Refugee Camp

Our roofs were torn away, often violently,
We were asked to pillar their rooms,
Saying they’d provide us shelter.
We were atlassed upon, we shrugged, taking,
To our roots, in our green earth, though not for long.
We were weeded out, and seeds sown,
Of landmines and grenades well planted.
Toxic fumes to kill “pests”, ya that was our new name,
Birds in the air, to rid the field of worms, that's us again,
Seeds watered red through trenches blown apart.
A rich harvest of camouflaged crops and corps, they got.
They seeded and weeded us again, more ruthlessly.
When they said they’d picked crops with corps,
They did not say they made corpses of both.
They said we’d be planted, back where they took us from.
Yet they took from us, where they took us from.
Rootless and roofless, we are, left hanging in their gardens,
Of barbed fences painted green. While the world looks on,
And showers accolades on our leader, only we know,
Refugee camp is a euphemism for a butcher’s yard.

Sixth Sense

My eyes opened, to see a butterfly
On the wall opposite me,
Where from, to where was he?
Why here was he, in all the world?
Was it black with red spots?
Or red with black spots?
A closer confounded me more.
Vigilant wings, that stir storms,
Coiled horns, that build bridges,
Thoughtful eyes, sad and deep,
I caught his eye, to enjoy the limelight,
What was he wondering about?
Looking for his dinner petal, or wondering,
Where the next tornado’d be?
Love lost, or discovered yet unfound?
Maybe it was the last one,
When I thought out loud, if he wanted to woo
His dear girl, one with spots to complement his,
The fellow nodded his head, saying yes,
But the moment I asked him if I could help,
He took off, clearly answering me,
Maybe his sixth sense told him, that
I had not, a sixth of his sense for romance.

Who's Who

Long ago lived two men in the country,
So different, in contracts held. Here and elsewhere,
One a warrior, all his life on the battlefield,
The other a fisherman, a life on the waterfront.
Waves of navies and watery armies, the warrior fought against,
To get his prized catch. None escaped his net.
However skilled or lacking in, none escaped for long.
Sword and shield and hooked spear he held,
To kill his prey, the ultimate predator that he was.
In the dark, he walked among abandoned carcasses,
Of once lively fighters. While he made love to his woman,
His weapons lay along the side, metal and wood welded to one.

The fisherman’s life was not so easy. He lived from day to day.
Struggling from dawn till dusk against forces,
Forces that wanted to bury him in a watery grave.
His job was not traditional either; he had to fish
On land and drop his catch into the river.
He worked in tandem with the blind boatman who took the load off.
Drifting along the Styx out to sea, to see a thousand ships set off.
Warrior or fisherman, contracts in contrast. One fighting
For the fish he killed, other for the kill he fished.
One a life so anonymous he was forgotten before he could forget,
The other a legend to know, long after he was no more.
Who to be? The fishing warrior or the fighting fisherman?

Face of Paparazzi

George Washington sits there sipping
A cocktail with a Loyalist soldier for company.
Lincoln with a clean shaven face, forcing his
“colored” comrade into action. Steve Jobs
Sits there carving sculptures out of scrap,
While Gates in specs, packs plastic into boxes,
And Hillary removes a blonde wig to reveal
A dark brunette outcrop of hair.

Some of them laugh, some cry, while some just
Wanna go home. A couple of them running,
Chasing each other, with battle cries in the air.
All, while parents coaxed their kids at the dress event,
To be presidents and CEOs and other famous folk.
But as they say, kids will always be kids.

Contra Natura

Luminance covering Lucifer, his pitchfork dripping white,
The tempter entered into my life in the guise of an Angel.
Along came happiness, love and bliss, or so I thought.
It was spring in Eden, and winter in Pandemonium,
Roses lined the streets; rainbows paved the roads I walked on;
At every turn a pot, of laughter and joy, the melody of a duet.
We danced to the tune, round and round, on the world’s dance floor,
The music continued; I was dizzy with ecstasy, danced and stumbled.
Embarrassed and pride shorn, I waited for her to pick me up, save face;
Wrinkles on my bald head; grey hair where it was left, and yet,
I was still on the ground, with the music a monotone, and me, alone.
The bright butterflies that drifted past, a colourless memory now,
Alone I was born, alone I had been, and alone I am, but no more;
The memory of what had been is still fresh; the colourful butterflies,
The melodies of youth, the pleasure of a bedmate long gone, but alive,
In the petals of a shrivelled rose, in the broken bow of seven colours.
My road is a thorn bed now, bedmates finding new homes
In the crevices of my withering feet. Lucifer in silhouette,
Laughs at me, seeing me writhe and squirm, in the fires
Of the Lake of my failure. Fires of my own love, burning me,
Twisting and turning in pain, I hear, him with the horns,
On how chalk and cheese stay separate, as do oil and water;
That love can build bridges of passion, fiery passion,
That burns the heart it burns from. All that is left, is one,
Suffering alone, hearing the monotone, the monotonous
Cackle of love and other demons.

Awake, Asleep

A papyrus spear thrown at my door, early;
Faster, faster than anybody could catch it,
Flung by a knight on his wheeled stead,
A force faster than light or its quicker cousin the neutrino,
Armed to kill, it hit my door with a bang,
Its victim, my sleep, died a quick unnatural death,
I have pleaded and even pledged tribute to him,
To the knight that serves as my wakeup call, albeit undesired.
He calls it his duty, to keep subjects aware,
Things that happen need to be told. This round world,
Which pales in comparison to my beautiful sleep,
Needs to see and hear and wake up to the sound
Of bangs louder, and spears thrown faster than his,
Of fences demolished so sheep need no longer jump over,
Of blood flowing freer, unbridled, than the rivers of my dreams,
Of men and women sleeping sounder, forever, than the silence of my sleep.

Gift For the Wise

Luminance covering Lucifer, a pitchfork dripping white,
The tempter enters into life in the guise of an Angel.
All was sunshine and all was rainbows,
A dim dusk, a dull dawn, the colours had not known.
Walks in the park, with yellow flowers to give company,
Flaming yellow flowers in the boughs all around,

Burns to beautify and scars to sanguine,
Walking in glee, through purgatory, with breezes storming,
Gentle ruffle of the hair while worlds ripped apart.
Feast of the senses, the wine of sweat flows free,
An exhilarating exhaustion, the labour of limbs and all else,
Lustrous and luxurious, yet shorn of virgin glory.

A full hand wishing fuller fingers, to rob empty hands,
Armour of emerald, spear of jade, to shield, to stab;
Blood pumping through brothers, in combat to kill.
As shepherd is sown into the soil by the farmer,
Where bone rots, and His kingdom lies disinherited;
The green eyed walk by nonchalantly.

With ever expanding coffers, built with walls of coffins,
Housing those with, not dignity, but denied opportunity,
Lying face down on, looking at, the earth they so loved,
Lying like the lizard they listened eagerly to,
Advocating the virtue of the prince they worshipped,
Toads of Mammon holding close their offerings to him.

Bloated bellies and expectant eyes; skeletal carcasses
Loading plates they dare not devour. Dinner tables floating,
When the sun is high; thru rivers of wine, flowing from lip to luscious lip,
Of pork; dead and succulently cooked, eaten with siblings
In flames, in toil, eaten while they still boil; with flesh and blood,
Passed over from tummy hungry and throat parched, thru a hand of plenty.

Passed over, yet buried, the virtues and talents are,
Idle workshops, idle as the snow bird’s wings,
Lost in laze, with lioned streets striking fear, preventing work,
Careless to catch morsels of talent thrown around,
Walking on hedges of willed thorns, hopes turned to apathy,
Talented chiefs slaving under lesser beings that merely stand and wait.

Thrones of air, upon fair frothy nimbus palaces,
Where maidens and fair lords look out from mirrors,
Looking in are faces that drown, in themselves; in vain,
His favourite sin, as it mothered his transit,
From a servant to the master; and fathered war.
Fighting Sisyphean battles to sing better than the next peacock.

Deprived and lost, arises a fire, stronger than all else,
Rising from scorn; scorning the Son and scorned by the Father.
Burning all else around it, even the bonds that tie,
A desire for vengeance, avenging wrongs done, thru more wrongs done,
Rage for an eye for an eye, a burning rage to burn the burner,
Ending all, not needing the gifts laid there for the wise men.

The Fisherman and Achilles :)

A man and his wife, a house
Of mud and walls of air, living
In peace amid swords and shards,
The man, a blade wielder, who cut fish,
The woman, a priestess to him and Apollo’s liege,
Knew each other so well. The village’s envy they were.
Feeling and understanding, thought and action,
Yin and yang that fit together.
When breathless in each other’s lap,
Buried, they were, by their beloved sea.
Sea that saw a thousand ships, remembered more
For the lives it ended, than the end that lived.
Ya, their end lived longer than their memories.
Known well, to each other, but unremembered by others.

Not far from them, lies a man, far from his bride,
Apollo’s priestess, the swordman’s game.
Mad after glory and fame, throwing lives away
His and others, so that he may be remembered.
His bride wished to know him, yet watched him die.
In glory, remembered not as a strong warrior,
But one weak in the tendon. A lone wolf, remembered.
One nameless, unheard of, the other a tall memory, the stuff of legend.
Same boat in death, but different in life. Love, understanding,
Peace and happiness rocking one cradle. Hate, war, chaos
Sorrow drew the other in all directions. Who’d you be?
The nameless fisherman, known to his wife, forgotten in love,
Or the legendary hero, favourite of the gods, unknown to his bride,
Love sans memory or glory sans affection, you choose.

Achilles and the Fisherman

A man and his wife, in a home
Of mud and walls of air. Unfazed by
Swords and shards that lay around them.
Lived in peace, they did. The man,
Had not held a blade, other than to cut fish.
His woman, worshipped Apollo, but a priestess to him alone.
Dead in each other’s lap, they were buried,
By their beloved sea. A sea that saw a thousand ships,
A sea that is remembered more for the lives that ended,
Than the end that lived.

Not far from them, lies another man, far from his bride,
She worshipped Apollo and a priestess to Him alone.
A man known for his prowess with the sword and with death.
A man remembered across the ages. Giving up life,
His and others, for the sake of glory, to be remembered.
Remembered, in myth and memory, not as a strong warrior,
But one with a weak tendon. Killed, his slow demise watched
By the one he loved, the only one he loved.
Separated from her, in both life and death, in pursuit of glory,
Glory that made him be remembered, by all to come.

So, while one remains nameless and the other a tall memory,
Both are now dead and long gone. The nameless is unheard of,
And unremembered, but known. His wife knew him, so did his friends.
Remembered or not, he lived a life of happiness and understanding.
Wisdom brought from life, living and not ending it.
So who would you want to be? The unglorified fisherman,
Who his wife knew, loved and sheltered in her bosom?
Or the glorious warlord, favoured by the gods, but unknown,
Even to the woman he loved, more than his own life?
A life of love sans memory or one of glory sans affection?

Looking for a Title

A good night’s sleep, well deserved after night’s labour,
The morning opens, embracing darkness in all fervour;
Eyelids open up, to darkness and daylight,
The day’s lovemaking with the night.

The sun penetrating the orifices on my drape,
Birthing psychedelic litter on the wall’s stone henge;
Brood to be sacrificed, by the father for the Feast,
To rise up in ranks to the High Seat.

The kid meanwhile played hide and seek,
With a catcher outside their clan, the fellow,
Static, and counting down so they could hide.
A winged catcher, wings folded, to close his eyes.

Time passed on, I was relishing the leisure,
Granted by the son of God millennia ago,
Having nothing to do all day, playing deference,
To the sacrifice of the sons while the Sun rode up;

The catcher was still there, oblivious to the end,
Of the game. Was he even part of the game?
Or was he just there taking a break, like his spectator?
The show where both players and spectators rest;

A closer look revealed, the catcher, connected to strands;
Strands of silver, a puppeteer was he? Controlling minions,
Working the obedient ones and punishing the rest.
The flutter of a feather sending ripples across the universe

Shivers among his slaves, I was looking at a lord I guess;
My assumptions were proved right, he moved;
And the strands did too; the flutter and the waving strands.
His valet came running to serve his master.

Service with servitude, the fellow kissed his master’s feet
Touched his feet, rolled him over in a massage, oh wait!
Before I knew what was happening, the tide turned;
The server became the served, quite literally.

Deity turned to delicacy, I watched my player devoured
Bit by bit; inch by inch; a lifeform turned to dust by another.
Not that I could stop it; saving one to starve other?
Long ago have I learnt that was the law of Nature.

Every life is predator or prey
And every life is predator and prey,
While i predate thrice every date,
Prey I am to somebody else’s prey.

A knock on my door and my landlady enters,
I tell her about the miracles of Nature, for her to retort,
That there’d be more Nature and less miracles,
If I was to clean my room once a day.

The Voyage Begins....

And I set my eyes upon her,
Duly escorted, by her father, the king
Of legions of men. A marquee masked her face,
Beautifully crafted by the chief craftsman of her land
And hand woven by the maidens with silk strands.
As the marquee so her face, both handmade.

Bearing the crest of her country, a prancing pony,
I was admiring the subtle art, that showed,
The vigor of the pony, its ambition and joy,
When it moved in the breeze, I could see her.
Never had a man begged more for a breeze
In the chill springs of the grasslands than me.

And there she was my breeze, my own warm drift,
To remove the chillness of the weather and the whether,
To offer counsel and to console, there she was;
A smile here, full of mischief, and a glance there, with caution,
A kiss blown across, brought promptly and with secrecy,
Straight to me and not to the prancing ponies around her.

Ponies that were kept away, for their own safety,
To save them from death caused by unnatural jealousy,
Jealousy aroused by catching thieves in the act of crime,
The crime of making love, lovemaking of eyes and lips,
They stood, grazing around in the bushes, the upper brushes,
Oblivious to what happened deep below the greenery.

She gifted me her pony, doe-eyed like her,
Valueless, unlike the diamonds of earth and blood;
Handing over the marquee of her father’s kingdom.
Her land was mine, her hand was in mine.
One, a burden of responsibility, a living to make,
Another, a burden of love, a life to share.

I held the prancing pony in my hands,
It was mine now, to hold, and to behold,
Though my heart was not with the pony,
It was rather, with the doe, the most elegant one,
More than compensating, for my lack of it,
Making the perfect stag and doe of Love’s Forest.

The forest had grown bigger, with the doe joining the stag,
She bowed down, taking those eyes away from me,
Stealing my life’s breath away, was it respect or fear?
Or was it deference, to the new crown that adorns me?
I should be uncrowned and freed from the misery,
I’d rather die on a wooden cross among the thieves.

I know that no seat waits for me on His right,
But to face your aversion, to not have a place in your heart?
I’d rather rest my tired head on the cool flames of Hell.
What is kinghood, if your kingdom hates you?
The land I rule over lies under my feet.
But the land I want to explore lies in my eyes.

More to explore, much more to be explored,
Explorations, not merely of land and earth,
Voyages into newer territories, not on the fair seas,
But through those dark gates, dark and deep,
That keep calling out my name, keep drawing me to them,
Though I don’t know if I will ever come back.

Not that I want to come back, for I don’t.
I will make this journey, without a map;
I want to get lost in there, in through the dark gates,
I want to get lost in the land that is You.
And if my crown is a hindrance, I shall enter
The uncharted territory as a mere man.

In there, it makes no difference if I’m prince or pauper,
For there are no kings in paradise, only angels,
And an angel you shall be, no doubt, to me.
I make an attempt to find out, if I am an abomination;
On my knees, looking eagerly up at her face,
The approval I seek is right there, as our eyes smile back at us.

The dark ocean spins raven waves of her hair,
Dark tresses that frame a fair face,
As fair as the moon amidst dark clouds,
With eager eyes, and lips that keep talking,
Lips that talk without moving an inch,
While the eyes do all the work.

Now is the time, to engage those lips,
To make them work as much as those eyes,
To take me forward into those dark gates,
Make this kingdom a part of me and me, a part of it.
For we are nothing without the other,
The flower and the bee that need each other to exist.

The efficient sailor in me, navigates his ship,
Through channels rose hued like the sunset,
In the light from those dark beacons, that beacon me in;
There shall not be any more kingdoms to conquer for me,
Only voyages to explore, voyages of love into the Garden of Eden.
Voyages as my ship rides over the waves of pleasure that surround it;

Do not wait for more details on my voyage;
Go find your own and start sailing on the high seas,
For it is in such voyages that life is lived.
Find your darkness in sunrises, or light in sunsets,
Even if you don’t find either, may you find peace
In the depths of the sea.

Dreaming Under A Dull Moon

A translation of a poem by Bharathiyar, to know more about Bharathiyar, click here

As I dozed off under a sleepy moon,
I had this dream.
A lass, in her sweet sixteen,
A face bright like the rising full moon,
A smile, that the moon appreciates and envies,

A body like a flash of lightning, she appeared,
“Stop sleeping! Look at me!” she said,
I woke up right away and…..
And……then it hit me…what a blessing!
I was looking at the Goddess of Beauty!

So I asked her, “Will fate or intelligence win the race?”
She replied “fate is a mere instrument of human intelligence”
I wondered if I would get what I desired and prayed to her for,
With a cynical smile, she said “mayb one or two in four might come true”
And with the smile she was gone, while I dozed off, lost in more dreams.

Let's Keep Walking...

Yes, on this road where you walk,
Yes, this is where sat a child,
Missing her body in half and her mom, in full.
But, let’s keep walking.

There, the house with the caved in roof,
That is where soldiers decided to make love, not war,
Breaching a Tamil river with several Sinhala streams
But, let’s keep walking.

The peaceful smiling Buddha you pray to,
Is accessory to the murder of the War God Muruga,
Who renounced life, failing to protect his people,
But, let’s keep walking.

Lotuses have replaced roses and lilies,
Habitat adaptation... with pools of blood to grow in,
Tinted with blood, they decorate the newly built Viharas,
But, let’s keep walking.

The trench you step into, in there,
Stood a medic, with a shovel instead of syringe,
For there is nothing to treat in dead bodies and mass graves.
But, let’s keep walking.

The sea waves that kiss your feet,
Also hugged into their bosom, women,
With unborn babies, shot as they fled,
But, let’s keep walking.

The wall you sit on, to take a breather and relax,
Once walled a hospital, eager moms and new born babies,
The wall was not a shell as mortar, and is all that’s left,
But, let’s keep walking.

The new posh hotel you are staying in,
Was the summer home of a Tamil family,
Told over their bodies that it had new owners,
But, you can enjoy the accommodation now.

The view outside your window is beautiful,
Blue skies and green trees dotted with white tents,
Tents where the men are killed and women, impregnated.
But it is time for you to sleep now.

We shall go to another town tomorrow,
No place averts visitors in this tourist country,
Though I can’t do much about the fact, that,
The only stories these places have are about the dead.

But you, the living man, need not bother, for you have won,
By crushing, not mere voices, but also the throats that spoke.
The armed lion will continue to attack unarmed sheep,
But let’s keep walking.

Flying Lesson...

Inspired by its mom,
The chick thought it could fly too,
It thought so, and tried to,
Until it crashlanded on the ground.

Uniform Washday

Soaked, washed, rinsed and put out to dry;
On a clothesline, my childhood lie.

When Nature Strikes Back

Naked bodyparts hanging at the Butcher's,
Legs, lungs and livers over the counter.
Mashed up middle fingers to increase virility,
Under the counter, for dogs that wink.
A rope tied to a penis dongs the walls,
Of a breast, to toll the temple bell.
Quadruples praying to an unadorned "Blue Cross"
Before sacrificing human heads to the Universal Power.
In the last journey of dead flowers,
The live ones throw human ears to cushion the path.
While cats may pet human kids,
Watch out for stone pelting dogs,
When you fornicate by the roadside.

Another Icarus...

Atop a hill, under the treetops,
Waving and dancing to the rhythm of my feet,
And birds, not so out of reach
A jump and even the clouds are mine.

Taken over by pride and sheer joy,
With the whole city looking up at me,
The mighty river but a distant stream,
Farmlands forming dusty specks.

Temple towers in the horizon,
Their bells tolling faint whispers,
Sharing secrets with the winds,
Secrets the winds keep to themselves.

Stories about steamy affairs,
News of juicy gossip from high up
Amidst the clouds, and the heavens,
Gossip that does not matter much to me.

My dealings with the wind are different,
We don’t revel in idle gossip,
No, not us. We got more to do,
For the wind gives me wings.

The wind gives me wings,
Easing my flights of fancy,
Into the realms of the gods,
Amidst the clouds and the heavens.

The wind gives me wings,
Lifting me above over mere mortals,
Far above even the hilltop I sat on,
Far above the earth I was born on,

I am the master of this world,
Watching over it as a Messiah.
Lying under my feet, the world waits,
For my command, to do my bidding.

Unable to bear the weight,
Of my ambitions and my pride,
The fast, strong wind, fails,
To hold me up and clips my wings,

Drifting along clouds that I lorded over,
Falling swiftly, from grace,
Specks of dust in the distance,
Shed more specks of dust in my eyes.

I now know that they are fields,
That sustain me and not I, them.
Birds exact revenge by flying over me falling,
Another Icarus, dumped by his pride.

A Pensive Pachyderm

My toes are hidden from sight and the sun,
As I walk in the lush grass that covers the earth,
A green bed, rain fed and fresh, hides more than my toes,
The greenery is a mere cover, for the devil lying hidden.

He lurks, he waits and unlike his counterpart,
Does not move around in mysterious ways,
But stays still, so still, that we don’t see or smell him,
Despite our noses hanging down to the ground.

And we walk along, jolly good, laughing and merrymaking,
Unaware and unperturbed, about the danger under our feet,
Not that we could do much, if we knew or cared,
Not having created the disease, we do not have the antidote.

Yet, it lurks, waiting to do its job, waiting for its prey,
The parties that planted it, now drink with and to, the health
Of people they intended to feed to the waiting predator,
They have declared peace, yet we have war upon us.

Unseen and unheard of, the mines lie in wait, for us to step,
To dance to their tunes, although with three legs after the first beat,
We hear them when they speak to us, laugh at us
After they punish us decisively for stepping on them.

We see brothers with their legs broken, bleeding to death,
We see our babies walk and play tic-tac-toe with the mines,
Moments before they get blown off their feet,
And lie there, crying out for help, dying in pain.

And yet, we are helpless, we gather round, hang our heads
Less in sorrow and more in shame at our collective failure
In failing to protect our kin. For we are not humans, to kill our own.
And you that do so, can go ahead with us being least bothered.

But once you are done playing your game, and decide to switch
From war room to board room, please do have a bit of sanity.
For decency would be too much to expect from cannibals,
To clean up your mess while you leave to mess up someone else’s life.

The forestlands may have given you cover, to kill and get killed,
But they belong rightfully to us, for we live and let live.
This is our playground even if we don’t make a claim,
Unlike the “Great Games” you play to justify your claims.

Euphemism maybe your strong suit, when you call us the “gentle giants”
Rightfully so, for we are gentle even when we die. We just lie,
Down on the green bed that once hid our toes,
And also hid our foes, lying there in waiting.

Your wars are over, and ours are ours to fight,
So do pack up your circus, and I mean, lock, stock and barrel.
Eat up the meal you so eagerly poisoned,
And don’t leave behind any of your toxic leftovers for us to find.

Let us live in peace, allow us to live, so we may really live
Free of the fear of stepping on “exploding earth”,
And let us eat dance and make merry as is our birth right,
So we may tell stories of our exploits, while we walk on all four legs.

Note : 1.6 million animals in 39 countries die of land mine explosions every year.

Dinner With Her - II

He sat down after a tiring work shift,
To lie down and rest, so he could rise and shine,
She’d come out to fill his place and give,
What he had given her… and for something else too,

She’d be there to look at the world,
And he, to look at her and her alone,
She knew that too, a celebrity and her fan,
A celebrity meeting her biggest fan to make his day.

Or rather, his night, for once the night got over,
Her time would be done and she would leave,
She would always come here for her next shift,
But he doubted, if he would survive her farewell.

So now, he had a silent prayer, so silent,
He did not want her to hear that,
To her, he was just another crazy admirer,
To him, she was the damsel of his dream realm.

He prayed for a night that would never end,
A night that would not see the light of day,
A night without a morning to follow,
And he did not want her to know that.

He did not want her to be scared,
He did not know if she would fear or favor
The thought of staying with him forever
So he did not want her to hear his silent prayer.

Silent though it be, she might’ve heard it,
Her home was close to the source of the prayer,
Whichever realm she belonged to was immaterial,
She was the queen of his heart.

After the prayer, he had to decide,
About the menu, and if she’d like his cooking,
He also had to think over and again,
If she was on a diet to maintain her figure.

Her figure did not indicate any weird diets,
Hence a plan was on, for a sumptuous dinner,
To be safe, the menu had a vegan cuisine,
He did not want to upset her, insignificant though the reason be.

And he waited, as the night passed,
Expecting her to turn up, to rise and shine,
“Any minute now…” he told himself,
And he kept looking up, trying to stay awake…

And he stayed awake the whole night,
On top of the highest point on the planet, close to her,
Unperturbed by the cold winds that blew.
She still had not come.

He could feel his feet going numb, he wanted to walk around
To check if she had come, on the other side of the mountain,
And was waiting for him there, but realized he couldn’t move,
She still had not come.

He saw the sky in his arms, the color of the sea,
He was not sure which, his vision had become hazy,
He tried clearing his eyes, to see her make an entrance,
She still had not come.

He dragged himself to the edge of the peak,
For want of a better view, and to see her,
See her, before the rest of the world could,
But she still had not come.

When they found him, months later, he lay a few feet below,
Having fallen from the summit in his attempt to reach out, perhaps to her,
His last agenda had been a dinner date with her,
On that day of the month, when she does not show up.

Dinner With Her

He sat down after a tiring work shift,
To lie down and rest, so he could rise and shine,
She’d come out to fill his place and give,
What he had given her… and for something else too,

She’d be there to look at the world,
And he, to look at her and her alone,
She knew that too, a celebrity and her fan,
A celebrity meeting her biggest fan to make his day.

Or rather, his night, for once the night got over,
Her time would be done and she would leave,
She would always come here for her next shift,
But he doubted, if he would survive her farewell.

So now, he had a silent prayer, so silent,
He did not want her to hear that,
To her, he was just another crazy admirer,
To him, she was the damsel of his dream realm.

He prayed for a night that would never end,
A night that would not see the light of day,
A night without a morning to follow,
And he did not want her to know that.

He did not want her to be scared,
He did not know if she would fear or favor
The thought of staying with him forever
So he did not want her to hear his silent prayer.

Silent though it be, she might’ve heard it,
Her home was close to the source of the prayer,
Wherever else she lived was immaterial,
In him, she lived in his heart.

After the prayer, he had to decide,
About the menu, and if she’d like his cooking,
He also had to think over and again,
If she was on a diet to maintain her figure.

Her figure did not indicate any weird diets,
Hence a plan was on, for a sumptuous dinner,
To be safe, the menu had a vegan cuisine,
He did not want to upset her, insignificant though the reason be.

And he waited, as the night passed,
Expecting her to turn up, to rise and shine,
“Any minute now…” he told himself,
And he kept looking up, trying to stay awake…

And he stayed awake the whole night,
On top of the highest point on the planet, close to her,
Unperturbed by the cold winds that blew,
Or the pain from losing his toes to the frost,

He could not even feel his heartbeat,
He wanted to walk around to check if she had come,
On the other side of the mountain, and if he had missed her,
But realized that he couldn’t move his legs, or his body.

He saw the sky in his arms, the color of the sea,
He was not sure which, his vision had become hazy,
He wanted to dig deep, hide his wrinkled skin from her,
He did not want her to flee upon first sight.

But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t move,
It was as if his body was on strike, and wouldn’t obey
So he consigned himself to shame and ignominy,
And sat there waiting for her.

When they found him, months later, he lay face down,
Perhaps an attempt to hide his unremarkable features from her,
His last agenda had been a dinner date with her,
On that day of the month, when she does not show up.

Forgive Me, Zuckerberg

Sitting in geography class, looking at a map,
Where lines crisscross, and seas clash with land,
Rails to bridge, roads and lanes passed for ships
Telegraph, telephones and the all mighty internet,
With our faces on books and letters filling inboxes,
The last time I ever stepped out was last Christmas,
I doubt if I will step out this time,
Snow Inc. has offered to deliver this year’s snow,
Through the cat flap in my door. I hope they get lucky.
The cat flap had gone out of use long ago
Cats are company lovers and hate being alone,
They’ve probably got a colony built somewhere on the outskirts,
Free from wires and networks and towers,
While we bind ourselves in fishnets and cobwebs,
And claim to live in a free world.

I haven’t seen my neighbor’s face, not since the last barbeque,
To celebrate our wisdom in staying away from the dotcom bust,
Ironically though, we had saved our money,
And lost ourselves in what followed the bust,
We have never had a wall to separate us, but have now started,
To write on each other’s wall, that we did not build,
From sharing bear hugs as men, we have deteriorated into kids
Poking the other and waiting eagerly to be poked back,
Our lives are dependent on the likes and unlikes we get,
And our status updates are statutes for ourselves in a virtual world,
Bounded by communities and stuck inside groups, I now miss my cat,
And the beauty of a summer morning and the chirping of the sparrow.
The moon hates to give me company, the north wind hates crossing my rooftop,
But my recent status update about ending status updates,
Continues to be unliked by people as lonely as I am and yet, so unaware.

Rain, My Love

I saw her when the clouds shed tears
I met her in a drizzle,
And when we met each other, it was raining.

We walked in that rain,
Our words merged worlds,
And we began living in one word, one world.

We spoke a lot about nothing,
You laughed whenever I did,
But every time you did, I stepped into a puddle.

My feet got wet, no matter,
Coz we both were dripping wet,
In rain, in happiness, in love...

That year, the rain,
Was our love’s spring,
For it bloomed as it flowed...

Rivers smile at the rain,
She gives them life,
And I smile at you, for you’re my life...

Flowers dance in the rain,
She wakes them out of a slumber,
Like you woke me and showed me life.

Rain is a mother, she nurtures,
The world is a baby in her arms,
Like me in yours, my love.

My teary eyes remind me of farmers,
We are comrades in waiting,
To him, the rain of the cloud. To me, that of love.

And as you both enter, the frown disappears,
Clearing room for a beaming smile,
That fills the dry cracks, in his soil and my heart.

You are my rainmaker, for you make me fertile,
You are my rain, for quenching my thirst,
You are me, for you made me forget me.

With you there is life, for you are life,
For you I live and in me you live,
So come to me, embrace me and give me life, my love.

Il Concerto

What a huge crowd of admirers!
Beaming with joy I looked down
At the eager eyes looking up at me,
I was the star of the show that night,
No wonder I couldn’t see her in the crowd.

It was such an army, growing with time,
And all of them to watch me in all my glory,
My head was spinning, and wherever I looked
I saw bright eyes, cheering me on,
No wonder I couldn’t see her in all that dazzle.

I was about to start performing, a love song,
Which, of course, had been inspired by her,
And I started, in my baritone, a soulful note,
The song even brought the gods out of their rooms,
To listen to this sweet melody I was singing,

The excitement got to me and I started dancing,
Someone pushed me off the stage to the ground,
A few people were standing around me
The sky was filled with streetlights and a full moon,
And I was at the bottom of the trunk of a tree.

I was still disoriented, unable to take stock of the scene,
Before I could stand straight, my cheek faced the brunt of a slap,
It was my girl, hitting the same spot she had caressed a while ago,
As I rubbed my eyes, she yelled at the top of her voice,
“How many times have I told you not to get drunk and climb trees?”

Waiting For a Sun..

The shadow on the road lengthened,
The eastern giant had woken up,
So he could come out and blaze on,
And burn more bodies like hers,
Taking undue credit for a task,
That awaited another fire.

He was moving steadily, driven,
The shadows watched him, shortening and dying,
Oblivious to the demise of her shadow,
She lay getting a fine tan on her wrinkled skin,
Born again, her shadow grew,
Growing up with a growing pot,

The dizzy pot, drunk and dizzy, drunk some more,
Spilling out the drink, the drunk went crashing,
Dragging her with him, companions, in rags and riches,
As the shadow disappeared, so did the pot,
In new company, as pots always do,
As she lay on the road, waiting for a sun, hers...

All I Have Left

I live looking for lost moments
Moments that slipped through my fingers
Moments that I tried to hold onto
The tighter I held, the quicker they fell,
Like grains of sand on the beach

I search in the brightness of day
I search in the darkness of night
I sieve the waters of the seven seas
And sift the sands of the deserts
All this search tires, not my spirit, just my body...

The minutes we shared as we met,
The hours we spent as we talked
The days we enjoyed flying amongst clouds
The months we lived each other’s lives
I look for all those lost moments, in vain...

I have our love as a beacon to guide me
Though the beacon burns brighter every coming day
My pursuit has led me only to dead ends till today...
But I refuse to tire; I refuse to give up,
For I know that if I do, I’ll lose all that I live for

Yes, this is all that I have left in life
This perpetual search that drives me
To find a life I lost and live it all over
For in that life I knew no sorrow
For in that life I had you with me...

I want to find the vessel of sorrow,
For I'm sure it is completely empty
Having poured its fill into my life,
It is now dry and parched
I want to find it and pay back what I received

But to find it, I have to find you,
Only you can empty my mind of sorrow
And fill it with happiness
Only you can bring me back from the dead
And breathe life into my body

And so I keep looking for you
I keep looking for you, in those moments
Moments I have lost to Time
And I know that I will find them
Or at least will die trying....

Between Train Tracks

I am a weary traveler, worn out by the winds,
Walking in the narrow gap between steel lines,
Holding dear to them as if to a lifeline,
And maybe for once in his life, I was right.

The train of my past had pushed me out,
The train of my future had departed before I could board
And I stood, a lonely traveler, between tracks,
Trying to bring myself to the present, this eludes me.

So with nothing to do and nowhere to go,
I look around at the world which has made a choice,
To turn the tables, every time I get lucky,
To frown if life gets kind to me, which she rarely did.

The world did seemed beautiful, though ironically,
For it was not my world, and mine was in turmoil,
The contrast was glaring, so glaring that I looked down,
At the train tracks where I had been standing for a while.

Looking down on these tracks either way,
They meet in the distance, on both sides,
Though where I stood, they looked otherwise,
They ran parallel, which geometrically would never meet.

Maybe life was telling me something,
Maybe what I felt was separation, isn’t really so,
Maybe it was just a parallel journey we had to take,
Maybe to be together in the distant future... like those tracks.

So with my long list of optimistic maybes,
I have started walking into the east,
To find a life, that lies beyond those mountains,
Those mountains behind which the sun rises everyday...

Walk on the Beach

As I place my feet forward and take every step
The sharp sand particles feel like pins
Those hurt my feet and make me bleed....
I go back to the times when these same sands
Pillowed and cushioned my feet.

Maybe because in those days, the sands ignored me,
Being intoxicated by your touch upon them,
For then, whenever I looked back, I saw
Two pairs of feet on them, leaving marks on the sand,
And now, just one lonely pair.

The sea waters are no longer sweet as they used to be,
Increasing my thirst every time I bend down to taste them,
I cannot have enough of them to quench my thirst,
Reminding your presence by my side, in my life,
I could never have enough and begged time to stop.

Time has stopped alright, though a lot later
Than what I might have hoped or prayed for,
I stand frozen in time, frozen quite literally too,
The breeze has become a blizzard, a cold cruel one,
An overwhelming chill passes through my spine.

The wind that blows by, brings goose bumps,
Knives of ice pierce my bones, in hundreds
The cold chill makes me shiver and sweat,
Cold knives on sweaty palms, I yell in pain,
And yet, my call remains unanswered.

The sunlit waters of the sea appear warm
And inviting. I step closer, hopeful
That your warmth may have passed over to them,
And my hopes are washed away by the waves,
With water colder than the heart of Fate.

But I still stand in these waters, and observe,
As wave after wave brings water and takes it back,
Just like it takes water and brings it back,
I live with the hope, that it will bring back what it took.
I live to see it bringing you back to me....

A Promise Unfulfilled...

Walking along the waterline, he waited for her,
She had told him that she’d be there,
And he had only to believe in her,
And wait for her, which he did.

He knew, not hoped, that she would keep her word,
She had always done in the past, without an exception,
Even if she was half way around the world,
She had been by his side, when he needed her.

And he had always wanted her, by his side.
In joy and sorrow, he had wanted her company,
For she was not merely his better half,
She was his breath, she was indeed him.

And now, she wasn’t there, he was all alone,
He believed she could get to him, no matter where she was,
More than anything else, she had promised she would,
And she had never gone back on her words, never before.

And now she wasn’t there, leaving him alone,
She had abandoned him forever,
But he lay in wait, believing that she would come
To fulfil the promise she had made to him.

Summers and winters have passed over and over,
The tide has ebbed and flowed over the sandy shores,
Waves might have eroded his footsteps; time may have withered him,
But her promise to him stays alive in his heart forever...

Walking Along Cornfields

Holding hands together, we walked in the corn fields,
Fresh ears of corn eavesdropping on us,
Laughing at our jokes, or so it seemed
As the wind tickled them while gliding past us.

Holding hands together, we walked in the corn fields,
Just me and her, walking amidst rows of corn,
Her plaited hair rose in the wind, embracing me,
Rows and rows of brunette corn on my face.

She knew I loved the smell of fresh corn,
And I knew that day, that there was more to life
Than just fresh corn. There was a heart to care
And to be cared for. There was a life to share, with her.

We danced in the fields, round and round we went,
And made tread marks on the soil,
Marks that were claimed to be trademark crop circles,
By conspiracy theorists, the day and week after.

Corn fields have mazes these days,
People tend to get lost in them,
We were friends of Theseus and danced
Our way into the maze of love.

Tired and delighted, we sat down to relax,
Resting my weary head on her soft lips,
I did not know if it was a minute or an eternity,
Lost in the bliss, me and the monster of Time were.

Ecstasy knows no bounds, and I could see it in her eyes,
When I finally did get up. I could see it in my eyes,
Reflected in hers. We were in each other’s arms,
The world had itself shrunk to the small space between us.

I lay in her lap, resting my eyes, in her radiant beauty,
Her fingers in my hair ruffling, what the wind failed to do,
I was going back in time, lying on my mom’s lap,
Her affection flowing free into the crevices of my lip.

The ears of corn leaned in, to sneak a peek,
But pulled back when I looked at them,
Were these games played by the wind?
Or were these played by my mind?

I wish I had my mind switched on,
It always goes into slumber,
The minute I think of her. Into hibernation, it was
Now that I was this close to her.

Words are too limited to appreciate the beauty
Of her voice, which could put anxiety to rest,
Drive exhaustion into extinction, and turn
Despondency to dreams.

I need no dreams, to live my life
For I got her, better than any dream
The best, man could ever dream of,
Was cradling me in her lap, the bed of paradise.

Day was dying into dusk, the sun getting lost
Into the mountains, to rise again tomorrow
I was getting lost in her, not knowing
If I could find myself ever again...

Not that I was worried about it,
For I was the citizen of this land of God
Where she was Queen, with all her warmth,
Crowning her beauty and benevolence.

We found our way out of the maze of maize,
Through the end of it, we walked out,
Two sets of feet marking the way to guide,
Lovers of posterity who enter and leave.

Lovers who don’t have to get lost in corn fields
But would rather get lost in each other,
Just like we have and others will have,
Holding hands together, walking out of the corn fields.

The Tree House and the Window

A guy and a girl, sharing space together,
On a tree perch, looking for shade,
On a bright sunny day, at noon,
And talking about building a house for them.

On the tree, a tree house was in mind,
Land got without haggling with realtors,
Or bribing the registration officials,
Or getting into complicated lawsuits.

Good coz they knew nothing about lawsuits,
The guy was a suitor in love,
And so was the girl, suitors in love,
And they never did worry about lawsuits.

In love and they wanted to have kids,
The house was for kids, in fact.
Till they grew up, and our love birds
Turned into empty nesters.

Nesters they were, figuratively and literally,
They were the winged children of nature.
A pair of sunbirds, with plans for a family,
Were building a home for themselves.

The home was ready, warm and welcoming,
Cushioned with down and dandelion bristles,
The bed was cosier and more inviting,
Than anything man had ever made.

The eggs were laid, red, round and shiny,
Lying close to each other, brothers in arms,
Mom and dad dotted on them,
Checking up on them every alternating minute.

A leaf moved and dad came chirping in,
To see if eggs were in place, or if they’d fallen,
The breeze swept by and mom rushed in,
To build ramparts around the nest.

And this continued as the days moved on,
The noises were getting louder and louder,
And here I was sitting and enjoying the music,
On the other side of the window,

It was my window to the world,
A world that had a few rustling leaves,
And a brown nest, shrivelled
On the outside and comfy on the inside.

The window stayed open, day and night,
To listen to the sweet song of birds,
Of parents taking care of kids,
For, that to me, was a vision of paradise.

I heard fresher, shriller chirps one day,
The shell gates had opened wide,
And stars saw the sun, with hooded eyes,
Rivalling each other in garnering attention.

Roses opened and shut, faster than I could blink,
With mom and dad feeding nectar to the flowers.
Chirping sounds filled the air, it came to life,
Wandering from red beak to red beak.

The beaks became bigger, and chirping, less shrill,
Food was more often found than brought,
My window was rusting already, for lack of wear,
And so was my hearing, the music was no longer there.

It was a bright sunny day, when they moved.
To build a nest of their own, for their own,
The tree outside my window stands alone,
And so do I, on the other side of the window.

Love, Untold....

The non-stop sounds keep me awake,
The hooves tap on the ground, up and down,
Up and down they go, at a constant pace,
They would probably wake the sleeping trees up,

And they did, as I could see,
A few trees woke up and billowed at us,
And a few younger ones smiled,
Probably glad to have got some “mobile” company.

He came jumping then, out of his perch
And landed on my left hand,
His huge saucer-shaped eyes spoke to me,
As if that wasn’t enough, his mouth did too,

He was a happy creature, happy and felt blessed,
He was in love, deep in love, with one not from his clan,
He had seen a round white face, as round as his own eyes,
He had seen this face, amongst the green leaves and the bright stars.

He was in love with the moon, and not for a moment,
Did he think that she was out of his league,
Maybe she wasn’t, maybe love had no leagues,
Maybe it just makes perfect strangers, not so strange.

He said he gets out of door every day, only after
Her milk light enters his nest to invite him,
He said the first thing he sees when he gets out
Is her face. Fair and round or faded yet fair.

He does not get out, no matter how hungry
Or thirsty he was, once a month,
Not that he was afraid of the darkness,
It was a fast to mourn her absence.

I asked him if he had ever spoken to her
About his love for her,
He replied in the negative, and turned his head away,
He said, he wanted her to be happy,

Said that love wasn’t always a shared feeling,
He believed that she was happy, where she was,
She was his ladylove, but he remained a mere admirer,
In her books, and he wanted it to remain that way.

My horse and I have strode many a road since then,
We have been rolling stones while being two ourselves,
But his love refuses to fade from my memory,
Perhaps untold love is always sweeter.

A Year Ends...

Another year draws to an end
And a new one waiting around the corner
To take a stroll down the road of Time
To leave its footsteps in the sands of Time
Footsteps that, like mine, will be erased soon

Another year has gone by,
With me yearning for you, for us,
To get together as we once were,
To walk together as we once did,
Walks that would live forever.

Another year has come along,
And I still walk alone,
To look for you, in every wave that passes,
To see if you have come back,
Searches that always end, in vain.

Years come and go, and nothing changes,
My pen and feet never tire,
They walk on and on, on paper and tar,
To see if the road of Life would bring them rest,
To see...if we would be together again...

A Tree's Wish

I went on a walk along the riverside road,
Dipping my feet in the river every now and then,
As the heat got to my barefoot soles, I stretched
Under one of the last remaining trees on the banks,
The tree was alone, as lonely as I felt at that moment,
So we gave each other company for a while,
He was one of the last few left, a painful witness he had been,

After watching his friends bid adieu, one after the other,
Making way for concrete and glass, neither spoke his tongue,
He had stood there, waiting, for his day to leave his birthplace.
In his desolation, he spoke to me, of his dying wish,
That he wanted, not to be a leg under a rich man’s table,
Or to be burnt at his fireplace, but to be made into a diary
To tell his story to kids who will never see a tree in its greenery.