Karna

|This happened to be a piece I'd penned last year right after I read this book called 'Mrityunjaya-The Death Conqueror'. The life of Karna is one of the most fascinating and tragic stories I've ever come across. He happens to be my most favorite character in The Mahabharata alongside Draupadi and Krsna. I keep attempting to sketch him again and again and never have I been satisfied with what I complete as it never seems to represent him in entirety. The artwork can be found on my blog, here. Cheers! Revel in His life, for it's complicated and beautiful. |



What is more trying by destiny, oh warrior

 than to be painfully oblivious to the origin of your birth?

You who slayed vice with smoldering golden rays

later blanketed in the smog of your munificence

sparked from vanity leased out in thy head;

exorcising material despair,

subduing with grains of praise the

licking ravage flames in your chest,

under the gilded skin armour, shut.

What could have been more ruthless

than the rejection of the dark-skinned maiden-

flinging insults like dung to a damp wall

while your strength lay untested and unapproved?

The woman you loved and hated within eons;

that your brothers  five later betrothed ,undivided

only to garrote you to shameful death.

What decremented your virtuous soul further?

the culminated fury abreast constant light

of doubt-ridden guilt about your legacy

Or losing your honour to jealousy

Beginning a vow out of an unnecessary jabbering

of the tongue unsaddled by righteous thought?

And when you saw your confounded flaws

mirrored on the deceitful glass of an angered moment,

You saw the image that your blue-skinned kin saw,

an enemy you endured with till your

chariot broke

while fighting with the universal wheel of time-

the only aid to defend the dead in you.

There were those grains of sand that fell through

the goodness, your blood dripping onto the muddy moulds

fusing towards an unjustified departure

defended in the karmic book of a godly conman.

The hourglass now contains merely light

in honour of a hero, tragic 

thus denied a deemed title

because his own blood feared the words

out of an unworthy stranger, spitting in the air.

~Hemu 

Source: Vimanika Comics 

Dark and Dreary

The afternoon set in, rainy and dark. The clouds had pulled over the sun for having trespassed over my dark period and cried till I felt safe within the multitudinous folds of my quilt. The room gleamed with an eerie gloom that could only be best described as my own mind while a lonely hand stretched hard and waved the curtains across to let in a passive stream of light, exploring the path of the dust that lay accumulated from time lost on its way to Earth.

    The  knocking hasn't ceased. The person is relentless and won't give up. Dragging my heavy feet across  a cold marble floor, I moved, blinking between sorrow and seeing through tears. Stopping at the door, I yelled that I was coming, wiping away the slate clean of any traces of smudged chalk with the sweater whose hands fill mine. The door creaked, almost out of practice from the last few days. I pulled open the heavy door.

 The light was unbearable for me to take. A door-ful of radiance hit me as he entered the house with a kiss and some big bear hugs. I couldn't but stare at the silhouette of light that lit my house like a Christmas star that throws its dots of light, life and hope according to engraved patterns by an artist, a lover in his own accord.

'Maybe you should try coming in,' he said.

I stood rooted near the door as he walked back to me, throwing his light and shadow across the room split by him alone and shut the door tight to retain the flavour this house has become accustomed to.

'You?'

'Yes, me.' he uttered, through those perfectly formed teeth. His overgrown locks fell across my face as he carried me in all ease and grace, that I have never seen anyone else do. Walking to my darker chamber with the single ray of light, I fondled his cheeks with those beautiful dimples that could very well act as the life-saving pond to fish in need of life, that which only grew deeper as my hands traveled their distance.

The imaginary boundary between us threw itself into the corner, the sides of the bed became but one. All I could perceive was his stubble against my collar bone, his body pressed to mine and hands that caressed what I was, every inch through. I twiddled a while, moving away only to be pressed against him, a little closer, some more passionate kisses and tickles transmitting across my own body moving onto his own. Every time he smiled, a burst of light burped out of my laughter, every time his hands played their tune across the boulevards of my body, strings connected from my head and till my toe; music flowed and resonated through the entire room. I could smell the smoke off him and we reveled in our own world of beer and vodka, the scent raising our sensitivity. No longer was any part of me insignificant or strong, it was but whet and vulnerable. For a long time there, we were but one fused mass that might have even melted had not there been that darkness in the air and the coldness in the light. In that warmth that he radiated, I closed my eyes to receive his love and never woke up.

  Hard, breathless raps on the front door landed on my ears.

  The darkness rolled under my eyelids, tears streaming hard as I woke up to an absence where presence was uncertain. The knocking on the door only grew harder. I wiped my face clean of pain and walked towards the edge of the world, in hope of death for a visitor. I passed the shelf and saw the calender lying around, the same from the last time I ever saw it.

Source:Google images 

~Hemu

Drunk Ink Lines

Image Source- Google images 

The countdown has begun and I have a clock
and a calender with circled dates of separation
looming away in all radiance of anxiety.
I stare and wonder how this is going to pan
amidst the stealthy looks and poetry filled
books,
neither one the other is aware of.
If understanding is the key to love,
he's never perceived one.
I blame it all on him and
drown myself in alcohol and ink
hoping to feel better but
truth is all that it spills in righteous luminescence.

~Hemu

It Lulls Forever After the Storm

The sky has been split and I can see the many pieces
as they wait to be pulled with a gentle tap
and a strong hand.
It is starless tonight with a weathered smile
from dissolving clouds that pour their sorrow atop my
misery already floating over the metre.
I decided to knock one and remove its facade;
made up my mind to see beyond the outside.
My hands were at work and
eyes beyond it
as the frame collapsed and fell on me, face down.
Fragile is what I expected but
unassuming and a whole of the part it was,
of the complete wholesome.
I wish I knew how to explain what I saw beyond
the clothesline that cut the sky.
I really want to tell you how damp the terrace floors
were after appearing dry,
I lack the will to show you the intricate bits gathered
upon my eyelids as I blink
and the ego to let that all go.
Lying back down and looking at the dark bit
I have extracted,
I can only assure you there are more tears in that dark hole
than that has poured;
sucked into the emptiness of no reason.
                                                                                         

Source: Google Images- Wikimedia 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Lost grooves

Block by block, I built my reveries

reaching the sky, one on top of the other.

They weren’t stable and often jumped pieces

like monkeys in an antic play;

to make me smile, to see me tickled

by tiny joys in its unfitting grooves and sated levels

of imagination,

until one day another traveler in my life

shook them with his stick.

Really hard.

His name was Reality he said;

and he tore apart my dreams

bit by bit,

as it all crashed taking me down with the million pieces

that I painstakingly and lovingly created.

Some bruises later,

I only stood up;

held it all in my tiny fist

and began to build it all over again.

Only now, there is a taste of reality

in its sliced being.

Like cutting onions for a tasty meal
I bore the tears through invisible eyes. 

image from the internet 

Steam

Silent mirrors stay as a hanging witness, it's ornate wooden frame soaked 

in the moist of the hot vapours of water steaming hot; 

just not as much as the ones that ran down her cheeks.

She cries in silent desperation lying white lies hidden behind blatant 

words of consolation flying with the winds, unsated; 

for her ego approached none to let them be uttered. 

She wandered through roads she didn't know of, 

on swings high, not touching the ground..

in cemeteries overgrown with green and the dead 

and many a page's quick perusal 

while her soul flies elsewhere;

jumping signals and passing through 

small kids with blue balloons in their hands, a glee she once was. 

She sought out a way that will seep through the macabre of 

not realizing dreams or living a few words, 

to see some smiles and steal a few hugs..

She only has it just looking back through the reflection of someone

she barely knows;

Staring back..

a hazy form merging with dank tears and 

hot water running cold. 

Hemu 

                                          Image from the internet 

Unseen Tears

There survives a clown.

Colours so bright on his clothes

and people's smirks so humiliating and full of glee, 

when they see that painted face..

in red, green and vivid colours 

showcasing the stark reality of human emotions,

ones that they find so entertaining.

Exaggerated eyes, open to happenings, 

Ears that listen to what they have to say..

Hair of Nature's vibrant hues, 

catching and grabbing everyone's attention- To be laughed at.

He is who they call a clown...

In funny clothes and a big red  nose, 

which manipulates a smile on their faces..

On this stage, he brought out his caliber, 

Qualities that were surpassed upon as yet another cheap trick to make them laugh..

The world's sadistic thoughts and pleasures were revealed,

when they see him jump up and down, to fill his stomach..

coz then, they laugh till their stomachs ache.

Masses just fall off their chairs, laughing at his antics

and the talent that they don't realize,

just seeing that smile. A powerful one.

At the end, they get up to leave, 

not bothering about a man who is calling for them to stay,

or a hug to share,

or a mere handshake to remember.

All that they did was, still laugh at his face.. 

and the bogus walk that he possessed.

Everybody was convinced of the large smile painted on his face,

that just smiled despite sad drooping lips and looks.

Nobody cared to come near,

assuming the happiness he faked.

For,
Had they come near and seen a little farther, 

they would've seen and felt

the tears dying into a ground so moist.

It's just tears flowing free...

beyond the painted smile that they all just see.

Hemu