. Whilst other seasons are one dimensional, summers are when the roads get forked, ready to form - or destroy you.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the the seasons of our world and lives - 
Those Days of a Lost Summer
In the Winter of Our Relationships
The Passing of Autumn
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Sehnsucht by Sascha Ende
Summer Dream Instrumental by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/Sehssucht
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/Summer_dream_instrumental
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Return to You

The riches of our lives, even when we are not searching for it, is like the journey of Santiago, the young Andalusian shepherd boy in Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist. The treasure is always nearby, always close. We just don't have the eyes for it.
 
The treasure is often our search for meaning, sometimes it is the clarity we seek of what the fulcrum of our life is, so often it is our despair to put together the disparate parts of our lives into one knowing compass.
 
Most often it is our search for a person who gives meaning to our lives.
 
And we have to wander through our days and our dullness, the inequities and confusions, the seemingly directionless pull of our lives, the cornucopia of choices, or the dearth of choice. And we return home, tired, our ties crunched, our spirits defeated. No balm, no gentle commiseration, no time with the closest to us, seems to make a difference. And we keep searching, keep looking outwards, keep wondering what will give solace, give intent, bring significance. Who would be the compass and the companion, the commiserater and the catcher in the rye?
 
And in our search for an adult cradle, even as we lie curled on the lap of someone we care for,  laying bare our existential issues, we forget that possibly, this is the person who is both the destination and the means, the person who could hold us and lead us, the one who both understands and scolds, the one who is the wind beneath our wings and the first step of beauty in our lives.
 
And in that realization, lies the gorgeous reconciliation of our search, as we realize that who we thought of as an accessory, a necessity, a cultural perk, a socio-economic order, a social necessity, often a burden, an enforced liability in the form of a gift, is actually purpose and direction, succour and signal, a parachute and a mattress.
 
And in that realization we are like the prodigal son. Our return becomes then just a realization.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on elusive love - 
Before Bruises Become Wounds
Old Poems for Old Loves
Bella's Meadow
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Der Kristall Ending by Sascha Ende
Der Kristall the Glade by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/der-kristall-ending
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/der-kristall-the-glade
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
 

Elegante Solitude

Aloneness is forced, solitude is a choice. Loneliness forces me unwillingly to be with myself. But solitude, as the great Montaigne said, gives me a chance to know how to belong to myself. A mental stand - and an entire outlook changes.
 
But, of course, it is not so simple!
 
Ironically in our worlds, we have to forcefully claim our aloneness, often to fight for it. It is antithetical, nay, antisocial, to voluntarily eschew company, and be alone. In its own way, it's a rejection of social norms, company, to say that 'hey I prefer myself to you.' We are all meant to be social animals, and nothing should deviate from that. If you seek droplets of solitude - that is acceptable. We need 'me-time'. That's hip. It's new age, recommended.
 
But to deliberately and pointedly eschew company - to travel alone, to go to a film on one's own, to decline an invitation to a party for no reason whatsoever - is anathema, non-understandable, hence, well, 'unacceptable'!
 
Because nobody can understand solitude. 
 
How can I explain its texture, its ability to embrace like a warm comforting room, to give the feeling of teetering on the edge and of being held at the same time, of getting the feeling of being with a stranger you know well, of discovering the undefinable in the person who's definition you thought you had down pat, of having the full force of freedom with oneself and of pulling oneself back all the time, of being excited because you've just said yes to something which all company would have abhorred.
 
And one discovers what the great Soraya once said - "Sometimes being surrounded by everyone is the loneliest, because you’ll realize you have no one to turn to.”
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the loneliness - 
Sometimes We Remember So Hard
I Can Sense Her Loneliness
The Art of the Lonely Good Deed
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Time Is Now by Sascha Ende
Colossus by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/Time-Is-Now
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/Colossus
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

I Come With Mud

Coming back, when you've slammed the door  behind you, is not easy. Literally or metaphorically. There is too much history to deal with, to have it hit us again like hale. Fresh starts are rarely as heroic as in fiction, and there is too much pus oozing out of the pores of common history for it to be a conjoinment without terror or distress.
We do not always desire recall, because rewinds bring with them memories of unbearable pain.
 
But often there's a knock on the door which we cannot ignore. And we are forced to reach in to rediscover not the agony but the good times, we reluctantly revisit the residue of love, to seek the part of our heart and memory which our best selves house. And once the trickle begins, the flood is not far behind.
 
There's nothing right or wrong, there's nothing good or bad. It's our life, and it's our best or flawed self finding its apogee or its nadir. In our search for happiness, we are ready to let hope triumph experience, to be reductive in our pessimism and let our beings be flooded with possibilities. Because intrinsically we are good people.
 
What works and what doesn't is a matter of chance and opportunity, of desire and purpose, of intent and attitude. But to know we've given ourselves and the universe a chance for redemption is a simple acknowledgment that we are flawed, our lives are flawed, and we recognize that, and are ready to forgive and rise above the wallow of bitter memory. We are gorgeous because - unlike a lotus - we can float with the pelf inside us, not below.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on second chances in life - 
Tenderly
The Happiest Couple You Will Ever See
That Ordinary Lie
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Sehnsucht by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/sehnsucht
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

I Said I Love You First

You have to say it first. You have to do it first. You have to use the words. You have to acknowledge what is burning inside you. You don't have to find a reason. You don't have to wait for an apposite season.
 
Lack of Reciprocation, fear of rejection, the vulnerability of putting one's heart (one's ego?) on line. Life is a hurdle race and love is strewn with obstacles. In the magnificent tapestry we create of our own scars and wounds, a bulk of them - unmentioned, hushed - are self- inflicted. But they are also an atlas of our journey through the landscapes of angularities and anguish. They are markers of our journeys from which we can learn, recalibrate, reignite.
 
Because - where's the time?
 
We have to love in a hurry. Before anything else claims our time, mind, heart. Because nothing would be worth the wait.
 
Just as, in the selfsame vein, we need to forgive first. We can't wait for the 'who's-right-or-who's-wrong' of it all. The moment regret visits our heart, we need to walk across, or pick up the phone, and say that most difficult of words - sorry.
 
Because asking for forgiveness is a major component of love, going unrecognized because it is construed as compromise, a shame, a capitulation, when actually it is a show of strength, vulnerability masquerading as compromise, understanding standing with a hangdog expression asking for a rewind.
 
Every moment is a vacuum. Waiting for us to fill it with what we feel is important. If we choose not to do anything, the universe rushes in - with its offerings, its insistences, its random temptations. The reason why we need love to be a driver for our life is because we can then choose it every minute, every time. Even if it feels premature or inchoate, and there's no stardust falling on us, we would have walked through the evolution of our own truths.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the confusions and insistences of love - 
Tenderly
Love Actually (more & mess)
Perpetrators & Victims of Love
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Dreamsphere2 by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/Dreamsphere2
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Assisted Suicide

I read about the famous economist Daniel Kahneman, author of 'Thinking fast and slow', opting to end ha life through assisted suicide, euthanasia. He went to Switzerland, and died.
 
A friend and I were talking about it. And I remembered what Tanu and I have often discussed -
Not to live if we become a permanent burden on someone.
 
I told my friend, I was quite clear - I get to decide when I will end my life. But he asked a simple question - is your life only yours?
 
And it made me pause. And as is my wont, I started writing to clear my head. First I wrote from the perspective of the one who has decided to end his life, and followed it with the feelings of the one who is left behind.
 
And it wasn't an easy decision any longer.
 
It's easy to say that our breath, our life, is a gift to us - and after that it's our decision as to what we want to do with it. But that also started sounding glib.
 
Because the fact is that our breath, our life, is also a collective. We are made of the efforts, the hope springs, the heart carvings, the soul bindings, the body cravings, the thought mouldings of all who love and care for us. We start being someone and then are slowly changed and created out of what others see us as. What might start as an opinion, an illusion, starts getting recreated. We then are what we make of ourselves, but are also deeply vented and grooved by what our world thinks of us.
 
No, we no longer remain our own.
 
If our presence makes a difference to the lives of someone else, we are not only our own. If our mere breath gives solace to someone else, we are not our own. If mere presence, without words, without effort, makes someone's life feel complete, then our life is not merely ours.
 
And that, if nothing else, needs to give us pause, before we decide to go to the next realm.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on deaths and similar journeys - 
I Heard That You Just Set Off on a Journey
Birthday Musings of an Ageing Man
I Will Leave The Last Line For You to Fill
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Movie extract by Sascha Ende
A Sad Toy Story by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/movie-extract
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/a-sad-toy-story
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
 

I Call Myself a Poet

I often feel that as a poet I am destined to live through the infliction, the gain and the loss, the incandescence and the darkness, of a continuing bruise. I have to confront too many truths, and make sense of them, I have to face the world with too much honesty, and to crack open too many of my lies and illusions.
 
I feel alone, trying to tell the story so I camouflage the truth, to iron up to rebuffs and to the reality of losing space. To know that I am both a mirror and a weapon, though I profess I'm just an agent of stories whose words sometimes seem like a lunging sabre.
 
When all I do is to sit on a desk alone, with a single bulb throwing shadows on my notebook, a pen which makes a scraping noise as I write, shovelling out the detritus of memory, scraping my heart and soul for revelations, which would help me unravel my own mystery.
 
Why do I do what I do, why does the universe pull me towards disaster and then helps me flee, why do I rebuff destiny, why do I run away from sanctuary?
 
And then I stop in my heels, and realize that I know. I'm merely being the poet that I am. No more, no less.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the absolute glory of being a poet - 
Old Poems for Old Loves
How a Poem Finds Itself
I Don't Think Poetry Will Save us. And yet, and yet....
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Sleepers by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/sleepers
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Last Legs of the Day

So much of life is of journeys, just the way death is the final one.
 
Of course, I'm not only talking of trapezing around the world, country to country, city to city, in innumerable trips. I am also referring to metaphorical and metaphysical journeys. The ones which reveal the greatest of mysteries - of what we truly are. The journey inside.
 
Because that's where the truth of our sighs and lights resides, of what haunts us in the night and of what drives us in the morn. Of what irritates us, what irrigates us, what parches us, what floods us. We learn to recognize people who freeze us, and the ones who free us. How at times we become blithe spirits when alone, and how we are completely imprisoned even as we move around in company.
 
Who are we if not responses to our own stimuli? Who are we if not found persons, dug out of our own excavations and discoveries? Because in life and in death, however many our encounters, accidents or conjoinments,  we finally keep meeting ourselves.
 
And, without comparison, it is the greatest unravelling. Because journeys help us shed skin, help us become raw and open, vulnerable to our own revelations, to see our deeper fears, and what we are but also what we can be.
 
In the world of circumstances, we are both the greatest possibility and the meanest retraction. Inside us, our wings are tightly-folded. And there's no need to fly in the crowds, as there is enough space to hide, from people and from ourselves. But, journeys give us a chance to unfold those unused wings, renew our promise to the universe, and to slowly, timidly, then surely, learn how to fly again.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on different kinds of journeys - 
Adventures in Two Worlds
In Search of God
On Growing up (that haze of sunshine & dust)
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Der Kristall Ending by Sascha Ende
Der Kristall the Glade by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/der-kristall-ending
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/der-kristall-the-glade
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
 

Tenderly

What are we if not the ones who crave for second chances. And what is this world if not a place which is spatially abundant but trajectorily linear.
 
An opportunity lost, a call not made, an apology kept back, a feedback reined, a love abandoned. Life is a compulsive giver. It's we who are blindsided with the cornucopia of choice - mistakenly thinking that life will keep giving. That we will keep rebuffing its generosity, with impatience, with disdain, with ego, and we will keep getting what we want.
 
But even the universe gets tired. When it sees its largesse being rejected, being thrown asunder with impunity, of being taken for granted, it just takes its plentitude elsewhere.
That's why trying to get back what we've lost, trying to bring back whom we've lost, are often exercises in futility.
 
Apart from the context being changed, the dominoes having shifted, the reference points getting lost, the heat and light which accompanies first crushes and initial rushes simply do not find any resonance when time shifts reference points. When time and tide  bring other people and more contexts which are eager to adopt the universe's gifts, the munificence shifts.
 
Our rejection of the other then leaves us bereft and alone.
 
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the touchy-feelness of departures - 
Sometimes We Remember So Hard
Departures
I Heard That You Just Set Off on a Journey
Follow me on Instagram at @sunilgivesup.
Get in touch with me on uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com
 
The details of the music used in this episode are as follows -
Pullman City Hard by Sascha Ende
Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/pullman-city-hard
Licence:  https://filmmusic.io/standard-license