Showing posts from 2017
Now that you are gone
I try to make a search
Of you in your works,
Your writings, diaries, scrapbooks,
Your memorabilia,
And how I find you more
As a product of that time turbulent,
When people had lesser earthly hankerings
And more of camaraderie,
When the air had all the fervour of revolution,
When eyes of you and your peers
Had all the dreams of liberation,
And hope ,
For those half fed, naked, starving humanity,Ah, those were the times,
When you wrote on walls ,
Slogans and songs,Till hurried steps of black boots
Came like hoofs of nightmare
Through sounds of gunshots
And mist,Time that got changed too,
And when peace came
It had wreaths
Upon its breast,
Of doomed youth,Now that I see those pictures,
Sepia , grey,
How I get carried away
To those times,How can I get the smell
Of smoke, tar, tea,
How in blurry eyes
Your youthful vigour
Do I see.


Writing something about you is like
Trying to make a swim through a sea,
Through wave after waves of memories,
The first distinct smell of you
Had the that peculiar mix of tobacco and shaving cream,
The first distinct touch of you had been to feel your palms a bit roughened,
And to feel how those lines on them had withered the ups and downs of time-
Partition, independence, state of political instability, carnage , emergency, flood of seventy eight , hartals, strikes, lockouts, bandhs,Then your smile , never too loud,
Just a sweet candid one, 
And your angst - silence spreading over clouds of even more silence, Your writing hand curved and sparkling
Your fountain pen dipped in ink - your poems and stories, your sessions of debates and discussions , Marx , Lenin, Engels, Tagore, Vivekananda, Aurobindu- all turning like lively figures standing before us as if saying their words, Your recitation of poems ,
your acting at amateur theatre- glittering dresses, swords of tin, And the…

The leafless chinar

In the shade of chinar tree
Like two birds who had flown over a sea
The boy and the girl gathered quiet
Drenched softly by the fading twilight,
The girl coy and a bit terrified
By shrill buzz of gunshots bright
Whispered her fear and longing too
To her man, her hope, her beau,'Don't you anymore join those men
Who are fighting for years and dying in vain'
The girl with tears in her hazel eyes
Pleaded to the boy with whom she has ties
Of love and hope and all those little things
Which amidst despair only joy to her bring,'I know how much you are worried about me
But as long as there  is this chinar tree
We will come here every evening , dear,
Why those gunshots you falsely fear?'
The boy told the girl putting his palms on her cheek
As the evening slowly turned dark and bleak,Suddenly they found some shadowy figures
Circled around them with fingers upon triggers
' Who are you? What are you here doing?
Don't you know there's a curfew this evening?'
A m…

That tree

Things had changed greatly
I say , since we have left our summer days
And went to farthest shores, away
From our home town,
Still once in a blue moon
When anyone of us happen to pass
By that park surely
Even in the dark he or she
Would  find that tree
Which we made our companion
Upon whose branches we had swung
And sitting upon them how we always looked at the distance
Finding the lazy motorboats gliding on the river
Or a bunch of workers going home in the noon day heat
Walking briskly,
And those chimneys which stood like grand towers
Belching smoke which went up to compete with clouds,So many other trivial things how we did notice
Amidst our games of hide and seek
Or mere gossip,The day would wane and before we would return home
We would take a leaf or a bloom
As pretty little souvenir,We picked them
As we picked tales too,
As we sought our summer refuge
In the big tree.

Smell of lavender

Coming back from work, Sreemoyi was sipping her evening tea, sitting at her favourite spot- the window of her bedroom from where she could see as far as golf course which appeared like a lonely but distinct patch of greenery amidst the buildings of the city.
Come evening, when the city would deck up in shimmering lights and far away when the bridge over the river would dress up in tiny dots luminous like a beauteous damsel in a flowing gown, Sreemoyi would just look at cityscape as visible from her window. The window to the world outside.
If it rains she would try to sit there for awhile till Riddhi would come home.
Despite being married for eight years, her marriage to Riddhi had not brought any child to her lap. She and Riddhi could have explored other possibilities but with the passage of time , the eagerness to bring a child home had died down considerably. Riddhi being always busy with his office tours thought it to be quite suitable not to extend the family further barring they…

Oft I long for

Oft I long for that sweet late evening
Of a delicate aromatic spring
When you took me to your home
And gave me that ambrosaic potion
To drink and savour all night,
To feel how the buds wake up after being kissed
By first rains of the season, freshened,
To get that first hint of heaven
Reaching which one can only get the calm
Spreading all over one's mind and soul,Oft I long for that memory enlivening
Which took me to find the hills and valleys and bushes
All gradually becoming a part of me,
As if I have been given a strange fulfilment
A view of the world so savoury
That can never ever leave me,Oft I long for you
And when I do not that do
I perhaps dream of mountain streams
And leaves green drenched by sparkling drops of dew.

Love at dusk

Love at duskAfter many days took the road
Winding as it flowed
Away from the crowd as we thought
We could be somewhere where poetry wrought
Little things into a different rhyme
We arrived where the sky kissed the line
Of horizon gently almost making no noise
There we stopped with songs poised,
She held my hand and whispered soft
"Is it not beautiful that we have stopped
Here where no one is there to intrude us
Is it not a wonderful way to pass
Our little hard earned leisure?" I looked into her dark lake like eyes
And felt got all the pleasure
Which I yearned to get  her face with colors of dusk set
Looked so soothing, calming and filled
With love that only a night rose could seal
In her petals fragrant and blue
How was I killed by that murderous view!She let my lips touch hers candid
And to feel the moisture in the air
She wrapped me in an encumbered sleep
And to lay my heart for her bare.

Just a love poem

Losing myself into you
Has oft brought me to a sense
Of fulfilment perfectly due,
As perhaps a bud feels dense
Breaking open just at the cue
Of the morning's mildest light-
Pinkish and orange hues
Whence touch the sky bright,
And I think I turn a flower true
Blessed by love of you,
Your smiling face I then reflect,
My petals drenched by dew
With sweetness of pollens set
Greet my blossoming new,Losing myself into you
Has oft brought me to the brink
Of an overwhelming view
Of life and love in which I sink
Haply as ever as someone lured
By something inexpressibly wonderous
Something that is deep and pure
Quenching all human thirst,Yet people driven by vanity
And pride of being modern
Discard love and poetry
Without knowing how they turn
To decadence and pity
Which only their souls burn.

Father of Syria

'Stay here quiet for awhile'
The father had told his girl with a smile,
The day had been usual, a Syrian kind,
Some people were starving, some looked desolate, almost dying,
But the father till then that didn't mind,And then just a sudden jolt, a cry,
What did came swooping, a drone ? A fly?
'Gas!' someone yelled, 'bomb!'cried another,
Down the street ran the father,
He had left his little one, only daughter,
Beside the shop, beneath a tree,
The smoke couldn't make him see,
What was happening and why?
But he heard surely her cry!Minutes passed like moments of shock
The buildings had turned into rubbles of rock
And mortar and debris of bricks,
The father from the dust his daughter picked,
She was gasping, was not she?
The father in the smoke couldn't see,People he saw running like ghosts,
Sooty, grey, figures unrecognizable most,
And he picked his daughter up,
Was she breathing? Or had she stopped?The way to the hospital looked miles away,
The fathe…

The Mystic Mariner

The Mystic Mariner*You have taken charge of the ship
And dared to venture out
To the ocean blue and deep,
Braving all storms and gales,
Like a sailor who knew it all
How to make a voyage without fail,
Wonder I seeing your spirit so bright
Had you been a disciple of Ulysses
Always searching for new shores of light?You oft served me as a towering flame
From far guiding me through hurricanes,
By your words, deeds and rhymes,
You have remained oft like an implement
A beacon, a weather cock , a wind chime,
All fused into one, a superb force
A fatherly figure who opens the doors
And windows too of my heart and mind
So that more of wind and light can I find.

(* as a tribute to Madan Gandhi ji , written as a part of a TSL venture on NaPoWriMo)


#saaqiO Saaqi, when I come to your tavern
Don't you keep me thirsty for long
As I have come to be intoxicated
By your brew, the one for which I'm so fated,
Pour me a cup of your sweetest wine
And let there your music shine
For without your heavenly liquor
How can I in dreams fly far
Away from all the noise and din
Come Saaqi, fill me to the brim
So much so that words do come pouring
From my mouth like music ringing
Sweet, succulent and devoid of pains,
Come Saaqi, give birth in me that lyrical sense,
With which can I sing a song for you,
A song laden with a poetic view
Of all that appear oft so prosaic,
Saaqi for you must I take
A plunge into the beauty true,
Saaqi I know I can do it only for you.

Where I come from

Where I come fromWhere I come from
Is a place of magic
As oft seen by children
A land of fairies and goblins
Surrounded by trees smelling like incense
And flowers which bloom there
Spread colors fanciful and wild,
How there have I lived for years
Always like a curious child lost in dreams;Where I come from
Is place by the river
Where the morning breaks with chirpings
Of birds waking up in woods nearby,
As I see them flying high in the sky
My soul gets winged shape too,
I fly with them by my mind
To distant places to find
Serene blessedness spread
Like mist of early winter,
In spring the place becomes even more beautiful
Songs of earth there float
In autumn when the leaves the trees shed
I watch them being carried by the breeze,
Till they come to my porch
And lay there quiet drenched by light,
In summer the pilgrims there arrive
From places unknown, walking days and nights,
They sing their way making the air
In musical chanting wrapped,Where I come from
Is a place filled with

A poem written by a poet, religious intolerance , necrophilia and allied things

Poet you have done it right
As a very very modern poet should write
Fusing elements that you have found
Floating in the thin air ; quite unbound!You dared to put into your lyrical grace
Things that we the people oft do brace
In our daily lives, filled with false pride
Our acts of violence, vendetta and verbal jibes,Some one talked of doing unholy things
Ghastly and diseased thoughts which bring
Shame in my blood, angst in my veins, And I ask myself, am I getting poisoned too?
Am I losing my mind, slowly becoming death?
Am I making a compromise with intolerance?But then , poet, you are a learned man,
You have written many things, seen through plans
Of political flagbearers changing attires
- One coat glittering for a ball,
Another subdued one perfect for a Fall,
Nehruvian hats, non nehru caps,
Saffron shirts guarded by black cats,
And so on and so forth happening oft,
Poet, don't say you're naive and ignorant of
How political affairs are handled here
Even that do I not serious…


When he was born I remember how had I dreamt
Of him becoming big, oneday like other kids,
Ryan had been the eyecandy
Fair with pinkish hues on his cheeks,
And how we tried to build our little things around him,Our world was around his needs,
And he would rarely talk back,
Even when he was three years
He would only shout and scream,
I asked my spouse
Oneday after gathering enough courage
To face any truth
'Is he okay?'We went to the doc,
And again I asked the same thing
'Is he okay?'The doc nodded his head
Somewhat dubiously,
'He is, I'm afraid, in the spectrum''Spectrum?'
'What spectrum?'
My spouse asked him,
She was having beads of sweat
On her forehead
And on the tip of her nose,'Gosh...we are so lost'
I thought I heard my wife almost cry,
Was she wailing?
Prehaps,Then on
We are living on the spectrum
Of light
Punctuated by dots of inexpressible silence,Silence was the key word of Ryan,
He remained silent,
Ages grew,
The trees i…

To Derek*

To Derek* "He saw the poetry in forlorn stations
under clouds vast as Asia, through districts
that could gulp Oklahoma like a grape,
not these tree-shaded prairie halts but space
so desolate it mocked destinations." In the world where poets and so called intellectuals
Throng like unashamed swarm of bees
Seeking honey,
You stood like a monumental passage of grief,
You talked about home and exile,
Black women with shiny foreheads
Resplendent and oily,The people in New York called you
The Mighty One,
A poet who had been profound and complicated ,
To me, you are as long as your poems
Which made me travel to torqouise seas and white sands,
Palm trees I heard roaring in the air,
In your words the world seemed restless yet strong,
Passionate yet morbid,You have made me find beauty in distant lands,
In wings of pelicans
And candy floss shaped clouds. (*this writeup is dedicated to Derek Walcott, the poet extraordinary)

Tiasha , me and poetry

Can an evening be
A thing of beauty?'
Tiasha asked me,The lake before us
Caught all the hues that passed
On its  water, a picture of dusk,I looked at the scene
Calm, still and serene,
And wondered what it did bring, 'Surely it can', ventured I
As a possible reply,
Looking at the colorful sky,Tiasha looked at me
Her eyes speaking quietly
Her love , her unsung poetry, 'What did the evening
To us really bring?'
She asked, almost singing, 'Love', I thought I should've said
'That really the evening made,
That really sky before us laid, '
But then I those words left
Unuttered, not expressed,
I just in my heart them kept,Tiasha being what she always had been
Perhaps gathered traces of them from the scene
And my hands to her face she doth bringAnd then she kissed on them gently and soft
Like an angel perhaps, straight from heaven dropped,
Making me unburdened, as if held aloft,I felt I had become a bird then
A creature winged, devoid of pains,
Ready t…

Love, let's be selfish

There can be a lot of wars around
Cries and sobs and tears
Somewhere in Syria there might be heavy deafening shots
Of bullets, bombs , shells,
In another part of the globe
There might be riots
People might take swords in hands
And get engaged into carnage unholy, Still
Leaving all of them aside
Like two selfish beings
We can always cycle down to that field
Where the sun shines soft
Caressing the grass and the trees,
There, love, we can always hug each other
Forgetting everything,
Like two very selfish beings,
There you can always hold me tight,
In my ears you can always drop words sweet,
And I can always hold your lips
Onto mine,
Savouring the moments,
There , love we can be selfish
Till the world will learn to be selfless,
Till our love teaches the world
The essence of tranquility.
The dusk was slowly settling on the street
Facing which two friends sat
The aroma of coffee filled the shop
And they had so many things to share betwixt them,
Small but significant things,
Like their joys and peals of laughter,
Undiluted, pure, uninhabited,The dusk looked perfect
Devoid of any ornamentation,
The dusk looked human,
All too human.

We remember

Ah! Even after so many years
Still how one can hear
Cries and sobs and screams
Of millions teeming
Half fed, beaten black and blue
Before gassed without any cue,Ah! Even after so many years
Still how can one hear
Wails and pantings and dirge
Of people in blood and mud
So horribly painted and greased
Before their throbbings of hearts ceased,Forever,Ah! How still how after so many years
One can their weepings silently hear.

The warm wintry sun and we

The warm wintry sun was going to sleep
When thinking of you I walked a few miles
And reached that place where we did keep
Our little secrets like  simple things
A smile, a laugh, a kiss and a pat
And some very very personal belongings
Your diamond nosepin, my tattered pocketbook,
A key chain and a peacock shaped ring;The warm wintry sun was going to sleep
When following your trails I somehow reached
That particular place where we did keep
Our simple little unforgettable things-
A scene of our heads resting upon other's,
A saffron red sky painted like a flame,
A musical flight of a dove's white feather,
And many insignificant inconsequential names.

A night to remember

When the moon came down upon me
One night as it shone the most
I thought you were there just beside
As I got that whiff of scented rose,Love which we both bore in hearts,
Then we perhaps both felt strong,
And the moon yellow, large and low
All that quietly witnessed for long,The night had thus beautifully turned
Into a delightful hour of communion
You and your thoughts when laid bare
All my  pent up  passions young.

Mail woman's lover

Mail woman mail woman
Where do you go?
Is it not painful for him
To stand waiting
For you in chilling snow?Mail woman mail woman
Where do you go?
Has the day not ended
And the evening descended
With light turning low?Mail woman mail woman
Pedal down you to that place
Where waits your man
Half frozen braving cold
Only for your sweet embrace,Go there and plant a kiss
Right there on his parched lips
And say a few words warm
Into his ears soft till they will glow,Mail woman mail woman
Where do you go?