An Ode to Clay

You were
surrounded by life
before the potter came
scooped you up
in a rusty pail
took you away
from the play
of the rains
and the rustling greens
to participate in
his own creative play
a cocktail of elements
comprised of
earth, water and fire
where you would be
the helpless protagonist
and he the artist
the puppet master
who’s creative genius
would transform you so
that even the mirror
of your own past
would no longer recognise
your transformed face.

He got you drunk
on a pitcher of water
and kneaded you sore
threw you
onto his wheel
let you spin till
you were dizzy
then seductively
put his hands
to your spinning self
deftly and deceivingly
gave you a shape
and before you could
even raise
a protest
your free-form gone
your existence
had become
a restricted shape
with a wicked smile
he lifted you off
his skill, his pride
his creative inspiration
now held in his hands.

Then out in the sun
he put you to dry
where your last reserves
of precious moisture
slowly sucked out
no tears left to cry
then they were back
those practised hands
you were carefully lifted
carried and placed
in the chamber of fire
amongst your others
and as the kiln door shut
bereft of any emotion
little did you know
the seal had been put
on your looming fate
you were now
to be slowly cooked
till your insides melted
your soul turned to matter
and then some more
till you my dear
were no longer clay.



The Leaf

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What now –
as it looked around
its job almost done
amongst the colour
of abundant green
it now stood out
in its aging yellow
waiting for that
last gust of wind
to break its bond
and carry it away
from its sunlit perch
to the unfamiliar earth
an inevitable falling
from the highs of life
to meet an end
where it will
sooner or later
turn to dust.
And below thet tree
a broom is heard
as it collects
all the fallen ones
heaped together
a pyre of sorts
slowly burns
as the smoke rises
the greens look down
with smoked teary eyes
and bid farewell
to those that are gone
and tell the wind
to slow down a bit
a mark of respect
to them that were
For the greens
were taught
never to underestimate
even those fallen
yellow ones
as sometimes
if scorned
their burning wrath
can set a fire
that can bring
an entire forest down.




They staggered
under the scorching sun
the hot sand
creeping slowly
into the all terrain
rugged shoes
continuing to burn
the once tender soles
two throats parched
like the walls
of a dried up well
stumbling and falling
hands no longer held
eyes searching
in separate directions
trust departs
when survival
is at stake
two bodies tested
bared to the bone
both succumb
and as they fall
their souls grant
the hallucinating senses
their intrinsic
core defining
last wish
they both smile
at the redemption
of sorts
as she finds water
in a plastic bottle
and he cupped his hands
in a passing spring.



Some Nights


Artwork by Sebastian Eriksson



It is just me tonight
the future is gone
I made it go.
the pain of the past,
that never let my present change,
today I finally let it go
like a thorn pierced deep
I could feel it, and it hurt
its hurt for so long
somehow I had forgotten
it was not meant to be like this
what should have been
a healing balm
how did it become such a bane
what should have been my smile
how could it have become
this invisible, yet unbearable pain
but tonight is different
for today I changed my tomorrow.
I know it will never be the same again
for today I said a prayer
as I let go of the years of fear,
and cut deep into my flesh
it pained as I reached it
and slowly pulled it out
no emotion, no remorse,
just a little tear as I let it go.
It had been there for so long
yet it was so easy to let go
but something still hurt
I think it was a broken dream
I tried till I could
to keep my eyes shut
and let the dream go on
but the pain never did recede
and when I could take it no more
the eyes opened to the thorn
and at that moment I knew
the dream was forever gone
but tonight is different
tonight there won’t be any dreams
for tonight I know
it’s the darkness I must see through
and if I survive the ghosts of the night
I know tonight will be the night
that forever changed my tomorrows.
20th May,2013

Musings – ‘Words’

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Photo: Vidur Sahdev

I love words, and I love playing with them,
it is way different than playing with people’s emotions.
Sometimes hiding behind some, and sometimes
putting myself all out through them.

They give me the leeway to sometimes
be the riddle, and sometimes be the answer
…to my own, or even to one posed by another.

Words are always simple, innocent,
with meanings defined, but
we all play with them differently,
and interpret them differently.

The fun is not in the literal meanings, but
in what they seek to convey,
and more importantly – to whom.

Sometimes its a catch,
and sometimes its a miss.
We always don’t manage that,
what was intended to be conveyed.

But then that’s how life is too…
some meanings are lost in translation
and some cliffs learn
to ignore the persistent waves.

Irrespective of the games
that we use words to play,
sometimes its the invisible emotion
that seeks to find a way.

Disguised as a beggar, the king sometimes hides himself,
to know the truth, that his own crown, would otherwise betray.

©Vidur Sahdev 2015

Musings – ‘s a f e’

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Photo: Vidur Sahdev


Its a wonder how we look
for different things
at different points in our lives,

but the most
repetitive one throughout,
and the most comforting of them all is
looking for that zone where we feel safe.

sometimes its a place,
sometimes a person, and
sometimes we just close our eyes
and open ourselves to a presence, a faith
that magically holds us together.

they say home is where the heart is…
and the heart simply yearns for there,
where it feels safe.

©Vidur Sahdev 2015


Standing tall
the highrise
roots planted deep
the wind playing often
on its walls of
impregnable concrete
but sometimes
when the earth shakes
the stoic abode of many
shakes inside out
threatened by
the fear
of an eternal crack
and those with cracks
that live within its walls
rush out
hands held tight
their own gaps
momentarily forgotten
mended with
a spontaneous
egoless love
woken by that
instant mortal fear
and like birds
leaving their
woven twigs behind
sometimes out
under the sky
seems far safer
the safe haven
a roof provides.