another year...

Another year added mate!
to your and my dates...
of the runs...the plays...the writeups...
the tuxedo black jack chase...
and card games...martini glass toasts...
of holidaying breeze rubbing a frosty nose...
another year...is at its legit end
another year to catch up with dreams right at the bend...
where the road takes to the hills...a long climb...
and the wind falls with drops of lemony lime...

No big wishes for you mate...
no big wild ecstatic screams...
only wish you to live it good mate
and sleep well in peace...
and wake up every morn with a smile
and grab a belly full breakfast
and a bit of juice...
wish the battery of gunshots cease
and brothers hanging up swords...declaring a truce...

No real big wild wishes mate...
nothing like that...
only wish flakes of smiles falling everywhere...
and wish birds to fly unobstructed till they warm up...
and wish to find soft kisses from the heaven drop
on those living without basic required things...
wish the new year only love in fullest splendour bring...
and wish to see midnight's children also going to school...
and wish to see lotus of fancy brimming the pool...
and that twin dimples appearing often on her cheeks...
wish to see the crimson shiny himalayan peak...
breaking sun rays into a seven band bow...
wish to breathe air fresh not heavy with cfc snow...
wish the oceans remain deep and blue...
wish to see green leaves bathing in morning dew...
and to hear the chirping of tiny ones from the branches of trees...
wish to see every house hang clothes on lines swaying in the afternoon breeze...
and parks full of kids...old ones with walking sticks...
wish to see no child labouring at the kilns of bricks...

another year gone mate!
another year gone...
wish to see a lot things
not left undone...

the portrait of a woman...

seen her standing sidewise
the rays of smudgy light
on her shoulder and back
so careless...
as if she spent her life that way...
oblivious of the eyes of the onlookers
amazed...
by her simple demure non chalant charm
paintbrushes with white hair as on the canvas make a free run...

the portrait of a woman...she...
stands before my pen and paper
to ignite inspiration in wintry dried up me!

the recurrent combination of red and black...
an off shoulder dress kind of slack...
losing and yet holding up the dream
silk gown without seam...
and eyes downward in a self absorbed mood
a smile hidden in lips...
the blurred light soft on her shoulder as she keeps...

the portrait of a woman...
like a great spoil...a work of art
bestirs me with energy...and i erupt...
from the cold...the chill...the frost...
with thousand shooting stars...
with ashes emitting unseen sparks...

for the candlelight that dimmed...(on the Delhi rape victim...my girl!)

they picked you up
from the street
like a prey
ruthless sex starved perverts
and after pouncing on you
mutilating private parts
they threw you off
from the bus shuttered windows
brutality taking the bestial course...

the candlelight...
fell...
on the street...wax molten...
spread like blood...
and those perverts flashed teethy disdain...

the candlelight panted and screamed...
in pain...in humiliation...
in horror...in trauma...

O girl!
Give me a knife...
let me shake the dread...
give me superhuman strength
to bobbitise them...
those evil demonic serpents...

come'n out...sing a pillion song...

what's the point in sitting cuddled up?
while outside...the winter evening is writing a draft
of a long chilly cozy story so warm...

yes! by the fire faces burn
and hands stretched on the yellow red
flames caused by gallons of hearts...
bottles from which the youth of time takes a swig...
shadows eerie sketching cartoons wide and big...
and haven't you so far seen?
how vapour rise to paint fog on screen
of the cars plying fast jumping lights?
how she held the arms of her wight tight-
as they haply cross the road to reach the opposite side
where a vendor selling steamy momos draws crowd so bright
under the corporation trident installation...

why cuddle up when the city is on the motion?
come'n out! enjoy the chill
let's whizz up the air with a thrill
of cold cutting into our bones...
of visors getting a smoggy tone...
of heat of petrol turning into fumes...
of singing pillion a highway tune...

last winter...

last winter...you once came
knocking my door early one morn
with a basket full of strawberries...
i remember...
your pink pullover...
glossy lips...
which had the hint of a smile...
mischievous one...
and then
i welcomed you
had coffee
together
sitting by the window...
i remember the sun falling on your hair...
black and browny silken motion...
and how you added two cubes of sugar
to my tumbler...sweet...

last winter
i remember
you coming with bunch of marigold flowers
hung around your neck like a carefree garland
and a porcelain vase
in your hand
one afternoon...
so fragile...
vulnerable...
running fingers on the edge
of the vase...
i got the feel of a shape...

last winter...
i remember...
pink pullover
and strawberries...
how filled the barracks of my heart...

merry christmas...(of the yore kind)

loved always that door of teak
polished shiny with copper bangles
and the graveled pathway that led
to that door kept opened from evening on for children like us
to run to and fro through the legs
of adult members of the town...
little bulbs were hung around the trees...
and four rows of wooden benches were dusted and cleaned...
special candles were delivered...
by a small van...with a grinning front...

At midnight...for the mass...
we used to come again...this time properly dressed...
in black and white...
Father Mathew in his whites
looked impeccable and somewhat alien to us...
He never smiled at us...that night...
he would keep lips held tight...
probably he had been himself a bit tensed
to stand and deliver before the townsfolk dense...
And also there would be some monastic guests...
From the city cathedral...
And everyone opened their books...
we also opened our own...
though our eyes hovered around...
What our friends were positioned...
whose dad looked particularly fearsome...
After the prayers we loved to stand
in the queue to kiss Old Father's shaking hand...
and he also seemed a bit relieved
with the biggest ceremony being over...
and as the adults hugged each other and wished
we got time again to run and play...
the night never looked like a night but a day!
No one slept...
No tears were shed...
as if happiness had been the only choice
of all people around...to sing...and dance...and to embrace...
That small chapel...
that old Father Mathew...
and that graveled path...
That 'Merry Christmas'
and midnight mass...
I miss...

beach ball...

the vast beach calm
and the long line of trees...the palms...
looked like the biggest ground on earth
swept by the strong wind from North...
and as we started to play
the ball by hurrying feet...prints we laid
on wet white sand soft and so full of grained joy
we became ourselves mere toys
at the hands of His vast open unpolluted variety
we had a beach football party...

but who's in midfield?who's centreback?
where's the goal post-
the fisherman's shack?
the central defender...the middle mark...
all became non existent...all positions were blurred...
for the vast...the open...the freed...
need no such markings to pay any heed...
only the ball rolled and rolled...
and we ran and ran...
on the beach...the soft benign sand...
putting everything at bay...
the civil choas... the horns...the crackers...
we ran and kicked the ball through the air...
got blisters on bare feet...
white foamy patterns dried neat
on our legs...by phosphorus got lighted straight
we ran hard...in the open sans barbed wires of time...or a closing gate...

those trees waved and sang
the only audience joining our band
as if they booed and cheered our game...
as if they implored us to carry on the same
sense of mirth...and uncaged hope...
the wind from the North brought twigs and feathers down a faraway slope...
the ball and the beach made us discover
life is unbound for any nature lover...
All we need is a pair of feet
and a ball to kick till we meet
the horizon...the waves and the wind
life...is not to be tinned
into some tiny cannister...
with a pin hole on the top...
life...is a beach ball party till the churchbell chooses to stop...

midevening blue convertible ride...

The air and the smell and even the taste of the midevening
came paddling smooth on the turf
as I rode the convertible...
the people had come out too
in jackets...wraps...sports shoes...
and young moms pushed perambulators...
the old man walked the footwalk with his setter...
and my blue midevening convertible had a song
of a self indulgent vagabond...
like a stallion the machine ran
whizzing past coffee joints and glowsigns...
the traffic lights blinking reflections pasted
on the roads...intersections...dots red green and yellow rested...
a brief too momentary makeover...
midevening convertible blue rider
that's me...

reunion at Nice...

She was working on the machine
tallying the day's earnings...
while the crimson spoilers fell
on the ocean...the bay of Nice...
Waves were roaring hard before kissing
the rocks...a shining turf with bubbles missing
the count burst into the air of spring
and she heard the ring of the door of the shop
someone had come to rent a scooter or to drop
one taken at early hours of the day...
without looking back...she stayed
put to her machine...and the book
of coins earned and coins spent
just then she heard...
'is the shop still open?
can I rent a scooter now?'
The voice sounded too familiar somehow
to her...so she turned
and with a frown of surprise
She found him in white flannels with a smile
cutting the ice...
she put her palm on her mouth
she kept looking at him with stupefied doubt
then she thought to play around
'Got an ID?'
She asked him with suppressed fun
The strokes of crimson sun were
on her face and also on his...
'I think I haven't...but wait...'
Saying this...
He brought out a picture...of he and she...straight...
Two heads and faces placed side by side...
One leaning on another picture of a kind...
'will this do?'
He asked back elongating the fun...
but that was too much for her
she did just make a short but fast run
to embrace him after four years with might
for four years they lived without each other's sight...

if you ask me...i would say...

if you ask me
i would say
tonight...
is just like another night
but it is also a special one...
like every day which comes and goes
each is special too!
if you ask me...
I would say...
Every month is so banal...
but every month is special too
for it has so many beautiful nights and days...
the days which herald the birth...
the nights which announce the climax...
if you ask me...
i would just say...
every birth is so banal
and so special too!
every kind of birth
on this awesome place...
full of possibilities...

urban mist...

when the late evening me returned
piercing the misty pattern
of urban decline...a slope
two or three figures like climbing ghosts
stalked me straight from tombs
as if to remind thrills of nights
listening wide eyed stories of fright
from granny in her gray shawl wrapped
me resting my tiny tired head on her lap...

urban misty form has such a thing
known roads turn never seen...
buildings frequented to look so unknown
a small patch of green turn a smoggy ocean...
park looks as wild as a bog
It is such a delight to move through urban fog...

the warrior's way...to sainthood...

Well... led a life upto twenties
chasing guns and pink panties
a warrior was I...wild...reckless...
and women dropped to me like lost necklace...
or sometimes as offerings by the kings
under whom I served and did trophies bring...
then Beth came from no where
Mild...observant...soft...benign like a mother...
Never felt to chase her...dont know why
In her eyebrows were hidden tears and sighs...
orphan as she was without family
but got a strong overwhelming personality...
a virgin by face and eyes and demeanor...
she carried in her robes a sad sad lore...
and I chose to keep my head down to her
Couldn't look up to her eyes demure...
then a civil war of a kind broke loose
Swords and harpoons like lavish rain flew...
My wild wild warrior self rose to shine
Heads fell on streets like rolling dimes...
And someone told me Beth was caught
Heard in the melee some bastard sought
her to satisfy his carnal desire
My eyes were filled with hot charcoal fire
I flew to the spot and by a single stroke
killed the devil his breath choked...
But Beth ...being what she was made of
Her breath panting and she sobbed
and asked me to shun the fight
pleaded me to leave the sight
of gory battles and too much of blood
in her eyes saw how tears could flood
a warrior's merciless subhuman heart
She asked me to my ways part
with fights and battles and beheading course
she taught me to seek God's ways and remorse
fell on me like never it did on anyone
changing me from a warrior wild to a pious man...
Beth did it all by her smiles and eyes
which showed me to makeout His Holiness in blue sky
and green patches of life so vast
Beth removed my valour and lust...

unexpected rain ...

The rain of the evening caught me
unawares...
'a chilly night awaits us'
I thought as I buttoned up
and waited for her to turn up...
Mid december rain
sent shivers down the spine
and miserable umbrellaless men
ran helter skelter in vain...
'this gloomy evening...
Better not to expect her...
She wouldn't dare to wet her expensive fur...'
Thinking this I pulled the moist air
off my face...neck...and shoulders
and took a glance at the both sides of the road
glistening by the lights of municipal posts
declaring vivid a scene cold...lifeless
buildings looked all cooped up... captive
people must have chosen to dip
into tumblers of warmth and wine...
only I on the road caught in a drizzle unexpectedly shine...

a prayer to Him

let me be free
O God Stand before me
And place your sweetest softest hand
on my shoulders which are drooping down
and flash that your smile so blessed
Let your halo burn my flesh
and transmute me into a soul
Send me that fire to brave the biting cold...
Let your robes so white and soft
on my face with soothing feel drop
and give balms to my parched and broken heels
for I have walked far and the journey kills...
O God pull me up from the pit of uselessness
Make light of the mountain that my heart press
and help me to stand like a man who had seen
the worst and the best through your blinding dazzling beam...

being bikechopper...

Have been long doing this
for just love playing with those ladies...
And after several hours of grease and grime
On the tank when airbrush the sign
and when the spark plug runs the first fire
and the sound of their hooting and purring rend the air...
I just love to take them for a ride...
a long one slicing the road of night...
O my ladies...of pure badass looks
and with jet set gasoline to keep them off the hook
Lowering the cg to the ground
keeping balance under a monstrous shroud
Chopper dreams when become plasmic real
More visions of aerodynamic builds I feel
as they drop one after another like a long battery of hope
on chartboard white rugged and broad...

the plant by the window...

when the last rays of the sun pass
by your blades...
the patterns of light and shade
fall on the stones...submerged
in water through which like tentacles
you spread thin line like roots
as if to find the perfect route
I know...
you are getting happy inside
and chlorophyll dots are waking up
to capture the waves of energy of light
and your cells are wriggling into life
for time has come to catch those photon drops...
the last quantum of energy down the slope...
I know...
you are perennially on the growth curve...
I know...
Your molecules of joy then get sprinkling of love...

wintry evening sudden...

This sudden arrival of evening
in winter has always kept me nonplussed...as if a practical joke
has been thrown at me by someone...
For the sun which had been there
a few minutes back round orange fair
writing orange songs on the wall...
playing hide and seek with boys homebound
from the school where they did a lot of math and writeups...
God knows where the sun suddenly hides
as if to quit his job he all of a sudden decides...
and the evening at that moment makes
an entry like a trained pro usually takes
into the last phase of a play on stage...
with gigs and gags suiting the script
winter evening to another level the day lifts...

frosted fingers and ringing ears
in diluted spirit rainbow tears
speed up a rocking episode of cuddling life
a huge multiplex screen lit up with supranormal delight...
a bunch of exotic smell grasps the teenaged boy
a boutique of designer wears he brings for his girl so coy...
and the little boy in socks and shoes and muffled look
tears open the wrapping paper of a story book
given to him by his father on his seventh year...
the taxi driver stops arguing with an elderly woman over fare
who has come to her son's after a decade long silence
frosty air smoothens the road view through my lens...
potholes appear closed forever...
ups and downs remind one of his granddad's rocking chair...

obituary to a simple unknown woman...

Today is a special day
for me...since two thousand and three...
for today I lost one of keys
to my original home...
the warmth of that womb...
that not only supplied liquid hope
and food through pipes and chords...
today is my day...
only mine perhaps
to lie down at the feet of Lord
and pray the whole day...
to cleanse my all impurities
to purge and burn
to sanitise...
to disinfect...
today is my day to have a tryst with fate...
one more time
since two thousand and three...

Mother!
stay right there with me...
as you have been
all these years without being seen...
like a smell of flower of the morn...
like an incense stick relighted...reborn...
like a smile with ambrosaic spell
like a bed time story that from your mouth oft fell...

twin space

The journey had been long...
tedious...full of hairpin turns...
bends foreseen full of puns
bends unseen with diabolic chance;

but pushing up the hill
came to a flattop...
can't move more
for the hill comes to the fullest stop
from where one could only drop
some fifty feet chasm deep...
lying down had a peep
God! only having wings one could try
to move smooth through the air...fly...
but the journey had been a macabre one
lost wings of the white swan
so lied moveless like a stone
felt clouds happily so far airborne
inscribing songs to my bone...

Eyes closed tried to ease
with my mind fathomed the breeze
it had the smell of God
surely it had penetrated my bod
for felt I had dreamt of me
Going out of all physicality...
there there saw myself asleep
And felt like a superb mind freak
Being at two places at the same time
on the top of the hill lying flat
and afloat without any effort on a magic mat...

'Now you don't need any wings
Wings had become part of your being...
But to keep you there for long
you need to shut externalities strong...'
Heard Him whispering into my ear
as if He divulged a secret fair...