Senses

He roams in the forests

amongst the cedars, mulberries

collects fragrance of the wilderness

Snow drips from the pines

his palms open at the sky

he smiles with the sheep

and ripples under the sheets of ice

Those who met his world

never returned to the urban sanity

he binds with the fragrance

their hearts to the wilderness

His soul is wild in the mountains

his eyes hold the wilderness

Reassurance

An object of discreet possession
she holds captive her urge to fly
morphed rocks covered the landscape
ugly she thinks are the birds.
She keeps her world closed
creates smiles at selective thoughts
and precise people.
Only once she has seen the sky
dream shaped clouds
rain drenched trees
only once she smiled when alone.
She needs reassurance
that smiles are meant to happen.

Magical

It is magical with the bodies in love,

On the periphery of her curves

he creates giggles and goosebumps.

Free

With carefree feet, and happy hearts

we walk by the bends of Ganga

through the mountains and remote settlements

where we are pure, like she is.

We cry unstoppable our tears into Ganga.

Cities we live in, destroy, destroy us,

we walk by the bends of Ganga

with tearful eyes, and happy hearts.

Here we are pure, like she is.

My Ecstasy

I see the tree growing with me
Papa planted it on my sixth birthday
I even named it, Elvin,
tiny, arms all around his body
my own pet monster of childhood.
With all the love that we shared
Elvin started outgrowing me
and soon, like a big brother
he started to protect me
in his branches, in tree house
from sun, rain, my loneliness and the world.
I smiled, laughed, danced
he stood admiring me, my happiness
and he would dance with all his arms
spread out, in my ecstasy.

Havoc

Havoc

Stop the games now, my baby,
come, hear the lullabies
it's time to sleep.
Listen to each word I sing
keep your head close to me
don't look around for my eyes
.......
it's too deep
it's time to sleep.
Tonight I will tell of the forest
where I played when I was your age
its not there anymore
...............
oh baby, what else you will miss
it's time to weep
it's time to sleep.
Sleep, my baby, sleep well tonight
see the dream that I dream for you..
I can't promise tomorrow's keep
it's time to sleep
.......
it's time to sleep.

Being Walnut

At the distances near and far
she tries to see,
A very random star of the moon
I am trying to be

For gloomy mornings
fog in her fingers she weaves,
Scent of the sadness
I hallucinate winter leaves

In the estranged forests
she wants to cut,
A very random star of the moon
I am being walnut.

Arunima

bikhar jaati hai jab duniya, to woh guldaan mein murjhaaye phool bhi ache lagne lagte hain. arunima un sookhe phoolon se hi khushiyaan banana seekh gayi thi. kabhi gaur se dekhoge to baazaar mein gajre milte hain jo arunima ne banaye they. log andekha kar dete hain.. simit si khushiyaan koi nahi chahta. arunima ek antheen nadi mein naav ki tarah ji rahi hai. aur ab toh kayi saal se barsaat bhi thik se nahi hui. jal star pe nirbhar khushiyaan kitne sookhe mausam bina toote rah sakti hain? main nahi jaanta. par maine use kareeb se guzarte dekha hai. ek hansi rahti hai arunima ke chehre par. shayad usse pata hai kitne mausam baaki hain.

Absence

She smiles and dances
to the music he plays
from a distance unmeasurable
by those who never loved.
In his absence,
she meets his dreams

Date: 7th Mar 2011

Reason

In the note that she left on the dining table
she did not mention the reason
for leaving him.

He stood there for long, holding the chair
then made himself a drink
and sat down to read it again.

He tore it neatly, four square pieces
finished his drink
and looked inside the glass at ice.

Then he stood for another glass
and while pouring JD over ice,
thought that she forgot the reason.


Date: 8th Mar 2011

Twelve

In his moments of affection
he brings her flowers from the wholesale market
a dozen of red roses she loves
and then gives her one at a time,
throughout the night.

He wonders between those flowers
how much each costed him
so he extracts the worth of love
almost like his daily wages.

She smiles 12 times in such nights.


Date: 7th Mar 2011

Wild Bird and The Sky

When you close you eyes
do you see a dream that spies
on the wild bird that can't fly
and sings to the sky
to not be so high.

I have seen that wild bird
from very close to her herd
and tried to listen to her song
I too have wanted the sky for long.

Of the Magicians

I may let the words one day get across to you
for I have precious little to say
but now I have no time or intensity to illuminate
to let you see me clear, and make you believe in what you hear.

Friend, I am same as you
I have a proud heart too
this one I write so you may not see, the real me
I am attached to the very words I abhor
tomorrow they may end at an unknown shore
I hope you don't find me any more in those pages
that we filled with well crafted rages.

I shall not end to write, however,
I shall not recede with this line that is being read
I will stay around and watch the playground
as the birds start to fly and words make up the sky.

We are these words and we are these meanings
we are the poets with our own leanings
believe me when I say there shall be not many suns
we are the little left of the magicians.

not titled

She has been odd sunsets in his winter evenings. Not that he really bothered them to be perfect, or her. She always thought he looks into her and beyond. She wanted to be that beyond.. beyond herself, beyond the evenings.. the sunset. He maintained that she went beyond his realms of identification, into the sunset that he sees when he looks at her.

She remembers telling him of something related to Coelho, whom he disliked for enchanting the world with tales so ordinary. They were in Mussorie and she said, "I believe in the essence of Veronica, her thoughts and the world around her." Did he snap then? No. He could never snap, or over react, or get mad at her with all his bitterness that he so eloquently reserved for the writers who measured success in means he could never attain. Once he told her,"Never read Rand, she sold the world to capitalists." She believed in him, like she belived in the tales of Dahl in her childhood.

Last day of the sun did not come to their knowledge. A fire took him away with his books and the printed names of writers he despised and worshipped. For long after that day, she collected ashes, and words.

Me. Myself.

In my notes there are odd references to love
that often tread on the limits of infringements
some that follow till destruction.

I read me intrigued, at what thoughts have been.

Meri Kavita ke Arth

Aaj shayad main kuch aisa na likhoon
jise padhkar aapko lage ki kavita ke maayne
kitne sach hain, in shabdon mein.

Kavita ek zariya bas hai ek kahaani sunane ka.

Main kyun likhun woh sach jo vastvikta pe pachtaye
main kyun likhun woh shabd jo mujhe hi takraye.

Hua hai aisa bhi jab shabd saamuhik shoshan karte hain
vichaar dabi awaaz mein bhi kuch kahne se darte hain,
phir kyun main aas lagaaun apni baat badhaane ki
panktiyaan aise kyun banaaon jinme kshamta ho dhah jaane ki.

Yahi sach hai ki shabd khokhle bhi hote hain
meri bhaavnaon ke arth jhoothe bhi hote hain.

Something Shrugged

They have seen the deserts convert into graves and graves being deserted by those who once loved the loved ones now dead.
Those who carried the light disappeared.
Those who were crazy and loved disappeared.

They have seen the explosives being carried by the railroads and the railroads being exlploded by those who cared.
Those who never heard the songs slept.
Those who sing have once wept.

They have seen the mountains merge into the horizon and horizon being lost behind the mountains.
Those who understood disappeared.
Those who stayed, never said.

Her Abstractions

She has an unguarded sense of vanity
a brush stroke used, littered
lips curled into maroon
sky touched with a hideous blue.
She wears selected moments in her hair
wraps her up in a fragile layers
and looks through violet shades.
Assorted rumours glitter in her nailpaints
some green, some red
some those blushed in the bed.

Apni Hi Baat

aaj nayi si ek kahani sunata hun
apni hi baat apni zabaani batata hun

dhoondhte hain jo log khuda mujhme
main unme hi haivaaniyat pata hun

mila tha kisi ka ateet mujhe kuch der pahle
uska aaj batane mein main bhi ghabrata hun

mere liye jisne duniya se ranjish ki
usse hi aaj main duniya se chupaata hun

waqt pe bolta tha jo shaqs har baat
uski khaamoshi aapko samjhaata hun

The Girl Tuesday

Of all the things that he could have been called
they chose to call him Monday.
People received him with a certain malice
an emotion he privately reserved
for the girl who always came in late
and yet into acceptance, the girl Tuesday.

Beyond

I speak what you belive can never be said -
Of the restless rhymes
Of the sins explored
Of the love slit through eyes
Of the gods ignored.

I live where you belive it all ends -
In the heart of darkness
In the clouds beyond rain
In the words not yet made
In the dances of insane.

..

Mushkil hai kisi se kahna ki pyaar ab raha nahi
apna hoke bhi koi, itna apna nahi hota.

Black tide

The black tide swept him away
to a place where the demons pray
and he smiled at his own darkness.