I ran up the cliff
Braving the mist and the whiff of cold air,
As fast as a man could run
For his angel
Waiting on the top with her unbraided hair,
And a pair of anxious eyes, so deep and black...
I reached the top
With burnt out heart and blisters
On the feet and bruises
All over my sweaty soul...
The moment she saw me,
She flashed a smile
And I thought the sun had been born again
Out of the mist, out of the clouds...
I thought I had the sun within me
En-theosed
I thought I glowed
And the aura spread far and wide...
I thought
I was born...
Again
Monday, January 18, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
she
where have you searched her? In vermillion, turmeric smell,
At the Lord's shrine, in the vegetable heap, in the flower pot hung
At the verandah long,in wardrobe under the folded jamdani saree neat and perfumed,
Look for her in the twilight drenched roof top,
Through the string taut of the kite in flight.
where have you left her abandoned in the silent deserted morn,
with water dripping from the wet saree just being kissed by the sun just born,
Having the terminal knot full of the known smell! What do you search in the briefcase unknown?
Do you get the hunch in the colourful pages of cellular existence?
Have someone gifted you the kasturi carefully kept in a silvercase?
Think, recall...those wails and words of bygone school days...
whom have you dressed in whose strange attire,playing those games childish...
Games of kings and queens and princesses and princes.
At the Lord's shrine, in the vegetable heap, in the flower pot hung
At the verandah long,in wardrobe under the folded jamdani saree neat and perfumed,
Look for her in the twilight drenched roof top,
Through the string taut of the kite in flight.
where have you left her abandoned in the silent deserted morn,
with water dripping from the wet saree just being kissed by the sun just born,
Having the terminal knot full of the known smell! What do you search in the briefcase unknown?
Do you get the hunch in the colourful pages of cellular existence?
Have someone gifted you the kasturi carefully kept in a silvercase?
Think, recall...those wails and words of bygone school days...
whom have you dressed in whose strange attire,playing those games childish...
Games of kings and queens and princesses and princes.
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