voluptuous when, a being an object is pleasurable…
a passion fruit is voluptuously desirable.
a poetry a poet is a voluptuous release of literature; makes one hallucinate to an extreme sensual moods, feels an erotic pleasure of language; the singling of verses, the mix-match phrases, the intentionally mis-spelled word, creates the tingles; one gets obsessed with the formulae, imaging a virtual intercourse with thoughts, frames an orgasmic moment in time.
Barsha Kumar, a young university student, has captured the voluptuousness of literature, the orgasmic pleasure of reading in sophisticated height __only a very highly intellectual can attain. __ade c.
“Life is the Odyssey of where, we strive to find one’s purpose of life, a journey where, at every step of living one inhume experience (experience that is weaved by the naked moment of living) and collect memories-memory , that is nothing but the phenomenon of the present; a journey where Love is the pain and the pain that is decked with chaos; sometimes we run , sometimes we walk and sometimes we skip some steps. And in this journey, life seeks peace – when the path gets scandalized by infidel impatient demonstration towards the fragility of life. At the end , life love peace __when chaos crowns the existence of the being. Life love peace eventually when death enlighten our being, the truth, that Life is nothing but, the free will of death.” __Barsha Kumar
Prof Cijo Joseph Chennelil, a great Critic comments: “When an exceptional writing is presented by a budding poet, I need to write a critical appreciation on that. The eternal truth about this life is that it is an ongoing process till it reaches a dead end. In this journey of ups and downs we strive to locate the naked truth regarding it… and as the life progresses, the bitter truths bombard it thick and fast. The realisation dawns upon at the end that the experience of love is surrounded by many pitfalls. It is also fraught with turmoil of extreme pedigree. We human beings resort to different dimensionalities and manifestations to tide over the difficult situation. But, at the end peace is ushered in. When the forces of domination apply intimidation, the bitter truce is arrived at. The liaison of love with peace is the final outcome. Amidst the calmness, the simmering peace is unleashed.The peace of love is accomplished through the only reality here on this earth called death.The birth is meant for death and even life is a journey towards death. Kudos to you for writing such an exquisite and profound creative piece Barshaji.
Asked: When that feeling of being self detached?
Detached or being disconnected from one’s own-being is a chaos in par say. For me, this feeling is at it’s epitome-when my pen abandons me and my muse divorces me. I feel self detached-when I am reading poetry and still I am lost. I feel self detached when only blood run in my veins and my heart keeps beating like a machine to remind that-I am inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide. For me, words are life and when I am unable to write and read, it is the extreme height of self detachment. It becomes like : My whole existence gets caught in the dungeons of misery __ when the sullen muse divorces my confidant __ my pen. This would clearly express my situation of self detachment:
the broker of hope
has bid the price highest,
in the auction of past;
happiness has its hands broken,
pain has its grip tighter,
with the handful jewels of grief and remorse.
the soul of solitude
are here as witnesses,
they’ll indite every action
with scars eternal,
in the panorama of my being.
the soul of my soul,
reported to my soul:
the night is getting restless,
with the snared flames of the meek heart.
the blooming xewalis
intoxicated the Nightingale too.
I listen a whisper:
“the night is not mine.”
I need a morning draught
to resurrect my nonexistent being
in this callous bazaar of existence.
pity to me.
the sun refuses to shine.
Asked: Touch back your roots, whether positive or negative how it moulded your being(parents marriage, environment etc).
Every person should be connected to their roots to keep track of their journey of life-from where they started. I feel my roots in the heart of my mother’s existence. She existed-so I exist. She is the one who moulded my being. From the days of me getting bullied in school to getting admission in one of the best University of the country; she was an ease there by my side teaching me-‘why we should never quit’. When I was in school-I was being bullied for being the shy student. That experience moulded my whole being. It taught me -no matter what the world says about you- it is you who needs to have faith in yourself and yes, there is always lights the end of the tunnel.
“Talking about my depression days: I suffered from acute depression and chronicle anxiety disorder and I was on the verge of committing suicide. It was that phase of my life where quitting was only the option, that I choose to embrace. In this worst phase of my life, it was my mother my family who taught me to be alive again. This phase of my life, taught me the greatest lesson that cannot be found in any chapter of any book. It taught me to face challenges; to take risk ; to embrace change and to smile . It taught me, no matter what-everything is worth at the end.”
“My University life-my graduation days and my master days are teaching me that there are many beautiful souls present in this world.”
Asked: Your philosophical thoughts?
“I believe, I maybe too young to build any; but I believe, we , human beings should be like water-we should inhume experiences-filter the negative and take the positive; and keep flowing in ones own direction without paying heed to other.
I believe if it isn’t not in our hands to do anything good for others-then at least, we Should not do anything that could harm anyone.
I believe-we should, in this life, believe-with every beautiful thing in this life comes to an end: we should accept this fact and should keep moving on in life-with the beautiful memories.
I would like to say , time is the master of our life-so things that are not in our hands-should be left for time-to be taken care of__a glimpse of my philosophical thought…”
and let the seeds of kindness
that you sowed in your veins,
sprout in profusion,
to bear the buds of self – love,
that’ll bloom the flowerets
of eternal love.
and allow this floweret of heavenly love
blooming in your veins,
to unfurl its strange petals,
before the pleasant shower of time.
and inherit the hues
of this cherubic floweret of love,
as with each passing season,
it unfurls its strange petals.
and let oneself to flow
like the quiet river
with all the fragrances of love.
—- love in making. __©Barsha Kumar
Asked: what gifted talent/talents you have shared to humanity, that gives you sigh of smile of feeling?
I feel, my most gifted talents is that : I am able to write. Whenever, there is a chaos or crisis in the society, I express it with my words. And whenever, someone or anyone of the society reads my write-up and become enlightened; that is the time, when I feel, the “sigh of smile” feeling. I believe, words are mightier and the pen holds more potential. If we are able to change only person of the society for the betterment, then, I feel it is an achievement in per say. With our words, it is the least contribution, that we can contribute towards the humanity; and whenever, I am able to do that, it is utmost satisfaction, that I feel.
When the clear sky gets bejewelled
By the shimmering darkness –
I undress my soul.
When the loathing moon gets veiled
By a layer of dark crazy clouds –
I unknot the knots of my soul.
When the burning stars get shrouded
By a fabric-ed piece of helplessness –
I un-stitch my ripe wounds.
When the serpentine parched streets
Of the frenzy city,
Lies underneath a cacophonous silence –
I dig my hollow chest
To pluck out my bruised heart.
When the baying wind of the tragic night
Starts to dance nakedly-
I slit my veins;
To drain out every plagued emotion.
When the fleeting seconds
Arrests the impecunious night -I bathe in grief.
And; By the dawn
My naked corpse Is all embellished-
to kiss the pale rays of the rising sun;
To make love to a wavering day.
After the whole Universe hid itself
Beneath the blanket of stillness,
The shimmering darkness of the deep night,
clandestinely delivered to the moon,
My dilapidated letter-
The letter — where I wrote
The last weeping words of my festering wish,
That begged the night
To halt some seconds of this hostile-fading time,
The moon sighed.
The moon’s sigh sighed me.
The letter was reduced into dust —
That was being blown away
By the dawn’s hovering breezes.
The ruly sun grafted to me the dark morning.
I chanted the morning Chorus with the larks,
And decked my corpse,
With the lifeless memories,
To bid farewell to the lifelong burdening existence,
And to embrace the blissful obliviousness.
Plenitude of dreams were slaughtered.
Plethora of wishes remained unfulfilled.
I didn’t get few unending seconds
To mourn over my death;
The voice of my grief-less grief faded,
Without being heard.
comments by: Dr Jernail S Anand (upon publications)