Klash of the Konfessioners

January 1, 2011


Filed under: Uncategorized — The Musketeers @ 12:50 am
1.lasting a very short time; short-lived; transitory: the ephemeral joys of childhood.
2.lasting but one day: an ephemeral flower.

–noun 3.anything short-lived, as certain insects.

(Closed for takes; Open for Komments)

NM (113)

Standing in the stark spotlight there was an unmistakable tear in his eye,
They all applauded knowing it was what he did best, he could easily fake a cry…
Looking from afar, his auteur knew something was clearly amiss…
It was too good, too real, too scary to simply dismiss…
After the take he walked up to him and asked him if he was really weeping,
He managed a smile and a half, and said, my mother is dying…
“You could’ve taken the day off, hell, we could’ve not shot at all, this is unfair…”
“Nothing would cure me than a veil to cry, and then this pain is ephemeral, film is forever”.


She takes off her rose tinted glasses,
reality gushes in on her dreams.
Swirling and swooshing around her,
as the fresh moisture tracks on her cheeks gleam.

A knot in her chest and a lump in her throat,
she stumbles around the room.
Clutching at the bits of, now black & white smiles,
and that lone whisky voice that crooned.

Dreams she dreamt day and night,
“Dreams do come true”, she said.
But this special dream that she held so tight,
was caught in an ephemeral web.

Kshitij Agnihotri (106)

Rocking in the creaking wooden chair
Wind blowing strands of her silver hair
She sat there staring at the deep blue sea
Arrogant waves offering her an apology
Her wrinkled eyes catching a lady in white gown
With open arms provoking the waves to take her down
Cracks appeared as a smile lit her wrinkled face
Old memories of the ephemeral time gave her an embrace
Like a gust of hot wind blowing through this cold November evening
Memories of Old times when she could fly while singing
“GrandMa” a voice called, a sigh escaped her breath
She used her crutches putting her thoughts to death

mystical mortal (118)

Tucked comfortably in my bed, a chill slithers inside like the breeze outside.
Since the time I walked out of office today, I am a retired bloke.
The memories, flashing feel like watching a slide show of photographs in an old dilapidated theatre.
My untiring endurance and sartorial elegance to the lines on face and ruffled grey hair,
The whispers in the night while making love to the struggle to howl for a glass of water ,
Getting high on weed at Robin’s to the daily morning shots of Insulin,
The shrieks of the kids playing all around, to the awareness of the lull that surrounds.
The confusion, whether to celebrate or lament this ephemeral life, annoys me….

Utsav (102)

Went out the road less taken,
Through the woods I searched for life.
The path confused the answers subdued, to
What is ephemeral in this life.

I asked the fire, I asked the winds,
I asked whoever was high and rife.
A lot hustle, a lot of rustle, but none knew
What is ephemeral in this life.

Time, feelings, fear, love,
So many thoughts at strife.
Even the oldest scrolls couldn’t answer,
What is ephemeral in this life.

Dismayed and disheartened by failure,
I walked behind my own funeral.
At last passed my tombstone that read,
“Stop looking… Life itself is ephemeral.”

Richa Gupta (48)

Fluttering eyelids
A smile
So near
So far
Larger than life
Rainbow colors
Black and white
Flitting in and out
So real
A tremor
Reaching out
Lazy sun
Stray beam
Caressing softly
The new day
So very real
The broken dream
So ephemeral

Sprinkles Of Chatter(118)

A frivolous idea floats freely
somewhere atop my head
it serenades me with its lilting tune
leaving the words unsaid

I strain to catch the words
the voice lowers in strength
I grapple with them endlessly
it sounds like a strange strain

It swirls around sublimely
mesmerizing to see
A wispy cottony tendril
lost at the touch of me

i stand fixated by the sides
anticipating another sight
it whooshes past on wiry wings
taunting my unseeing eyes

i reach out to touch it
engulf it in my palm
as I’m about to caress it
a breeze lifts it high

each ephemeral idea
passes me by
an empty sheet stares back at me
as water fills my eyes

Sowmya (111)

Not bridges but will statues build
Declared the lady from the red-lighted car
Forget roads & education
Concentrate on design & formation

Madam, please understand
Wringed an assistant in vain
People want progress and action
Not a finger pointing politician

People do not remember deeds
Masterpieces like these they will come to see
Remember to carve the handbag right, she declared
As she placed a rupee in the begging hands

But spending thousand crores on statues
When millions are going hungry
Madam, will people forgive
Such blatant travesty

Memories are short lived
Structures last longer
Future generations will know our creation
Said the lady looking for immortality in an ephemeral world

Genuine Fake (107)

Far from the madding crowd of the city,
On a park bench sitting balky,
An old man sat singing the blues,
Of worldly actions and virtues…

Of unfathomed love he spoke,
His toughened heart he did uncloak,
For his beloved led him through,
Feelings, oh so difficult to construe…

Her unclouded voice, her mystical eyes,
To her beauty he did remise,
The mirage lasted all but one night,
Moments of which, were, alas… finite.

I see the old man sing ever since,
Of quaint love and its footprints,
A lump in my throat piles onto the visual,
As I listen to … The elegy of the ephemeral.

Jenny (99)

She is an arbitrary number plate sardined on the highway. She is your ‘lost and found’. She is Jose Cuervo: bottoms-up. Now counting pigeons on an electric wire; she’s a tar crusader on the road. She halts at your 5.15 am morning walk; Reebok sprightly steps. Bursts into a haphazardry of neon hair, psychedelic tea frothing at an obscure fountain. By 9 am she is an unpoached egg; viscerally sporting an unfazed cortex. She is camouflaged in the shrubbery of your mind, paying rent, living on page 49; dog-eared and unread. She’s about to begin. See her in fifteen.

DokSaab (120)

Now I realize he was right. Up till now I had no idea, nor did I care. I wasted every second of my existence, awake or asleep, unaware of the transitory nature of Life.
When Swami Ji, at a discourse in our school, told us “Children, Life is Ephemeral, a bubble of water……..” we had laughed.  Life, short! Huh!  This swami was eighty-five and we were just twelve. Still about seventy years to live.  That’s 25550 days! Or 613200 hours of fun, 36792000 minutes, countless seconds to enjoy life.
Now, at eighty, I feel I haven’t even lived properly, and time’s gone. Eighty years and most of my desire remain unfulfilled. Ephemeral life! Slipping away like sand, through my fingers.

Mandappa (115)

An ode to the cat

The last cigarette burns alone
now that you’ve gone
a whiff, your waif-life frame
mellow in your solitude

the clock strikes on
but the feeling is gone
the under-the-blanket melee
lost to a fading memory

the calls fall silent
as the night creeps on
a fleeting glimpse and you’re gone
lost to the verse, dust to dust

you were a gypsy
proud, a scar, a friend
you learnt the ropes to work your way
and be a part of our reality

a fleeting glimpse and now you’re gone
an ephemeral life, dusted and done
there’s no prayer that will save you,
but it’s just one of your nine lives burnt

Apurva Pathak (112)

Dear Manish,

It gets tougher to solve, my confusion! I wish I could be impulsive like always and take a quick decision but I want to be patient and wise. You already know how I feel about Advait. He has always been the one I have wanted but he least cares. And my wants have been challenged because of you. You are nothing less than perfect, but how I wish castes would have been nothing. Yes, I am fickle. Can you help me? I am shamelessly demanding, am I not? How long do I cling to him while he kicks me away and you want me? Why aren’t dilemmas ephemeral? Please revert.




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