parched leaves--
she straightens out
a crumpled letter
Rain at twilight
Have you noticed diamonds
para-trouping
Have you watched the rain
trickling down the broken face
of a loony rag picker
resting over cobblestones
He watches the crows shaking off
in a flurry
what they cannot hold
Fractured clouds allow the last light
to glitter in his downy eyes
Yet he slips and falls
Darkness deepens the moss-
-covered walls of the city
amid people and cars hissing around
He feels his stubble
the stubbornness of coarse bristles
growing on his soft flaccid skin
the oddity of bright halogens
lighting up the potholes
Crickets drone their night song
a lullaby to his ears
para-trouping
Have you watched the rain
trickling down the broken face
of a loony rag picker
resting over cobblestones
He watches the crows shaking off
in a flurry
what they cannot hold
Fractured clouds allow the last light
to glitter in his downy eyes
Yet he slips and falls
Darkness deepens the moss-
-covered walls of the city
amid people and cars hissing around
He feels his stubble
the stubbornness of coarse bristles
growing on his soft flaccid skin
the oddity of bright halogens
lighting up the potholes
Crickets drone their night song
a lullaby to his ears
Haiku
temple bells
again and again
the beggar’s call
***
boundary wall—
three guards and a dog
basking in the sun
***
again and again
the beggar’s call
***
boundary wall—
three guards and a dog
basking in the sun
***
The man lying next to my bed
He's obese, double-chinned, middle-aged.
He can mumble a few words as and when
his memory allows him. Met with a mishap
in some early spring in the altitudes of Himalayas,
and lost his locomotion. Days are only numbers now,
so are the nights. He lies composed in a hospital bed
next to mine.
Each day his wife visits him, a frail woman
with a morbid face, and begs him to utter her name.
He observes her in silence. Maybe
all he remembers are the pines and rhododendrons,
the wildflowers and the dictionary of birds in the lap
of ancient moss-ridden rocks.
He takes scarce notice of me, with his eyes glued
to the ceiling fan. Gulps down food, water, medicines
when told. Sleeps when told.
I watch a physiotherapist folding his arms, limbs.
Up and down. Up and down. Then sideways-
left to right, right to left. The man struggles hard
to stir up the patient, to somehow impart a rhythm
to his stiffened existence. The patient mutters at times
the names of places of an earlier world
where morning fog gives way to the splendor
of icy peaks
but then he shudders
as leaves do
amid the shivering tone of autumn wind.
He can mumble a few words as and when
his memory allows him. Met with a mishap
in some early spring in the altitudes of Himalayas,
and lost his locomotion. Days are only numbers now,
so are the nights. He lies composed in a hospital bed
next to mine.
Each day his wife visits him, a frail woman
with a morbid face, and begs him to utter her name.
He observes her in silence. Maybe
all he remembers are the pines and rhododendrons,
the wildflowers and the dictionary of birds in the lap
of ancient moss-ridden rocks.
He takes scarce notice of me, with his eyes glued
to the ceiling fan. Gulps down food, water, medicines
when told. Sleeps when told.
I watch a physiotherapist folding his arms, limbs.
Up and down. Up and down. Then sideways-
left to right, right to left. The man struggles hard
to stir up the patient, to somehow impart a rhythm
to his stiffened existence. The patient mutters at times
the names of places of an earlier world
where morning fog gives way to the splendor
of icy peaks
but then he shudders
as leaves do
amid the shivering tone of autumn wind.
empty hall
Haiku :
empty hall--
a black ant roaming
for morsels
Tanka version :
the hall
sans the usual crowd
and hubbub--
an ant searching out
leftovers
empty hall--
a black ant roaming
for morsels
Tanka version :
the hall
sans the usual crowd
and hubbub--
an ant searching out
leftovers
It is never winter
One evening is not enough
to forget you
and the colours in your wings
You sing around
my enticing hummingbird
Unfailingly
the more I grow cautious
of the winter that has frosted
my hairs
You talk about next spring
the hues that would burst out
around us
Haven't I asked you to leave
to go to some land unknown
and make it your own
Yet your moves so deceptive
Bring to mind a silvery night
near the beehive caves of Ajanta
When I
when we
were much much younger
to forget you
and the colours in your wings
You sing around
my enticing hummingbird
Unfailingly
the more I grow cautious
of the winter that has frosted
my hairs
You talk about next spring
the hues that would burst out
around us
Haven't I asked you to leave
to go to some land unknown
and make it your own
Yet your moves so deceptive
Bring to mind a silvery night
near the beehive caves of Ajanta
When I
when we
were much much younger
12 Haiku
1.
a murky
anniversary morning--
the red table cloth
2.
our third date
she studies my
palm lines
3.
toying with
pressed rose petals
early winter wind
4.
summer end--
the fan blade knocks off
a butterfly
5.
dinnertime
at the hospital, I wait
for sedatives
6.
at the crossroads
a tramp speaking to himself
my lost poem
7.
shadows
bringing back the anguish
winter without you
8.
summer …
village boys plunging
into the pond
9.
the pensive face
peeled off a tree trunk—
autumn…
10.
the hospital smell
still following me
their forced smiles
11.
the new sedative…
she disappears behind
a veil of thick mist
12.
hospital window—
firecrackers lighting up
Diwali sky
a murky
anniversary morning--
the red table cloth
2.
our third date
she studies my
palm lines
3.
toying with
pressed rose petals
early winter wind
4.
summer end--
the fan blade knocks off
a butterfly
5.
dinnertime
at the hospital, I wait
for sedatives
6.
at the crossroads
a tramp speaking to himself
my lost poem
7.
shadows
bringing back the anguish
winter without you
8.
summer …
village boys plunging
into the pond
9.
the pensive face
peeled off a tree trunk—
autumn…
10.
the hospital smell
still following me
their forced smiles
11.
the new sedative…
she disappears behind
a veil of thick mist
12.
hospital window—
firecrackers lighting up
Diwali sky
Kolkata, your cold touch
I never fret in your cold touch,
not even your calloused fingers
agitate me,
You're my old chum, whose secrets
I hold in my bosom, as close
as the petals of a french marigold;
secret vows huddled together, scared
of betraying their own self
You tantalize me with your morning breeze,
the marigolds wobble in unison,
You're the fingertip on a still pond
sending shivers down my spine
And I'm so lost in your loneliness
that my solitude becomes verses
At times I see you reading them,
straining your eyes and wrinkles
And the next moment you vanish
in a veil of thick mist
not even your calloused fingers
agitate me,
You're my old chum, whose secrets
I hold in my bosom, as close
as the petals of a french marigold;
secret vows huddled together, scared
of betraying their own self
You tantalize me with your morning breeze,
the marigolds wobble in unison,
You're the fingertip on a still pond
sending shivers down my spine
And I'm so lost in your loneliness
that my solitude becomes verses
At times I see you reading them,
straining your eyes and wrinkles
And the next moment you vanish
in a veil of thick mist
Soap bubbles
Watching the mannequins at a shop window,
their expectant eyes tethered to routine reveries,
I notice a monotony in their smile.
You told me
smiles and daydreams are soap bubbles,
iridescent and fragile, capable of making you
unaware for a while
of the darkness that lingers
at the corner of your eye.
I observe the wide grins
of inert human forms
placed behind clean glasses, and realize
that my existence resembles that of
dummy sitters; each single day imply
progress of identical shadows...
A bubble-maker churns out soft globes
in a flurry; dream-planets keep fading
into the universe
their expectant eyes tethered to routine reveries,
I notice a monotony in their smile.
You told me
smiles and daydreams are soap bubbles,
iridescent and fragile, capable of making you
unaware for a while
of the darkness that lingers
at the corner of your eye.
I observe the wide grins
of inert human forms
placed behind clean glasses, and realize
that my existence resembles that of
dummy sitters; each single day imply
progress of identical shadows...
A bubble-maker churns out soft globes
in a flurry; dream-planets keep fading
into the universe
Overwhelmed by you, Kolkata
I do not know
when you became poetry for me
or when your autumn wind brought in
the abounding fragrance of a maiden's hair
I do not know
how these whining buses and car horns
filled up the gaps in our converse
You and me sitting together
at a street-side cafe near twilight
and the sounds of a day transgressing
into darkness
I remember the glint in your eyes
as if they can interpret the meaning
of my fumbling with words
You casually concealed your laughter
with a flimsy innocence
Yet when did I care for your feelings...
You've got to be mine
the rhyme of your life
has to be understood by no one else
but me
You might have had a hundred lovers
but its only me who can persuade you
to immerse in moonlight
when you became poetry for me
or when your autumn wind brought in
the abounding fragrance of a maiden's hair
I do not know
how these whining buses and car horns
filled up the gaps in our converse
You and me sitting together
at a street-side cafe near twilight
and the sounds of a day transgressing
into darkness
I remember the glint in your eyes
as if they can interpret the meaning
of my fumbling with words
You casually concealed your laughter
with a flimsy innocence
Yet when did I care for your feelings...
You've got to be mine
the rhyme of your life
has to be understood by no one else
but me
You might have had a hundred lovers
but its only me who can persuade you
to immerse in moonlight
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
