The Milky Way is white and frigid with the fever of oblivion;
A billion suns will be battered by the cleaver of oblivion.
Remember not the love songs lost nor the updraughts of passion;
Drowned in a moat of disdain, I am a believer of oblivion.
Let her steal a million breaths from the lusty throats of opponents,
The seamstress of her nightdress is a weaver of oblivion.
Tapestries of crimson stoke the blushing flames of carousal,
Bleeding among the brambles, I am a retriever of oblivion.
En route to tryst with elements, a black rose shed its petals.
The afternoon in the dust stood as the griever of oblivion.
In the end, no wind will shake the mellowing sheaves of barley,
No god, no man or a woman will be the deceiver of oblivion.
Uma, let me sing to the full the swan song of my essence,
I am toppling down the hillock into the river of oblivion.
One Grain Amongst the Storm 
I’ll probably have more to say about this ghazal later, but in the meantime: DON’T!
Bruce, this ghazal kind of wrote itself! Moreover, I had scheduled to publish it next month… Oblivion, oblivion!
I think it’s possibly your best ghazal thus far, and the bleakest.
I think it is oftener that the best ghazals are the bleakest, particularly by lesser pens like mine.
What inspired you to pen this beauty?
The cleaver of oblivion, of course.
Yes, sure. I haven’t read anything even remotely close to this in a long time.
That is a memorable compliment, my friend!
Oblivion is interim, the cleaver of anti-stupor is more powerful.
I guess the other name for anti-stupor is dark matter that keeps the show going.
I love the song ” Dil ki girah khol do, chup na baitho, koi geet gao”. So Uma Shankar, please gao and gao and gao ( this comment is also in response to “The Orb…) There is a lot you have to say, and a lot for us to read….
The raven will keep singing for those who toast him. Having said that, ‘the raven spread out its glossy wings and departed like hope.’
I am toppling down the hillock into the river of oblivion.
What a lovely arrangement of words. Taken out of context, it makes me think of a child trying to stay awake but nodding off to sleep. From now on, I will think your words as I climb into my bed.
Ginene
I am surprised at the adorable vision of the child you have invoked. The fact that the image was sparked by the closing line of the ghazal, it augurs well for me.
The void has never been more appealing, buddy…
I guess I triggered a genetically hard-coded reaction to void, my friend!
That was very beautiful and had a delicious melancholy to it,
Thank you for a summation so delicious and poetic.
Even as we hurl towards the imminent, the desire to be remembered, cherished never deserts us.
Sir: Why did the chicken write a blog?
Andrew: To be immortal, sir.
Ghazal again Umashankar ji !!! you are a master at giving us the best in the written world —loved this one too
Many thanks for the cloudburst of compliments on my posts, Rajni Ji.
A most beautiful poem, Uma!
Thanks for the fish, Susie!
I went back to it, again and again…And sank into this verse of oblivion. Each time, treasuring the nuggets that rose. Though there is a turn or bends that eluded my grasp. I will be patient and maybe rewarded with an insight on the words that weave her nightdress . I only wish it to not be the swan song of a gifted friend.
The nightdress symbolizes rare closeness with the enchantress in the solitude of night, a meeting that would obliterate the earthly trifles and woes of the fortunate.
Thanks for the wishes.
Thank you for guiding. 🙂
But that was just one of the many emotions I couldn’t find words for.
Beautiful, loved the last one.
The old, greying refrain, is it not?
Your lyrical poem evokes a profound imagery, Umashankar. I sense an awareness of what is and a wistfulness for what could be. Beautifully written with deep sentiments!
Madilyn, this poem is a ghazal, or a series of independent couplets (shers) which correspond to the overall mood or theme, and the best ones are deep and leave a lasting effect on the reader. If you could feel the wistfulness and the deep sentiments underlying those words, I have passed with flying colours!
It is so beautiful though I have to admit, I have to read it, again and again, to get what you tried to convey. I am glad I read this piece from you, Mr. Pandey. You inspire me to start writing again. My favorite verses:
En route to tryst with elements, a black rose shed its petals.
The afternoon in the dust stood as the griever of oblivion.
I remember not the love songs lost or the updraughts of passion;
Drowned in sea of disdain, I am a believer of oblivion.
I didn’t mean to be cryptic—whatever meaning you find in those lines is all I have wanted to say. A friend in the comments above asked what I meant by the third couplet and I have deposed. I am glad you liked some of the couplets but the greatest compliment you have bestowed upon me is the spark I seem to have reignited in you. Many thanks, Shaifali.