The messages

I get your messages
All the time...
They come to me
Just like the way
The dewdrops fall on leaves and petals;

Your messages, dear,
Are like the autumnal breeze blowing
Through the craters and the crevices,
And through the sand dunes perhaps-
Shaping and reshaping my desert sands all the time;

Your messages
-They keep pouring in
All the time
Even when you forgot to send them!

The flight of the day

'Ready for the flight?'
The male flamingo asked his fairer counterpart one day;

'Why? aren't we flying down the ages?'
The female said, sitting tired and somewhat amused by her partner's whims;
'Yes we are, of course! But...'
'But?'
'But...today is the day of a different flight, dear!'
The male bird uttered in a sing-song manner, as if he had a stream of happiness flowing within;

'How come this day is different?'
The female asked, curious,
'For today...the sky is so blue...and the sea is so green!'
The male flamingo said, and unfurled his strong wings
And took a long heave...
The female bird looked at him with surprise and fun...
She felt fun everywhere
She felt fun in her partners wings,
Fun in the trees, the sky, and even in the breeze...
'Okay!'
She laughed and joined her partner;

They flew far
They flew wide
As sweet dreams fly
Making the harshest the coolest!
They just flew
Enjoying every bit of the flight...

They flew over the lakes and the valleys...
Over hills and plains,
Over big cities and small towns,
Over seas and ocean...
They just flew
Being happy for being in flight,
Being proud of cutting across the resistance of air,

Thus the day also flew by,
But it made them realise fun,
The flight , they realized, made their day...
A day to remember...forever;

the enchantress

She came and sat
Just where I was sitting,
Quite silently though...
Only the smell of fresh lavender
Brought her in to my senses-
Busy as I was in my own world
Of dreams and hopes
Of pleasures divine;

She didn't ask me anything
But there was always
A kind of restlessness in her
That made me aware
Of her inner disquiet-
Disquiet caused , perhaps, by being sought after
By every discerning male gaze;

I felt
She needed help
-So I shrugged off my restive state of mind
And looked at her
And at once I knew
I was looking at someone desperately insecure,
Someone being chased all the time,
And Someone made tired by the chases...

Then she smiled, weakly,
Not keeping exactly with her lovely face
So luxuriously decorated;
And I looked on
To get full hold of the lustful lips so red!
Her physical reality so poignant!
But...
Her eyes...
Were they not moist?
Wasn't she a refugee?
Weren't her sorrows lying deep, too deep, under her beautiful facade?
I thought
I shouldn't be distracted by the too apparent...
By the glitz and the glamour...
So I chose the deep,
The morbid eyes...
The moribund soul...
I became the enchanter instead!

clandestine!

Feel like talking to you all the time,
But never ventured out-
Knowing that you have got no tree trunk by your side to lean on;

Who will bear the burden?
I?
I have been a strange man-weird, vagrant...

How many women can put up with the agonies
 Of being a true paramour?

If I flee from you
You will be dumbed, for sure...
And for certain the drops of rain will drip
From your lotus eyes...

You need a strong trunk of a tree-a strong trunk...
To act as a true saviour...
Someone who could just extend the glass of cold water
With a mighty heart...
With a heart of a saint, perhaps...

But is there any tree like that, really, dear?
A tree who could wrap you up in the wet, monsoon nights
With warm coverings of sleep and dreams?
Is there any tree trunk like that?

So...
I keep concealed
All that are clandestine...
All that I wish to share...
A kind of perennial wish staying concealed forever!

mother

Just after the sweltering heatwave,
You brought the clouded afternoon,
And made me soothed
Helping my tired, sweaty soul;

O how many times
You, the grand ol' banyan,
Shaded me from the sultry noon;

I just try
To gather as far as I can
Much like a silkworm,
Weaving and weaving
All that you left for me...

I discover,nonetheless,
How many seeds failed to grow up to become plants-
Fulfilled,
Despite the earth-so moist and fertile!

He the same, she the constant...

'Tell me,dear,
Has the time made us bankrupt?'
He asked, one wet evening,
Looking straight into her glassy eyes...

She said nothing,only kept her head down,
But he was kind of desperate...
So he repeated,
'Tell me, dear, please...'
And he went near her
And held her hands into his rough,stubborn hands...

'Don't know...'
She murmured...kind of absentmindedly...

'Please, don't be so inconsiderate...'
He almost pleaded,
Then suddenly he was gripped by fervour, unprecedented,
'Time has given us everything,
It has changed us for the better, forever...
It has made us all the more wealthy...we are so rich!'
He almost exclaimed, trembling like a string of a violin,
Upon which someone's fingers played a tune alien...

'Is it you?'
She asked, doubts and fears all over her...
'Is it you who asked me to walk the path through the desert?
Is it the same you?'

He just sat beside her,
With her soft hands into his rough, stubborn hands...
He said nothing...
He just sat there,
As silent, as the silent morn bereft of any blemish...

memories...

The moment my eyes fell on her
Something stirred wildly inside,
As if a mirror broke sending a ringing noise...

And, unwittingly, past life came rushing
And I almost forgot where I was!

The rattle of copper triangles,
The buzz of patient nonagenarians beside me,
The screeching of fans,
The stern faces of clerks at the teller counters-
All went blank, as if they never existed!

I only saw a beautiful woman in the prime of her youth
With scented hair, black and curly,
Telling me stories of life...

I saw her standing before me in her half dress,
Washing the child version of me,scolding me in fits and starts...

I saw her in wedding dress
With dots of sandalwood paste on her forehead
Smiling reluctantly
Through the window of a white grumpy car decked with flowers and rose petals....

'Hello!'
The clerk at the counter called me awake,
And the clatter of the bank crept back
And ,
I lost her...in the crowd
Once again...

encountering Satan...

'How are you feeling,son?'
My boss asked,
Watching me with his insatiable energy and vengeful thirst,
Now that he had thrown around me a huge conflagration
That inched towards me every passing moment
With its tongues red, yellow and hot...

I felt the hairs on my skin
Getting into little mounds-black;

'Still want to be the God, son?'
My satanic boss asked
As sarcasm dripped through each and every syllable...

'Yeah! still! come'n!'
I cried out of pain, of anger,
As I smelt something burning...
My rubber-soled shoe and my skin;

The boss laughed
Seeing my pitiable state
Bereft of vigour
Awaiting the doom!

Every moment seemed like eternity
Never ending...stretched to infinite...

Just then methought
Death had arrived to give me life,
I heard the boss cry:
'Stop!'
And then the conflagration stopped,
It just vanished,
As if it never existed
And I regained my losing sense...

'Hey! why you stopped that?'
I asked him, feebly,
(For a man who had seen death,
and the most inglorious and hellish one,
Being feeble and meek was the only option... )

'well!'
The satan said,
'You've got awesome tolerance,
You persevered more than I had expected'

I stood up erect
And pulled myself towards him
To plant a kiss on his cheek...
out of no gratitude, no fear...
Out of love, perhaps...
And the satanic eyes twinkled
He just stared blankly for a moment or two and muttered:
'God! I'm so pleased to be the God, at least to one...'

I thought
I saw the Lamb in him;
I thought
I saw Him-The weeping child;

The taper and the flame

Walking down the winding road
On a beautiful spring morn,
Just when I gathered
The smell of colored blossoms
I thought I met my woman...

My woman
Who brought the taper of light and love
To my mind, soul...
Her face was covered though
By a canopy of cloud,
Hitherto unforeseen in any spring morning;
But her youthful hue
Coupled with the passion of love,
Made me weak on my knees...

I stopped
Drooping perhaps
Always being thirsty of love...

She gave me all,you know
Even before I needed them,
As if she was destined to be mine...

She turned me man
From a wanderer kid,
She turned me old
From another youngish brat...

Spring turned to summer
And the summer to monsoon...
She was still there beside me-
Turning all stones to flowers,
All deserts into meadows...

And I fell
For her only...

But then,
On one autumn evening,
Under the red sky
I met a flame;

Methought my eyes got burnt,
My flesh goose-bumped,
For never a man witnessed
Such an opulence...

Methought I met a fire
That singed me with lust...
We plunged into the caverns of a play,
That took all fantastical stories to their supreme best...

We played, all through the nights,
Nights after nights...

Autumn gave way to winter,
Letting the flame die...
By the spring the following year,
The fire died,
And there were only ashes of sinful nights...
Ashes, all I had,
And the flame gone...

Only then I realised,
I lost my taper too!

good morning

The moment I saw you out of my window,
I shrugged off all my future and the present...
I just raced back to the past...

So I jumped out of the drowsy bed,
Putting on trousers and shirt, in a terrible haste,
For you called me,
Sort of beckoned me by the morning smile of yours-
Spread across the blue blue sky,
Like balls of cotton of different hues...

I rushed to my bike and sped towards you...
The ten kilometres looked like two hundred miles
And I raced faster, thinking all the time that I might
Lose you by oversight...

The road was lonely
Only a few kids
Walked gaily to school,
With bright faces of the morning...

I rode for several minutes
Till I reached you;
You've changed your attire by then,
From the varied riot of colors, to
Blue and white;
But I know I love you in every dress...

Finally, I got down from my bike
And stood before you
Like I used to do
Even a few years ago...

You just smiled as if,
You always knew
I would come;

You just kissed my forehead
And played with my hair,
As I stood still-
Enveloped by the eternal feel of a lover...

I just stood calm,
I just stood blessed...

single in the city...

Just when the sun hid behind the shopping mall,
He came to the balcony of his tenth floor singular existence in the city...

He looked down to see tiny toy cars moving fast
As if they were thrown down the road of the toy-land by some angry brat;
He kept on looking down the tiny trees, the tiny traffic guard standing like a small robot
Performing some kind of motorised arm movements;

He looked around...
And an eagle swooping down at great speed caught him,
It was coming down quick,
As if a fighter jet losing height...
But soon it gained a level
And after keeping with the level for some time,
It took a upward flight-
'Great job man!'
He cried aloud
As if he was cheering a fighter-pilot
Performing the riskiest manoeuvre;

Hours went by,
And he kept standing on the balcony,
 And images kept coming and receding...
Images varied-
Of female garments hanging loose,
Of sizzling bottles of potion arranged neat,
Of smoke coming out of someone's mouth,
Of psychedelic lights jumbling up shadows,

Evening turned to night...
He still stood still,
The toy cars of the road below became less frequent,
The robotic traffic guard sat down at its kiosk,
 And the moon peeped from behind the cell phone tower...

Images came rushing to him again...
No female garments
But a caressing hand,
No bottle of wine
But a candid smile,
No smoke with brown tinge
But that of an incense stick...
And the light glowed within
And he noticed...
Someone in a white robe and long black hair,
Coming to him, walking unbelievably on the thin air...
Just like a fairy with a wand!

The sea...

He was standing on the beach
Before the endless, lucid sea
And the waves lashing relentlessly on his feet...

Each of the waves receded to create a kind of something slipping away,
Under his feet...
And he felt perhaps he would just sink into the sands of the beach;

The blue waves with greyish white toppings came to him
Almost endlessly, as if he was part of the eternal design of being a witness to their movements...

The sky, being overcast, suited perfectly to the ambiance-
An ambiance of serene melancholy...
Of  a mild but grave murmur of waves...

He thought he did not just happen to be there,
Instead he believed himself to be a part of the whole picture...

And he looked up to the sky,
Trying to find a meaning in the shapes of the clouds,
For once he noticed a simple face of a dragon,
The next he discovered a candyseller with his cart...

He looked on
And on the western front,
Which had a reddish glow,
He saw the face of his beloved,
Red...as if vermillion smeared,
And the darkest streaks resembling her  unruly hair...

He forgot how long he stood there looking up
To his beloved's face in the clouds;
But the rain came,
First in ones and twos...
Then in torrents...

He just stood there,
He just wanted the salt,
He just wished the salt to be rubbed on his freckled skin...

The next moment
He thought,
He was deluged by a sea of tears...

Forsaken

'After living all these months , dear, with you, day in and day out,
I'm leaving...'
He wrote using his favored black pen with pointed tip
On a piece of paper, handmade,
And folded the paper twice-horizontally once,
And vertically next,
And stealthily kept the note under his pillow,
Looking cautiously, for the last time the face of her, calm, ignorant;
And he slipped out of the room, silently,
Knowing well that she would wake up soon,
Not finding him by her side, in her trance;

Outside the dawn was just breaking,
And the milkmen had started cycling up and down the street;
And the pigeons from the ancient attic of the old building across the street,
Had descended on the empty street, in search of grains perhaps...

He walked down the street till he reached the arterial road,
From where he could cast his last glance to the first floor balcony overlooking the pigeon-filled street,
The same balcony which gave birth to his life and poetry,
The same windows from where she could see him arriving or going out,
He looked up till his eyes reached the top of the building...


He couldn't believe what he saw-
For there on the terrace, he saw her standing looking straight to him, from that distance,
Her hair was afloat in the morning breeze;
He squinted his eyes to get a better look of her face, from that distance...
He could not get the better view...he tried nevertheless...
'Was it a smile or a frown?'
He asked himself and kept staring for a while,
Before the blaring horn of a state bus brought him to the ground...

ek purana mausam lauta...

'Ek purana mausam lauta,
Yaadein bhairen purbai thi...'

He hummed while busy packing his backpack
For his mind was far away from his home adopted;
He remembered how the rains kissed him from top to toe
And the naughty wind sent mild shivers down his drenched hair...

He knew that the road, dressed in its best attire-the darkest blue
Was waiting for him, all those years;
He knew he had to leave his home, adopted and shared,
For his mind had asked him to leave the memories bitter and sweet;

'How very cruel!'
She would say,
Seeing him packing up his bag,
And humming Gulzar all the way;
He knew all that-the nuances of cruelty and indifference...
He knew he was not doing anything unjust or wrong,
He was just slipping away, into oblivion...

'But its humiliating for me, isn't it?'
She would say, desperation pronounced all over her body and voice, trembling...
He would not answer,
He would just stare blankly for a while...

'I'm not evicting you...I'm just opting out'
He would say,
And Gulzar would nod, with assertion...

The Artist

'So many people write letters full of love...why can't you?'
She told him one day,
Her voice had that thing which had crossed that thin red line of expectation and fervent wish...

He returned home and thought hard,
Pressed his pen's nib on the paper and tried to write something beautiful,
Something so fascinating that, he wished, it would just remove all her wishes,
Once and forever;

He tried hard,
To become that artist with a magic wand in his hand,
That would make the world colorful,blessed,tranquil, serene...

O how much he tried,
To be that bard...
To be that lyricist...
To be that musician...
To be that painter...
To be that sculptor...

He worked day in and day out,
To present before her the greatest work of art...
He erred,
He slipped,
He fell,
But he had that grit to carry on...

The summer went away and monsoon came,
And the rains went away, and Autumn ushered in,
And came the winter...

He carried on,
Like a perfect artist,
Forgetting one day why he was doing all that...
Forgetting the very purpose of his hard work...
Forgetting that he had been someone's man...

Nailed!

He looked at her tearful eyes
And felt so sorry
That he wished to jump to her feet and ask for forgiveness...

'I never wanted to make you sad...did I?'
He pleaded;
But she just gave him her hard glare, teary eyes, fallen chin, broken heart...

'O Tell me how can I make you happy again?'
He asked, desperate, ruined, stung...

Her lips quivered and she spake:
'Get thou removed from my sight, forever'

He heard the words
And thought to leave her forever...

But how could he?
His feet were nailed there, firmly,
And he couldn't move an inch;

'Let that be your punishment, just!'
She spake
And moved away,
While he remained nailed with love.

You've remained blind...

You remained blind,
As blind a deaf man can be in his dark world,
Devoid of senses...visual or auditory;

So you missed every bit of life-
The way the girl next door was raped by your henchmen,
The way the spooks counted money and filled their sacks,
The way falsities spread taking your name like oath sacred,
The way the sickle lost its shine, and the hammer its glory of toils;

You remained blind, deaf, and stupid,
And tried to build a world for yourself, away from the real,
Like an aged emperor, destined to rule forever;

Now that the winds of change have charged at your doors,
And swept away your all golden treasures and self love,
You appear so pitiless and naked,
Sans everything you thought would outlive the generations...

the bride of spring

You come dressed in red
Like a new bride, flamboyant, coy,dazzling,
Privy to all my secrets,
And I look at you, endlessly,
As if it will take me hundreds of years to understand your beauty so immense;

O you the bride of spring!
You come to stir my mind,
Your face covered by that red veil of blossoms rich,
Your slender body ageless,
Only makes me gape;

You're like the queen young,
Ascending the throne of nature,
Bringing forth all the ages of my whims, dilemmas...
Of love won and lost,
In Springs, autumns, winters...

O you! the bride of spring!
Bring once more,
The cool canopy of your shadows,
Save me from the heat of summer hurrying near...

The storyteller...

She calls me too often
To tell me stories she conceived every day...
She tells me stories of severe ramifications,
Of people she met across the street,
At the bus-stop, at beauty salon,at the eateries,at a public loo,
On occasions equally varied-
Early in the morning, at sunset evenings, at frosty daybreak, on a wet afternoon...

She calls me to tell stories
Every night,
As if she had been part of them ...

And listening to her ramblings,
I believe I'm also there somewhere,
In varied shapes and forms,
I feel all her stories involve me...
I believe I am the book myself!

Mirrors-you and i

You put me in front of a mirror, every time,
Naked, sans ego...
And I discover the workings of my mind and body;

Bodily we meet, like grooves,
Cut to perfection to match;

Mentally we're like two kites  
Flying in the sky, carried by the breeze of the day...

Bodily we entertain each other
Perfect playmates...

Minds of ours float
Like boats downstream...

You put me in front of the mirror,
And I be mirror sometimes...
And we both discover our ways of mind and body...

in slow motion

I saw the drops of rain,
Falling incessantly from the sky as mere tiny wet balls,
And the moment they fall on my face, they burst
Spreading coldness and moisture,
I feel so happy, inside...

I saw the balloons being released one by one,
And they move up and up
Till they become colored dots,
And the curious eyes of my little kid
Follow the dots while I follow his eyes,
And I feel so blessed, inside...

I saw her coming towards me,
Her dupatta aflutter,
And her hair tossing like black foam,
And the smile pasted on her lips, suppressed,
As the world moves by, ignorant;
I feel a sense of belonging, inside...

I saw three friends jumping in the air,
Making them look like the poster-boys of a soft drink ad,
I saw how their legs turn upwards and their heads spin,
I feel so victorious, inside...

There are some rare moments
When I see the world in slow motion,
And I feel so good that I scribble,
Lazily on papers, and almost
On anything I put my itching fingers...

The Racer

He knew exactly how to enact the foreplay...
He knew it by his memories;
So, he moved dodging playfully the forests and the valleys
Of the world known so well like a gritty explorer;

He knew he would never lose his way
As his memories were strong...

So, he sped up and turned and slowed down at each bent
Only to gather speed at the rightest moment-
A practised racer as he,
With a GPS navigator embedded into his memory...

The race was intense, warm, exhilarating,
Full of adrenalin pumping out at every delicate move;

Finally,  he pressed on the brakes,
Seeing the checkered flag being waved;

'you're a game, aren't you?'
She said, when he was about to start the victory lap;

Just then, he thought,
He wasn't a game...
He was just a naive,
For even after several laps,
And trophies,
He finds the race useless!

park street, 24th december,

It was the Christmas eve,
And Park street was  madly crowded...

There were black heads all around,
Screaming with joy, gaily dressed;
Even the policemen looked happy...

The cars whizzed past merrily, 
Blaring car stereos...

The bar doors were flung open every minute to let in and out
Stream of men, women...

The cake shop was choc-a-bloc
With the counters brimming over with demands of chocolates and pastries and truffle...

Just then I noticed,
A woman  in black trousers and grey pullover,
Standing at one corner, a few paces away from the crowd,
Her back was rested on the wall, as she stood,
Her face was bowed a bit,
Smoking nonchalantly,
As if there was nothing to cheer...
As if Christmas would never come!

the goatherd of Timbuktu

As the sun finally went down behind the distant cliff,
He started to walk his weary ways,
He the goatherd...
And the flock of his favorite goats walked and ran
Before him, making shrill cries, homeward bound;

The dust from their feet rose,
Just like a maze,
Enveloping the tiny huts not far away,
Which looked like the refuge sought time and again by people like him...

The goatherd and his goats of varied color patches on their coats,
White, grey, brown, black...

The goatherd walked towards his hut,
At the end of just another day,
But he knows within,
The next day will be a new one;
He knows
The next day will bring him to another desert of Timbuktu...

the purple dream

I looked at the stream
Standing on the bridge,
And the dusk fell
On the water's ledge...

The stream looked velvety
Like a purple cloth
Spread in the wind
As waves flowed;

I looked at the sky,
As if a dream,
Immobile earth
And a lovely stream;

I thought I should,
Stand on the bridge,
And wait for the dusk,
To lay complete siege;

Just then my eyes fell,
On a cottage afar,
And someone standing,
At the door, left ajar;

But how can I leave
The velvety stream?
Even if its unreal,
Just a purple dream...

the little mother

I looked at her curious eyes and curly hair...
'Who are you?'
She asked, looking up to me...

With tattered clothes and blood all over me,
She might have taken me for an evil, I thought...

But her curious blue eyes,
And floral frock...
And innocence...
I just mumbled-
'Don't be afraid ...I'll cause no harm to you'
And I tried to smile, a friendly one,
But my jaws were broken and it pained
Even to flash a smile to a little girl...

She came near,
Probably she felt pity,
Seeing blood oozing from various spots of my body...
'Wanna have a chocolate?'
She stretched her tiny palm
And I at once noticed a violet wrapper of friendship...


'Are you a soldier?'
She asked, seeing blood and the huge back pack;
'No...A traveler...'
I said;

'How come a traveler be bleeding so much?'
She asked, the little girl with blue eyes;
'Cause I have been plundered on my way...'
I said;
'But...are you not strong?'
She said, looking at my young face and vigor still left in eyes;
'Yes I'm...'
I said...

'Take it'
The tiny woman gave me the chocolate,
I put the whole thing into my mouth, starved as I was...

'Want some more?'
The little angel asked...
I don't know what were there in her eyes or her voice...
But I felt, I've found my mother...
I nodded and my eyes became vaporous;

The little girl ran towards her home
Through the cornfields, the meadows, the marshes...
I looked at her two small braids dancing as she ran...
I started to cry...
I thought I found my little mother;

the danseuse

I was sitting at her first floor hall
Beside the big glass window,
In a cloudy evening,
Waiting with the hot coffee mug in my hand,
While she sat before me,
Bottle green saree wrapped around her...

I noticed how her red stone studded earrings swayed
Every time she moved her head
To nod or just to smile...

I looked at her posture,
Sitting like a swan,
Majestic..
 Her eyelashes were long,
Her eyebrows were pruned,
Her hair was braided with some kind of ribbon...

She looked so much homely,
Like those women of yesteryear,
Who spent most of their lives in kitchen
And labour beds,
The rest of their time on either chewing betel leaves,
Or listening to the radio...


Sitting infront of her,
I thought of those women
Of bygone era...
Red sindoor  on their forehead
Dazzling like a sacrosanct mark...

But then,
Suddenly the rains came pouring,
And saw the homely woman removing leaf by leaf her conventionality...

She opened the window
Put her head out,
Closed her eyes...
And the rain fell on her as if to bring out her self
That had been kept confined for ages...

She let herself drenched
While I, shamelessly watched,
The swan turning into a peacock...

Then...
She tucked the aanchal of her saree into her waist,
And removed the ribbon from her hair,
To help the black stream take the fullest fall,
And...
She started tapping her feet on the marble...

The rain turned violent,
The windows rattled,
The long coconut trees swayed...

And she took the centre of the hall,
Her eyes bore the joys of life,
And the cold moist wind moved into the hall like gusts of sea waves,
Spraying little jets of shiver...

She started dancing...
I sat there still,
And watched the peacock in full flow...
The thunder and the lightning
Only gave cadence to her work,
And her whole body glowed
With indescribable energy and light...

She danced while it rained...
And the sacrosanct mark on her forehead,
Took the shape of a tilak...
A long red mark shiny,
As if it proclaimed victory...

The mesmerizing victory of a danseuse

Musafir

'You seem to visit some places quite often...'
She remarked, seeing him standing at her door;
His dusty clothes and thick beard
Bore all the marks of being a Musafir ...

'Yes...its like gravity... they pull you in...'
He said, standing at her door,
Uncombed hair, muddy shoes...

The salty air of the west
Kept running through him
And he looked at her,
Simple in her housecoat,
And blue slippers...
And the long black hair pin peeping from behind her bun...
And a face that looked pleasant and happy...

'Won't you come in?'
She asked,
And he was ushered into the house...

A neat living space with shiny glass wares on the big oak table,
And the carpet on the wooden floor as new as those in the stores,
And the big plasma thing on the wall,
And plenty other signs of well being...

He did not move much,
For he was embarrassed of his wrong shoes, full of dust,
And the crumpled shirt and soul...
He just stood there;

She had gone indoors,
To bring something for him...
It might be the drink for his dry throat,
Or something else...

He thought it was time for him to go away,
The way he arrived like the bolt;
He felt he was not supposed to be there,
In that neat living space with couches tempting;

So, he turned to the door again,
And he would've gone-
Had he not met himself on the photo frame...

A Black-n-white boy in baggy trousers and the smile on his lips,
Standing by the woman ten years younger;
(Who has gone indoors,
To bring something for him...)

He looked around,
Pushed the photoframe into his hip pocket,
And ran out...

He ran and ran
Till he reached the yellow cornfields...

He ran
Till he couldn't see the door...

The paperback writer...

He writes the whole long day,
As if he was born to write,
All that came to him,
The flowers, the trees, the broken heart, the flimsy shadows on the wall...

He writes,
Like the determined clerk on his desk,
Piles of paper strewn across  his bed,
On the floor, on his body, on his mind...
Papers all around,
White, pink, yellow, black...
Papers of different shades and shapes...

He writes,
About memories real-
Of child and women,
Of men and villians,
And the unreal-
Of forbidden treasures
Of Divine temptations...

He writes,
Like a man dispossessed of earthly warmth,
A pen on his hand,
And a mind on flight...

He writes...
The death wish once,
The love story next...

He writes,
Like a man blinded by sombre darkness;
He writes,
Like a man who has just seen the sunrise...

Last night when the Northwester came...

Last night when the Nor'wester came with the petals
Of yellow and red,
I was only thinking of you dear...

I saw you coming to me with the smell of rain soaked earth,
Dressed like the fairy,
With tiny leaves stuck carelessly into your flowing hair black,
And the pollen grains all over your slender body,
Yellow and red...

I saw you walking across the fields green,
-Those play fields of my childhood,
Where many rainbow afternoons we spent,
Under those sprawling trees with dark trunks,
Gazing up to the canvas of the sky
 On which someone painted the riot of colors...

I saw you standing at the gate of the temple by the river,
That temple ground where many evenings we spent lying on the grass,
Smoking happily away our indulgent time;

I saw you bent down on the rails of the jetty that went far into the river,
Your head suspended in the air,
As if you were planning for a jump into the turbulent waters;

I saw you on the Avenue,
Walking past all those little insignificant spots
Of our nocturnal rendezvous;

Last night when the Norwester came with the petals
Of yellow and red,
You came dear,
Like an ethereal lover,
Covered with pollens...

Last night...
The Norwester came,
And you came thereafter...

The Bus ride

Finally it came,
The last bus of the night,
For me,
Like a monster- one eyed,
Ugly dents all over his body,
Bearing marks of his careless sloppy movement,
And the radiator grill with broken teeth on display...

The monster stopped
Customarily where I was standing...
And I hopped in,
And collapsed on the grumpy seat
Which shrieked every time the monster jerked
As it ploughed down the uneven road of the night...

Tired as I was,
At the end of just another usual day
With usual share of usual nothingness,
The eyelids of mine were heavy
And they were about to be closing down
My vision for the night...

Just then the air brought in a fragrance
Not keeping with the late night bus,
For it reminded me of spring mornings
Of flowers and bees,
Of birth and creation...

I opened my sleepy eyes
And saw the bright sky
Draped in autumnal blue,
Seated just before me,
By the broken window;

The passing streetlights
Cast an intermittent burst of hues on the sky
And I saw how the blue turned green, yellow, red...
I looked at the change of colour...
And...
Goodness me!
All of a sudden,
The one eyed monster, carrying me within its belly,
Started gliding on the road of the night,
Like an automobile of the future,
With no noise, no jerks!

 I lost my sleep,
I was wide awake-
Witnessing the bus ride of my life!

8th march

I never wanted to see you that way
Dancing as you are, 'babelicious'
Embracing the pole ,
Paints all over your face
To woo the gaping men like me,
Full of bestiality...

On eighth march,
As you go international,
I am pained,
To see you on the billboards in skimpy clothes and lot of paints...
You don't need all these false adornments, dear,
For no one ever heard of goddesses wearing mascara or lipgloss!

A still picture

I could see her walking through the woods-
Swampy, moist, green, invigorating,
Staring at her brought relief
To my tired, burnt eyes of the city...

Blue jeans, backpack, white tee, sneakers,
Move away from me bit by bit;
Following the trail,
I move,
Amidst the woods,
Stretching my ears to get to the tune
Of the white tee and blue jeans humming all her way upfront...

The road was narrow, uphill,
Full of the adventures of the wild,
And of trees of unkown smell,
Yet so calming...

And I moved slowly,
Unaccustomed as I was,
To the region and the trail...

At one point she disappeared
From my sight,
I looked all around,
Only to see the trees standing like
Ascetics buried in deep thoughts;

I thought I should call her by her name,
But the trees...
They stood firm,
Like philosophers from the past,
I felt it would be a sin
To call her from behind,
To break the wild beauty of the place;

So I stopped
And forgot to call,
I just stayed back,
I just left the trail untouched by my feet,
I just waited...
For I knew that it would be a sin,
To create a furor,
In the midst of silence so pure...

the eighth year...

There you are,
Dressed in golden,
Resplendent under the flashbulb,
So happy and near,
Just by my skin,
The picture of perfection,
Smell of sweet flowers in the air...

Eight years have gone by,
Eight long years,
Eight short years...


Ninety six months,
Or, sixty nine thousand one hundred and twenty hours-

Of love and separation,
Hugs and slaps,
Tears and laughter,
Kisses and bites,
Eating and starving,
Acceptance and denial,
Enmity and friendship,
Truth and lies...

Ninety six months...
Eight years...
And still a poem for you...

An empty empty world

Sitting by the side of the flowing stream,
Reddened by the last rites of the Sun,
He was reminded of the emptiness all around...

Empty boats anchored to the bay,
Empty trees standing like phantasms with branches set across like frail fingers of the starved,
Empty land with no sign of human habitation...
An empty broken pot lying desolate...

He looked up to perceive the sky,
Cloudless and bereft of stars,
Spread like a low canopy of darkness,
And he heaved a sigh,
For within him he was ground by the void,
Within him there was a black basalt stone pressing hard,
As if it would lead him to asphyxia...

He felt the unnerving void engulfing him from all directions,
A 'void' of being loved till death by someone,
An emptiness filling up him from within,
In an empty, empty world...

Remember me?

'Remember me?'
He said, in a hushed up voice,
As if he was not sure of himself;

'Of course! I can!'
She said, full of vigour,
And  with an element of being surprised...

'How are you?'
He asked, still timid,
For within him he had that guilt,
Of being a fugitive for long...

She laughed,
But the sound of laughter had all the stings,
To pierce him through, silently;

'I'm sorry!'
He said,
As the guilt rose like a ball of fire,
Burning his flesh, his soul, his mind...

'You're late...'
She said, calmly,
Like a woman of ice,
Cold, lifeless...

'Some ten years late...'
She added,
And laughed out again;

This time around
The laughter was not stinging,
For it sounded like a muted cry of the heart,
Deep as the deepest and darkest well on earth,
With the wails and tears kept well out of reach
For ignorant  men like him;

'Have a good day...'
She said,
Before hanging up;

He stood there,
Nevertheless, with the phone stuck to his ear,
As if he had become deaf, forever ...

if

If I were a bird,
I would have flown to you
Just at that sunset,pinkish evening,
To sit on your window pane
Through which the last few rays of dying light,
Usually enter your room...

If I had been a bird, somehow,
I would've woken you up,
With songs of our collated memories
Of being united for brief moments-
Those brief moments of eternal joy,
And an union of souls...

If  I could be the wind,somehow
I would go straight to your apartment,
And ram on your glass window
Till you would open it and let me in...
And once ushered in,
I would've blown the coolest air into your brown tresses,
Only to see your flushed reddened face,
Full of coyness and love,
And those strands of brown hair,
Covering your eyes with a playfulness...

O  How I wish
 To be that bird or the wind!

Estranged

Barring the soft bluish glow of the screen rectangular,
It would have been dark...
And I would have groped my way on,
As blind man does
In broad daylight;

Barring that glow,
I would have been alone-
I wonder,
Like that lame man on the street,
Sans friends...

Barring that presence in absence,
I would be estranged...
I wonder,
As I press keys real,
To get to the unreal-
I go green,
I go red,
I go grey...

Barring that glow,
I would've never been so colorful,
Green, red, grey...
Barring that,
I would've been only pale-
As pale as the worn down structure
Just two blocks away-
Full of cobwebs and dust,
And an unkempt garden,
And a path untrodden for long;

A distant eerie place,
For the estranged, I guess...

The gift

'You told me once
That you would gift me your longest poem
In an evening when the sky would take
The colors of the new bride, remember?'
She said wistfully...

'Yeah...'
I replied which sounded like a whiff of air,
Passing by uneventfully, like the breeze of summer;

'Brought it?'
She asked, with all eagerness;

'Nope...'
'Nah? why? then? why have you come back?'
She asked,
Her voice trailed
And soon got drowned in the rustle of leaves
And, I looked at the western front, red;

'The storm is brewing...we should get back...'
I murmured...
'No! I want the gift!'
She stamped her feet hard on the ground
And I thought, I heard a  little girl's sobs, somewhere ;

I looked at her eyes...
Her beautiful, large, tearful eyes,
And felt so helpless...

'There will be another day...'
I tried to soothe her...

She remained silent,
Looking at the western sky,
Where the red met the black...

The wind rose, finally,
Not like a raging bull striking terror,
But the music graded perfect,
From the soft  kind of a tremble,
To the bellowing one,
Spreading the Gift all over...

'Hey! Got it!'
I cried out loud, impromptu,
Running to hold her from behind;

'I'm the sky,
My love!
I'm the drops of water-
Shot at you from all angles!
I'm the chill
Running through your wetness!
I'm You!'
I shouted
Holding her on my flooded self...

And soon it rained,
Horribly....

Blinding us,
Enveloping us,
Burning us...

It rained for hours,
So white and so pure!

waiting for the finale...

Forget all dear!
As the night turns to dawn,
Just hold me tight on your bosom,
To make me part of your misty morn;

I know you are tired,
Age seeping through your veins,
But just let me die young,
On your lovely embrace;

I know you are enraged,
Unable to forget the past,
But hold me tight dear once,
Till the short night lasts;

You might be feeling hateful,
Sleeping with an enemy like me,
Believe me, I never let you down,
Only a storm gripped the golden sea;

Time will have the final say,
Don't fret over things small,
Love remains undaunted,
Surviving the mighty Fall;

Still you can give me a kiss,
Or plant sleep into my eyes,
I wouldn't mind dying on your lap,
As the night rolls the dice;

A new dawn breaks the doom,
As my mind leaves me afloat,
On an empty cot, just you and me,
Like in marsh, a stuck-up country boat...

And somewhere the music will play,
'Last dance with Mary Jane'
And I will just lie happy,
Waiting for the dark to wane;

Bring 'em back!

They come out suddenly
Like rabbits of different colours,
Restless, unpredictable, random...
But as soon I set my eyes on them,
They run away...

I also run after them
Yelling all the time:
Don't leave me...see! I'm me!

But they don't listen;
They run to the holes
They run behind the thickest bush,
While I pant horribly
And finally resign to my lonely hut,
Breathless and flushed
And bruised on several places;

Those cuts and bruises
Will heal, I know,
But how can I bring my rabbits back?
How I miss those soft cotton balls
Playing on my lap
As I recline at the end of another useless day!

The Rainwoman

'Have you forgotten all those days?'
She asked...
I looked at the screen...blue, fluorescent,
Like a glowing wonder gadget in my hand,
Amidst darkness thick as the darkest cloud bearing loads of rain...
'Hello! are you listening?'
She asked
As if she was shaking me up from my slumber,
Her voice was choked;
'Will she cry?'
I thought, alarmed, somewhat,
And put the phone on my ear again...
'Yes...I'm all ears'
Said I, trying to bring myself back to the unreal real;
'I want an answer!'
She implored...
I knew what could her pleadings lead to-
Rain...loads of rain falling from the darkest cloud of the century...
Flooding me, her, the river ghat, the bridge, the tea stalls, the football grounds...
Rain....
Rain with huge drops of water,
Would make the country deluged,
And make even the uneven,
And uneven, even...

Whirlpool

'You've remained the same...'
I remarked, after a long drawn silence,
That like a flowing river,
Kept the distance
Between two desperate shores...

'Really?'
She asked,
Dancing her eye lustrous brows,
And the long eyelashes,
Full of hidden humour,
At my candid observation;

'Only...'
I started to say something but
My voice trailed,
As I looked at her painted, glistening face,
So young and yet so old...

'Only what?'
She egged on,
The twinkle still in her eyes,
And the humour still playing hide-n-seek
On her slippery cheek...

'Nothing!'
I said,
Trying hard to sweep aside the rush of bygone memories,
Crowding every bit of my crumpled soul...

Then, she came closer,
Taking my soiled palm onto hers,
As if my palm was hers,
In the most effortless manner,
And murmured:
'You've been wonderful, all through, like a dream, only, I drifted away'
So saying, she stopped.

O How I wanted to steal a look at her face, her eyes,
'Were they brimming over? her lustrous eyes?'
I thought;
O How I longed to kiss her,
'Was she sad?'
I thought;

O How I wanted to keep her close,
To get the scent of the long forgotten memory,
Yet I lacked the courage,
Fearing another apocalypse!

'Why are you so coward?'
She asked with a strange fervour,
As if in a fit,
And shook my shoulders,
Trying to jar sense into something non sensical;
'Why can't you claim what is yours?'
Her voice pitched higher,
Like a shrill sob,
Stirring the silent stream
Flowing betwixt us...

And I felt dizzy
At the tumultuous energy of a rising whirlpool
Within me;
I thought
I would rather die,
In that whirlpool...
I thought
I would rather become
That rising whirlpool!

maa...

Thinking about her is just like
making a revisit to the past ingloriously peaceful,
Little things which carry no value otherwise,
Come to me with multiple connotations-
of love, affection, pride and refuge...

Little insignificant things-
the smell of kitchen soot,
or, that of the known talcum flakes...
a dab of cream on the face upon some wintry morning,
a benign smile,
an all knowing stare,
an angry face with all heart's pains painted straight,
a wait at the table for the arrival of her little prince,
an act of self effacing defense...

Little things done without any strings attached,
only out of love,
-pure, undiluted;

Little things that meant so much
That once you start missing them,
you simply cannot forget your associations with them,
You miss them forever!

O mother!
why left me so poor?
why left me blinded?
why?

near you, on tiptoes

,

You have stayed like a stone;
Though you have kept within me the liquid desire...
And I pluck blooms out of  the void,
And sacrifice my best, prized flower
On the bed of consummation,
Ignite the core of my heart with the help of the distant star-

Filling my folded palms with several other arrangements-
Wishing every time to inch towards you,
Near you...

The Return

Will you not leave anything for me,
Now that you have wiped out all marks pregnant!
Why do you rob the colour off the Ashoke blooms, red,
Born out of silence and neglect, clandestinely,
At a corner of the grey street?
Emptying your palms
You try to etch out pictures of rich, sensuous youthfulness,
Forgetting those marks of divinity on the white marble...
Where have you kept that unsavored glorious light of yours?
Why do you wear on your eyes, turned away from me,
Blackness of the burnt out taper-
Wishing only the courage of the breezy, deserted  terrace
On a full moon night!

Reclaim

With the cool wind through my hair,
And the heart pumping fast,
Standing atop the Fort,
I felt I could see the blast from the past...

I heard the screams of thousands
Marching ahead with swords and sabres,
To wage an unequal war;
They knew for sure
They would kiss death
But still they fought,
Till their blood soaked the green pasture
And the river Parang turned sanguine...

Standing atop the relic,
I witness the gory sight
And reclaim myself...

I have been there...

Watching the sky reaching trees
Algae green wrapped,
I discovered
I have been there...
For thousands of years...

Far away, the dots of lights
Piercing the misty loneliness,
Remind me how far
I've traveled-
Leaving behind the four walls,
The soft cushions of desire,
The idiot box screaming ad jingles,
The bill boards featuring bubbles,
Bumper to bumper vehicles standing still
On apparently ignorant city streets...

'Can't I stay back?'
I asked aloud.
My question got echoed
Several times before it got drowned
In the dark calmness of the distant hills;

I shook my head
And started walking down
The path being carried by my unwilling legs,
And I knew
There was salt in my eyes
And stone pressing hard on my bosom...

At the door...

A dream for you...

I have been floating on a boat of cloud since last night,

And Methought, the dense, impregnable darkness of the sky

Like the secrets of the knowledge of Time,

Would be revealed to me;

The voice of the Time

Coming to me penetrating the curtain of memories,

Was trembling, spreading all its wings;

With the object of touching it in my dreams,

I sent across my desperate call;

The call of mine went high up to the northern sky,

Till it met its destiny, the Pole Star;

And I tried to invoke the star through the art of magic

Learnt by my lonely heart;

The Pole Star said:

‘The Northern sky is my room,

If I get drifted away,

Who will show the light to the ships?

You go away, and weave songs,

And let those songs come to me by the wings of clouds;’

So, I searched for a speck of white cloud in the sky,

To send my songs to the Star;

But alas! I couldn’t find a bit of cloud, white and pure,

To be my messenger to the Star;

Only the black demonic Nimbus

Came down laughing,

Encircling the periphery of my existence;

Methought, I have no way to unravel the mystery of darkness…

Just then, as if by some providence,

 Removing the rain drenched curtain of the Nimbus

And piercing the bosom of the moist smell,

 Like the deflected truth, the whistle of a train told me-

Leaving behind the riverside life,

 I have almost reached the desert;

And at that particular moment,

An unknown bird, swooping down straight

From the visage of clouds,

Threw to me a heap of sarcasm from her wings

Before she flew away to the meet

The call of the horizon…

And I discovered my all new born poems

 Left grappling for a breathing space

Amidst their prosaic existence,

 Trying to reach out to the Sun,

As if they are trying to know

The history of their origin;

Despite knowing the name of their father,

I just left them afloat on the uncertain waves of my tears,

As I was desperate to save my grace;

And I noticed

The drops of water falling incessantly

From the captive Sun

On weary, dry leaves of my poems,

Left grappling for a space to breathe,

And Methought, they looked blessed…

have i ever?

Hey!
Have I ever thanked you?
No?
Then its the time, I think,
To give back all that you've given me...

All those listless hours of waiting,
All those sleepless beds,
And the stroll down the mist filled path,
And the smell of the gandharaj in bloom,
And the memories of songs bejeweled by your tears,
And the dreams woven on kantha stitch sarees,
And the raindrops pattering on tin roof,
And pieces of paper torn off hastily with a flushed face...

Believe me,
I want to give them all back,
Exactly the way they came to me,
With you,
Without you even!

All I need a big envelope,
A real big one,
Perhaps as big as the milky way...

please,please,please...

'Please, please,please...'
I continued in an apologetic vein,
'you can't do that to me!'

'Why? what I've done to you?'
She asked, blinking;
'You can't be so sincere and devoted,
You can't be so serious,
You can't be so morbid,
You can't be so much weak...'
I said, still feeling half extinguished
As I wanted to talk more...
To breathe more...

'Do you feel that I weakened you?'
She asked,thoughtfully.
'Singularly'
I confessed without any hesitation.

'Let me go then...'
She said, hinging her head down;
'Feeling guilty?'
I asked.
She just smiled.

I could feel her smile
Wrecking me inside,
I thought it was my turn for being guilty...

Answer

You wanted an answer
That would erase all tugs and pulls
Of a swaying heart...
You wanted an answer, precise, pointed;

A needle like thing, I suppose,
An answer, unequivocal, piercing, straight...

And I groped,
For an answer,
Rummaging the bookshelf of my brain,
Turning inside out the cages of my heart...

But I failed;

Then I thought
what about seeking the answer
somewhere else?
So I took a plunge into my Self,
I stood before the mirror
And scrutinized my face, my nose, my limbs
Till I came to look into my own eyes...

And then,
I realized what a fool I have been
To look for an answer, unequivocal,
For a question that had been
the source of all creation
Down the ages...
Down the time immemorial...

O how I wish to go back to those days!
O how wondrous it could have been
To play the day long with little soldiers and lions
And those toy guns giving out smokes
And how in my mind I thought,
The whole house as my playground...

And how the sky talked with me then,
And birds chirped their daily grudges,
And the fleecy cloud would ask me to fly,
And the trees were my friends;

How wondrous the days were then!
From morn till night
Without cares and smell of money,
Without a soul for worldly things...

I Follow U

I follow you,
Every day,
As the day comes to the end
And the darkness descends,
I follow you...

Every day you arrive,
In new dresses,
To blow me away,
To far off lands and places,
To distant dreams,
To unrealised hopes,
To unraveled mysteries,

And you tell me
'Every day is a new day'
As I follow you,
From the roof top,
From the bridge over the railroad,
From the unkempt garden,
From the window seat,
From my every possible co-ordinates...

I follow you
As you follow me...

RESURRECTION

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

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.

Forty five hours

'Why are you so dumb this beautiful evening?'
She asked me,
Smelling of Lavender...


Red pullover, glossy lipstick,
Marked eyebrow,
A neat bun,
A lot of couture...

'What are you looking at?'
'At you...'
'Me! Am I a stranger to you?'

Silver bracelet, blue jeans,
Pink mascara,
A rainbow clip,
A lot of lust...

'Not earlier, but now'
'Now? why?'
'Don't know...'

Forty five hours,
Three hours short of two complete days,
Three hours short of two rotations,
Just three hours...
Or just forty five hours of silence
After a long drawn brawl-
Within and without;

Red pullover smiled,
Placed nimble fingers on a sweaty palm,
'You're a fool!'

'Eureka!'
Me shouted,
And jumped
On the softness
To wipe off forty five hours of deathly strife;

A few paces away,
The hag with the grumpy face,
Counted silver-
Oblivious of Adams
And Eves;
Ignorant of Forty five hours' angst
That raged a storm
A few paces away.

In the middle of ...

Golden mean?

Middle age?

Midsummer Night's Dream

Have you ever witnessed
The strange fusion of childish whims
And superannuated lethargy?
Quietness dotted by flood of foolish blood?
Aging with agelessness?
Rhymes with reasons?

Have you ever
Woken up with a young heart and fading brain?
Have you?
Ever?
Caught in the middle?
Of a Riddle?

Have you?
Haven't you?

From Park Circus to Red Road

He comes every afternoon
To Red Road ,
Smooth macadam...

He comes wearing a pair
Of knee length pants
Holed and patched and holed
In many places...

The smooth macadam
Shines like the baked cake
Straight out of oven
Unlike the potholed alley
That led to a dingy five square;

Don't they belong to the same?
Smooth macadam and the potholes?
Holes and the patches?

Blood and wine

I woke up the way I do
-everyday,
The sun was red in the eastern front
And I remembered Red is the colour of blood and wine...
And Red reminds me of the roses
Dying every day
In your garden, in mine;
In the florist's shop round the corner...
Opening eyes, I found
Redness of wrath strewn all over,
In shapes weird and woobly,
In forms liquid and sticky
Like rivulets of wine ...

'Apocalypse is here'
Someone cried;
'doomsday befell us'
Shouted another;
I only saw roses on the graves!

Cobalt Moon

O Cobalt moon,
Colour me in your hue,
Colour me the way you are,
So happy and true;

O Cobalt moon,
Teaser of the night,
Colour me the way you are,
So shiny and bright;

Colour me blue,
Colour me white,
Colour me to live,
Colour me like bride;

Colour me silver,
Colour me pale,
Colour me to live through
All storms and the gale;

O Cobalt moon,
Why can't I borrow?
Your paintbrush and palette,
And colours of sorrow?

monideepa unlimited

Standing under her pink dotted umbrella,
She stood like a paper cut- out,
Singular existence...

She was thinking hard
For her eyes were half closed;
Lost in deep thought, perhaps,
As idiot me stood
Like an orphan
Under her pink umbrella same;

Did she mumble?
Did her eyelids bat?
I tried hard to fathom her,
Using my teethless groping mind...
And there she stood
As if struck by some serpent of unholiest kind;

Rain drops fell
Following a zigzag pattern
Down the cloth fringes,
Like molten lead-
Pure and Shiny drops...

A little distance away
Down the busy street,
Cars honk and run
Weaving curious simmering patterns of light
On wet, slippery road

And I thought,
God must be the pyrotech...

'You're crazy!'
She said finally,
Her eyebrows twisted upwards
Corrugated...
And hustled across the wet road
To meet a creature -
Better than me perhaps,
From every count;

I watched
Her going back
Stilettos black, brown purse, pink umbrella,
Swinging hip crossing the road
Abandoning an idiot by the heap;

I waited
Like the ancient sage in his cave,
High up in the hills,
Covered by ashes and soot
And snow-capped silence.

OLD and NEW

Even before I was born,
There was light and darkness,
The Sun was there;
So was the Moon...

And they were like friends,
Playing hide and seek,
Across the evenly spread vaccum
-The Milky Way;
All day long, years after years
They played hide 'n seek;

When I was left on the crib,
They were there,
By my side,
Like friends forever...

Then I grew,
Like the trees that grow,
Vegetable growth...
Across the landscape,
Across the equator and the meridians old;

Friends are they,
'Forever young'
'Forever old'

Playing games,
Forever...

Glory or ...?

It was a day
With rain and thunder filled,
And a man
Was crossing a bridge
-worn out;

The frogs croaked
Seeing the sky dark,
And the man
Was hurrying home
-tired;

The road was long
Kissing the horizon far,
And the man
Was running behind time
-Alas!

Sea god saw him,
Rain god thought-
How a battle like this so hopelessly fought?

Nature and Time,
The two pronged sword,
Could with the vengeance strike?
Or upturn the board?

The man had little knowledge
Of what awaited him...
Will it be glory?
Will it be doom?

Ran he fast
As fast he could,
Too eager to see
His lady's shroud;

At last he reached
The door he knew,
Knocked and thumped
But no answers flew;

Water dripped on
The floor with moss,
His lady slept
-no shiver or toss!

The dream merchant

Every day, at the appointed hour,
He comes and stands exactly here-
With his wares...colors of joy'
Green, yellow,purple, red, blue...

Every day, he draws the jolly faces,
Innocent smiles and wishes,
Obliging olds and insistent youngs...

He sells-
Dreams,wishes,wails,smiles
He sells-
Happiness amidst strife and hurry...

A dream

I woke up the way
usually I had woken up a millionth time earlier...
Sublime, sensuous and pure,
Covered by the broken bricks and mortars,
Against a perspective of a gray gray sky...

And,
There was the rain and the shine,
The blackness dotted by the white-
'Polka dots'...
They say;

And,
A pink blossom pressing up to meet the blue,

And,
A 'yellow submarine' diving deep into my belly;

And,
A rubbished thought spreading tentacles to get the sap;

And,
A pinkish dream, a balloon and a lucid existence...