Poet

[ An ode to the poetic mind of Pablo Neruda ]

rummaging
through a jungle
of beliefs-
i run from house to house
chased by a raging bull


how do i
describe you
in words alone-
all the words in me
are 'stolen'


hidden under
a white brimmed hat
i read faces
bricks and lanes
burnt by Santiago sun


when the end came
six and half hours later
i was envisioning
the army searching my house
for a man named 'poetry'


treading on  a planet
snapped from all modes of return
the soil
coloured with blood
of perished revolts

One February we were selling love

the thrum
of a tranquil guitar
at the Beatles Ashram
we'll meditate
along with butterflies

***

what can you offer
to the morning breeze
the chorus
of four bright boys
merging with the fog

***

bloodied
by twilight
one black bulbul
tells you the tale of a god
selling peace in packets


***

freed
from the hubbub
of money machines
this spring we'd sell love
to the babblers

Pathankot

sound of gun salute
reverberates
amidst the silence...
home, they brought the coffin
home from Pathankot

No more words

When a sudden silence falls
between us, when you look at me

that way, an inquisitive butterfly
starts flittering around

a sense we are drifting apart
and the need of a good reason to cling

glued to the dance of a petite
bright spot under quiet clouds

We were also in the hunt for nectar,
but we are not butterflies

'for Paris' (tanka)

war broke out
at Bataclan theatre -
shall we keep acting
like  dead bodies
under the trigger?

White lotus (Haiku)

white lotus--
the sky losing
its darkness

September Tanka

such small-boned
my solitude
amidst the mountains
even winds cannot gnaw
those massive chunks of sorrow


you write
my name beside
your lover's
then strike it through—
fungi growing in monsoons


images
of a riotous spring
keep stinging--
i seek comfort
amidst the rhododendrons


village huts
obscured in cloud-light
the stillness
of graying hills
broken by cattle bells


mother
in her youth, and mother
in old age--
how fast does time travel
between horizons


basking
in the glow of a dream-
am i not
beyond the grasp
of mortal waves


let my poems be
like star florets
rekindling
the dreams that are lost,
lost in a sea of despair

5 tanka

a snowdrop
wavering in the mist
our love
coerced by the wind
droops further

*

my new specs
broken,
i use the old one--
who says you'll no longer need
your ancient visions

*

when I came home
I saw Death waiting
I called my sons:
leaving you to the whims 
of sunshine 

*

moonflower
may you climb your way
towards the moon--
we planted our dreams
in a vale of dead colours

*

if caterpillars
could feed on yesterdays...
(my) old dreams
disintegrating
for want of fresh wings 

3 haiku

your nearness
cherry blossoms brushing me
in the breeze

*

your eyes inviting
i didn't know how i reached
Dunning Kruger Peak

*

a marlin
her last kill-
the look on his face 

2 tanka

1.

my life
moth-eaten
by loneliness
a pauper keeps playing
butterfly melodies



2.

thunderflash-
i wait for the sound
to explode
her lips trembling
eyes angry with tears

The tapestry

She calls her life a tapestry,
a humble stitch-work of a home
with a tidy garden; the garden where
juvenile follies have ripened into
fruits of ardour; fruits that have treasured
seeds for a butter-flavoured mid-life, daily
talk of cups and saucers, the warmth of
genteel love, smiles, friends, sun and rain...
She has imbibed them all in her patterns.

Nowadays hours go by talking to
a yellow butterfly; how pristine will be
the twilight! What brilliant hues will
spill out of the clouds! ...She struggles hard,
hard to thread her needle again.

2 Tanka

the flute
has stopped its play-
i'm a feather
drifting in the hollow
of stillness

*****

nothing fades
in the mist forever
the world
with a faint pulse
resurfaces with the sun

2 haiku

still no reply...
fullstops in early drops
of rain


cherry blossoms
in the air
your nearness

7 tanka

1.
a rush of lava
rising up through my veins ...
God says
'try going down the stairs,
slowly stepping backwards '


2.
trying to flee
from noxious fumes:
should the almighty
be sending his blessings
in the guise of bullets


3.
the mountains,
mighty as they may be,
cannot drape themselves
with gold, as i can : boasts
the emperor, unclothed


4.
your absence
beckons me to your warmth...
my fingers
dig deep into pockets
of cold silence


5.
how bright
the sunshine
of yesterdays...
blinking fireflies
pierce the twilight gloom


6.
immerse your self
in the symphony
of ocean waves--
watch the sun unfurl a day
at Vavathurai


7.
he feeds pigeons
with tales from the past
gathered
from candid confessions
of autumn leaves

Crumbs of bread

On many a morning
crumbs of bread
litter his tablecloth

This is February
there is mist everywhere
above the river, on the shoulders
of old mountains

There is mist in his eyes too

How much warmth does it take
for the thawing
his heart melted and hardened
to a rock with iron-smoothness

He doesn't wish for moss to grow on it either

only his frail eyes fail to locate
the crumbs of bread on his table
too trifle to notice
yet too filthy for a clear soul
to neglect