Thursday, 18 February 2010

The Barman’s string

As I grow beyond myself, I grow up within,
Searching for if I’m not what I am;
Else if I am what I’m not
And I grow up faster in and out of me.
The spirit that I thought to have won,
To be of my own has so silently
Caged me beyond all margins of liberty;
And, I stay immersed as motionless,
As vanquished as the hulks of Titanic.
Yet, do I crave to crown the name,
Or fame or the title or laurels or thorns?
Or do I only dare to immortalise all passions
Of youth latently spread upon my memories?
I look for, perhaps, those years and decades,
Those moments of mirth and sorrow,
That carried a proud identity so intently
Along stretched stairs of my follies.
I read on scriptures of life, of my own
And, attempt to explore a man in its image—
Of an incomplete man despite Raymond’s
Boastful cloak—to renew life’s licence.
Yes, Barman, as I am; Not a man alike the
Bur of a creeper, but of a bar for a sipper.
I was born amongst countless men, women,
Children—dead or alive—in this grand pub of world;
And at a tiny counter, half-lit, under a smoky veil
I have endlessly failed since to sell a pint;
Yet they keep me there as they wish
To see me fail and fail again until resigned.
I press my soul in, dress me up, and brace me
In that tavern floor; and the revellers join
And the Bar girls start the show, and
I fail not carrying my shameless self.
Upon my glistened eyes dance the images
Of society, relations, its myths and triumphs;
And, within my quavering soul burn pages
Of society, relations, the past and the future.
I stare on bids that swirl in gust—
Fluent as a kite severed from its string—
And, bargains flowing from lust to lust;
I watch on dancing swans of light
Leisurely fading out in murky night.
When the bells go, beats are gone
I journey back to my dingy prison—
Of hundred years of solitude—
And, put my blistered conscience on
Beneath the sacred Cross alone.
In quiet flame of candle’s glow—
As decayed as have I or Bar girls been—
I hear a placid tune’s flow
That’s played so near yet kept unseen.
Hours go and the night goes too,
The candle dies for dawn to rise;
I ponder who and what was sold—
The Barman, Bar girls, moments or soul.
Upon wings of morn dance shining ray,
Dipping night into dins of day;
I listen on to hymn that plays
And whispers, “Neither you nor they;
In nights of delight, lust and pain,
Sold are not even the girls in chain;
But those who revelled to set bargain
And, souls get bankrupt, moments are slain”.

7 comments:

  1. Simply Wonderful!!! *smiles*

    And here goes a few lines for you...

    Thoughts rain in,
    And fill the soul,
    Dark and damp;
    A ray of sun.
    And the bar girl fills
    a glass for you.
    The liquid poured in...
    The walls are lit,
    And they burn...

    Under the cross
    Bar man...
    sewing words...
    Into thoughts.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Your writings are too profound to be commented upon.
    I simply enjoy reading n re-reading them and each time i read it, it leaves a different taste in the mouth like coffee that lingers in the mouth even long after u have consumed it .

    ReplyDelete
  3. Much appreciated...
    My regards to both of you...

    ReplyDelete
  4. the bar man (barman) says
    the bar is open
    come on in
    feel free to order
    or help yourself
    but do partake
    and take delight in
    tasting different flavors
    from the variety
    of introspective words
    that he has to offer
    right here
    on introspective mind

    saibal, hope you do not mind my on the spot flow of words...hehe!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Nice, Celine...
    This post has been honoured by presence of two poetic compositions in its comment box...a great feeling indeed !!

    ReplyDelete
  6. Note from a friend from afar: Your work has been plagiarized.

    http://mkalkunte.blogspot.com/2010/02/barmans-rant.html

    ReplyDelete
  7. Thanks, Anonymous, for your inputs...
    I have found not only this one, but some other posts too--one from my comments on a post by "Shas" and another post by Shas
    ( see the links : http://wwwscribblingsonthewall.blogspot.com/2009/11/memories.html and http://wwwscribblingsonthewall.blogspot.com/2009/04/tormented.html )

    Maybe, there are others' too...
    I have only put a question to the blogger to search for conscience..what more could I have done being a believer of truth in life !!
    My sincere regards, my unnamed friend !

    ReplyDelete

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