Neem – Borderless

Standing in the Expanse Under the Neem Tree Cluster

I wait with a bundle of tinder logs rolled in a hessian sack.
It’s raining, the air humid, the dust in the air settled.
I wait for the pilgrims to pass, the coast town is overfilled. 
I wait for today’s angels to avail my service,
Angels who arrive with spices and groceries,
They never bring the firewood. I cook their food with love.

I stand waiting at the crossroad with a jerrycan of petrol,
The fuel’s brown looking like gold, no sediments in there,
No decisions to be made by the private car users,
Except to notice the quality of my fuel, 
And ask me if I could take over the wheels. 
I drive with love. Whatever I do, I do with love.

All this waiting is about being and the essence of being
And finding means to make ends meet; 
When the need stops, you would no longer find me 
Standing in the expanse under the neem tree cluster;
The hessian sack or the jerrycan would continue 
In the hands of another good person, waiting to learn.

Saranyan BV is poet and short-story writer, now based out of Bangalore. He came into the realm of literature by mistake, but he loves being there. His works have been published in many Indian and Asian journals. He loves the works of Raymond Carver.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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By Adnan Zaidi

I don’t remember when I started writing, or why I started writing. I don’t even remember my first poetry, or article, or any write up for that matter. It’s been an eternity. I just know I have been writing from the time when the children of my age were out in the garden playing games.

Writing runs in my blood. No, actually writing is my blood. It is my only escape from whatever exists outside into a magical world of inside. A world where I recline over ostrich cushions, cladded in a robe finely woven by the angels of beauty, wearing a bracelet made of stars, enjoying songs of cuckoo birds who gather to celebrate the baptism of newly born fairy.

Sorry.

I got lost. Now coming to the point.

I am a poet, or at least I think I am. And not a very good one, trust me. I mean no one has ever come to tell me that they enjoyed any specific piece of my poetry that I recited or shared on social media. No one reads my couplets to their lovers. No one texts me to tell me that they were touched by my recent ghazal or nazm.

None of those things happen you see.

But hey, hey, hey, no judging! I totally get it. I do understand. Even sometimes I too get this strong feeling that one of these days I am going to stop writing this stuff that I consider poetry. And I am not even lying.

But then there are two questions — could I really stop? And do I really have to?

And the answer to both of these questions is negative.

I mean whenever I pick up my pen to write, never ever I bother about what people want to read. I just write what my heart dictates ( like 90% of writers out there). It’s more like a revelation of my soul. And I can never stop listening to these revelations. Because I don’t know how to.

I mean, I wonder, if I stop writing then who will tell people about the old Neem tree which was there in my house, and which used to smell like heaven when the spring blooms came? Or those beautiful roses as red as the blood of Christ? Who will write about the lessons my grandmother taught me as a kid, or the lullabies that my mother sang to me? Who is going to narrate to them my perspective of the Romeo and Juliet? Who is going to write the last verse of that incomplete poem on my desk?

I need to understand the fact that when a poet writes a poem — no matter what — it is something that he has created, and he celebrates it. He should celebrate it! Irrespective of that fact the no one joins him in this celebration.

Because no matter what people say, every story is worth telling.

As I do not remember my first write up, I so don’t want to know my last. I want to die writing it. Leaving a door to my story open for others to enter.

Adnan Zaidi is pursuing his masters in law from Aligarh Muslim University, India. He has recited his poetry on various platforms and has also been published a couple of times by different magazines. He also writes his own blog, raising social and political issues.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL