The Bo-Tree Leaf

God must whisper in thy ears,
From thou flows the river of joy,
The Bo-Tree leaf floats along side,
Entwined are thy destinies...
Molasses, the river turns,
Winding through steep valleys,
Fierce, it gushes forth,
Mindless, clings the Bo-Tree leaf,
Biding her time,
Clear waters would follow soon,
In the rivers depth the leaf has seen
Grand treasures are buried deep,
Flowing tirelessly,
The river alone is known to nourish,
The homeless leaf,
For only love can sustain the passing storm,
The in-between is bound to sink,
The river of joy thou must seek...

Open Wounds

Open wounds behind closed doors,
Are for no one to clean,
Cutting words and a painful silence,
Don’t make for great dressings.

Strange How Dreams Talk

Back then I didn’t know you were special,
We spoke of the days to come,
Stared at the night sky and shared our fears,
There was us and them,
I clung to you,
Heartbreak can be really painful,
You knew s*** about love or the fancy stuff,
Many silent walks by the stream,
We would laugh ourselves silly,
You stood by me...
I feel your pain now,
Strange how dreams talk,
I wonder how long before you walk?

The Inside

The inside is melting,
Losses I haven’t yet learnt to balance,
So I run scared,
I don’t remember much of how I got here,
But then neither did my father or his father before him,
All they ever said to me is,
‘Life just happened to them’,
It’s happening to all of us,
The absurdity of it,
So I run away from people now,
The hills know how I feel,
The disconnect doesn’t happen in a day,
It’s the work of centuries.

I Cried Many Tears

How hard I try to forget you, my love,
To box those memories,
And ship them away,
To paint black the walls that hold,
The snapshots of our youth,
How hard I try to blot your face,
Your scent from my clothes,
I drink sometimes to drown my sorrow,
Laugh too much and sleep too little,
It means nothing,
In my nothingness I travel alone,
To mourn your loss,
Days and night barely crawl,
Old and greying,
Your absence now weights on my chest,
Four decades of togetherness,
Mock me in old age,
Our children have children,
And they call my name,
Grandpa, tell us that story again,
What was grandma like,
When you saw her for the first time?
Darling, my memory fades each day,
By your death bed I cried many tears,
Not for you,
But for the last years of my life,
I would spend without you.

The Buffalo isn't Mindnful

The mist isn’t blinding,
Just for a while you don’t see,
The noise falls away...
The buffalo is not mindful,
Neither the simple farmer,
Nor his half- sari clad dame,
Grass, they revere,
Wood, they gather,
Steep valleys their sheep climb,
Soaked to the core, evening the party goes home,
Some would call it hardship,
Some circumstances,
The recluse within says,
This ought to be my life...
A pity we live in cities,
Playing the living-dead.

Broken China

Tiny pieces of china never fit in,
The bent figure can’t set them right,
In her palm they shrink,
Lifeless,
Trust is one such thing,
Once broken will always be a misfit,
Cry or laugh all you like...

Death Like Sleep

The world weights heavy on the shoulders,
Sleep the hand-made quilt,
Thoughts the colourless pebbles,
That splash and sink,
Death like sleep,
Is softly welcoming,
The end closer than we think,
Half dreams, half truth is a comfort,
Time stops,
In nothingness,
Nothing of me exists,
If only for a while,
The night becomes the coffer,
That holds the body still

Lofty Dreams

If love could be bought,
The queue would be long...
If our fears weren't real,
There would be no lofty dreams.
If everything was picture perfect,
How strange would it be?
And,
If God was a deaf-mute,
One certainly wouldn't feel so humbled,so blessed,
In times such as these...

A U M

What seems like the end of the world,
Is actually the beginning,
From annihilation to the primordial vibration of ‘Om’,
Evolution exacts a price.

In calm the chaos of several millennia,
Race of men, vegetation and animals destroyed...
The seed survives,
An army raised from the ‘Panchtatva’,
Subtle manifestation of the divine,
The imprint on the memory,
A thousand centuries old,
A seasoned traveller of space and time.

The universe isn’t mere planets and galaxies,
Supreme reigns the intelligence,
Sifting, changing from, transforming energy,
Plain, plateaus, oceans and glaciers,
Nature, a mysterious entity,
And‘antarnaad’, a man’s connect to his destiny.


Our existence holds to be so random,
In the scheme of things,
A drudgery.
The quest isn’t for happiness,
It is a cry for peace,
Unsettling,
Drawn to a silence that echoes deep.

If You Believe!

If you believe,
The Sun will never stop shining,
The night won’t be just another lonely evening,
The light from the lamp will soften her features in old age,
The dog will sit by your feet,
The guitar not too far away,
There’ll be food on the stove,
A light in the bedroom where you little one’s awake,
Plenty of singing and wine to go along with it,
Like glow-worms your smiles will be lit,
In love, in pain,
There’ll be two of you,
If you believe,
This world is yours to make,
If it weren’t for this beautiful picture,
Why would anybody want to live to a forty or a fifty,
If not to celebrate togetherness.

The Bird World

Still for hours the bird sat on the pole,
The eggs were never out of sight,
Yet they were gone,
An empty nest hung from the branch,
In the bird world they don’t understand,
Loneliness,
Day turned to night,
Where could the bird go,
The loss would follow everywhere
So she watched over the remains,
For hours,
Cold and numb,
In the bird world they don’t teach you,
How to deal with pain.

Independence Day Special!

God didn’t create boundaries, did he?
Then there are those who guard them with their lives,
The war has been long over, insurgency its new face,
The dead solider never makes news,
Bullets and medals all the same,
And damn these Islamic buffoons,
Taliban, Al-Qaeda, ISI,
For not knowing how to read Koran!

They should learn from us,
We know patriotism as the national anthem,
Playing in a movie hall,
The tri-coloured flag swaying on top of Government buildings,
The bonnet of a minister’s car,
As a nation we are starved,
Starved of a bigger cause,
Independent in name,
Enslaved, a democracy of billion plus,
Reservation, corruption, bloody politics,
Mere words,
Endless discussions on the fate of eleven people
Chasing a cork ball,
And they call it a religion!

Yet, in the debris of a population explosion,
The world connected by a tweet,
There are those whose heart swells with pride,
Corporate jobs chucked in favour of villages,
Great wealth pledged to the poor,
To feel a kinship to the homeless rag-picker
Sixty-five years of independence,
Must mean every man can hold his head high,
Patriotism round the year for the office goer, tax payer,
Only then can India shine.

When you are not around

You ask, ‘what if I am not there tomorrow’,
The words hang in midair,
Unsaid yet understood,
In anger I lash out,
Not knowing why you wouldn’t be there tomorrow...
Now, I am not made of clay,
I wouldn’t melt or break,
Neither the tears will fill a bucket,
Nor the pain will shake my faith,
But a heart hammered to the wall,
Can only beat for so long.

Maybe the burial shall interest you,
Away from the crowd,
Will be the ‘lovers grave’,
Not a soul to mourn the demise,
Or burn a candle in their name,
Everyone got left behind,
In the rush to possess,
See the irony,
You weren’t there in the first place.

Togetherness is not on a piece of paper,
Or the loving words that fall from your mouth,
It’s the sweetness that fills me,
Even when you are not around.

Run-down

If one can’t hear the birds chirping,
Find the trees lack lustre,
The sky far and away,
The teasing wind a bother,
Repose,
If the elders out for a morning walk fail to inspire,
The gaze never rests,
The breath isn’t deep, thoughts aren’t sure,
And the pigeon is just another bird dirtying your porch,
Stay with the unrest for a moment longer,
If the heart doesn’t feel,
The head is off to scheme,
The body screams fatigue,
Sleep precious little,
Love, a dream,
Stand still,
Life’s about to run you down,
Get out of her way,
Sit by the road and watch her pass by,
You won’t miss much,
Happiness they say is no ones to take.

Wasn't Your Fault

If only I knew one careless thought could cause so much damage,
The sequence of events would have surely been different,
At fifty, Imami is plump and has red hair,
She wears the same sari to work alternate days,
Sweeps the floor, does the dishes,
In the living room dusts the many useless showpieces,
(I am hoping mom won’t be reading this)
Hard of hearing,
She goes about her work in a meticulous fashion,
Sometimes exchanging a word or two,
Mostly about the holiday she’s likely to take,
Or If didi would be willing to lend her a hundred or more,
Once she even caressed my face,
Saying how thin I had grown,
A surge of affection I felt for her then,
Thinking what a wonderful being I am,
How can anyone discriminate against them?
That was until this afternoon,
The carpet was getting drenched in the rain,
Only an hour ago she had hung it on the railing to air,
My dog sleeps on that carpet,
And Benoo is fussy as hell,
I thought of stepping out to rescue the carpet,

And just then saw Imami walk into the room,
In that split second I chose to send her instead,
Out in the rain,
I hate getting drenched,
My mind conveniently said, ‘Surely she wouldn’t care’,
In the rush to save Benno’s favourite carpet from the rain,
Imami slipped and fell,
The green glass bangles cut into her wrist,
Her head she complained saw two of everything,
Blood seeped to the floor mingling with the rain water,
While she sat holding her head,
Great concern welled in my heart,
With a furrowed forehead I bandaged her hand,
All the time mumbling,
Why did I not simply fetch the carpet myself?
Shame, as I have rarely experienced reared its tail,
To harm another person by one’s carelessness is a crime,
Unthinking, unfeeling...a disgrace,
In retrospect had I taken that fall,
It would have pained,
But not as much as it does now,
To see the old woman putting up a brave face,
And saying didi ‘It wasn’t your fault’.

Closure

Purity I am allergic to,
Complex the web of selfless thoughts...
For this life to be worthwhile,
Bloodshed and tears will have to flow,
The umbrella of togetherness,
To be abandoned in the rain,
The only bus stop awaits,
I could sit there forever,
My bus isn’t coming anytime soon.

Some they say are destined to rise in life,
Despite failing every milestone,
Like a puddle in the rain is so fascinating,
Splashing dirt on immaculate clothes,
Why complain,
Dirt drives the crowd away,
Alone at last,
The silence doesn’t hurt,
Closure is all we hope for.

Courage

Grand, the strength of a detached mind,
Unaware, great courage hides in cowardice,
For those who are loved and cherished,
The sky is limitless.

Rebellion, Our religion

The passageway is narrow,
Frightening even in broad daylight,
There are so many like me,
Yet, unlike me,
Lost in the chaos of whose making, I wonder?
Barely is there any space,
To crawl to the other side,
Yet, no one wants be left behind.

Everyone bleeds,
Little by little,
In blood many stories are written and forgotten
To cringe in disgust will not be our shame,
The rules are different,
They most certainly won’t inspire a nation,
Even the closest shall flee.
If rebellion is our religion,
Then in our religion,
We are all corrupted, unborn...

From the fabric of lies,
Are stitched the clothes of morality,
Oh, how often we long to be naked,
Yet, naked, they tell you is ugly,
Even God must don a white flowing robe,
To save our mortal soul.

And this was to be a poem about God,
Such were my thoughts when I started,
See, life seldom takes you on a journey,
That would have you turning the rosary,
Not until you stumble into the crater of your heart,
And dislike what you find,
The uprising of the dormant seed,
Is then just a question of time.