There were things to say.
I had called and I had pinged-
The only two ways of reaching you-
Right when I thought it.
You were away,
Sleeping or bathing- in peace-
Because it was the weekend.
You are unavailable
Because it was the weekend!
There were things to say
Things, none important or life-changing,
Little nothings not worth the breath now.
Them little put-away-in-a-jar things they were
And when the jar gets full
You will know me better.
You would have known me better.
Today was a lock-down
Like last Monday and next Tuesday
A strange political custom that common man
Is in a love-hate relationship with.
Of course it is not official!
Vehicles are prohibited however
And offices forced shut by mid-morning
Attendance needs to be marked because
If you don’t turn up you lose a leave
If you do turn up you lose your mind.
In this madness, the sun dries my spiced mangoes and
Wind spreads leaves across my porch without a thought
For retaining my sweeping chore
By noon stomaches lay a grumbling for grub
Flies buzz, dogs bark and children are delivered
Bandh doesn’t stop some
It only stops many.
Life stands unnoticing
Of men and their passing tantrums
Hartal, Bandh and others.
“I would be in control”, I had always thought,
Once I finish school. College saw me confident
Of being on top of things, looking ahead
Into the unlived future hollering, “Bring it on”!
While I lazed in pursuit of my Masters
There were dreams of an easy job
Carpets laid out ahead for me to walk to success.
Now two staccato jobs old-both wanted and liked-
Soon Steam eloped with an outgrown me.
Today, in the shower where I reason things out
The “balance” of life hit me
Of real compromises necessary
To tip the balance in your “favour”.
In your favour, really?
I watch as multiple little dreams float
Some away, some towards me
My situation cannot afford them all
Picking through them I envision
The rapturous peace of perfection
Of the could-have-beens.
Nervous excitement of anticipation;
Measured as the time gap between
Sending a message and receiving a reply
From the one you love!
No new message-
Just like that he went away.
It’s his work that takes him
Mine would too if only I had one.
160 characters of packaged love I had sent
Must have been good for he had replied
Gleaming I stayed having replied to his taunt
Till his replies died silently without notice
There was nothing for me to do but wait
Wait for him to message
Whenever that might happen to be
When he was free to think of me.
If this is who you call Hope,
I would prefer to keep my friend, Hopeless.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
I lay quite quiet,
still and motionless,
eyes laze floating thither
brain crouches working overtime.
Don’t breathe and
this too shall pass.
This life, this life that
I live in as if on rent.
Lay low enough and a day will come
When no one will notice
When no one will remember
When no one will care
Who I was and other details
That is the day I live to see.
Empty seats welcome an uncertain traveller
Finicky and nitpicky-anticipating discomfort.
When the seats begin their journey
Monsooned scenery smiles a clean green
And clouds lean against mountains, spent.
The cool breeze charms the now comfy traveller
Blowing wet suggestive kisses, urging
Movement to mould those dreams of possibilities.
Dirty houses with their dirty smells
Lines are crossed and tempers flare.
A sudden hotness throws a blow; sticky,
The dreamer is pushed out of the dream
Making the green lose its sheen.
Pokey pines and bald mountains in fatigues
Stand around in attention obeying orders.
Huffing and puffing the journey continues
Sweat pools, frustration ebbs and sleep flows
Outside, the evening smiles on the horizon
Making nature smile back, subdued.
When the destination stops the traveller
The breeze, the greenery, the mountains-
They go away with the train;
Props for another travel.
Traveller collects around the luggage
This punch of reality smarting
Backing into life stupified
Hailing an auto and haggling.
I come and stand at every door
But no one hears my silent tread
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead, for I am dead.
I’m only seven although I died
In Hiroshima long ago
I’m seven now as I was then
When children die they do not grow.
My hair was scorched by swirling flame
My eyes grew dim, my eyes grew blind
Death came and turned my bones to dust
And that was scattered by the wind.
I need no fruit, I need no rice I
need no sweet, nor even bread
I ask for nothing for myself
For I am dead, for I am dead.
All that I ask is that for peace
You fight today, you fight today
So that the children of this world
May live and grow and laugh and play.
Born into a pompous royal breed
His father an esteemed doctor
His mother a mighty matriarch
Life never raised unpleasant questions then
So through college they slacked, heedless hooligans
Money assuring seats for these reckless
One to sustain her father’s legacy
Takers too many to be the prodigal one
Life was heedless in its youth
Voyages to worlds of the many novels read
The long absences and the Camay soap
Easy to learn are the ways of good life
Gripping events rocked the boat
Fortune with her walk out
And Destiny’s cart wheel
While Hope played hide and seek
Rot set in with the monsoon
Skies crying relentless tears in repentance
A drunken haze shrouded streets ahead
Free advice deafening like thunder
Like a phoenix rose an unlikely straw
Independence nurturing her boundlessness
Maintaining social norms, denouncing freedom
She was all the woman she could be.
Another like strained tea, lay collected in the sieve
Failure plays Denial on stage
False pride disguises the inadvertent crumble
Sometimes in Anger, Distortion otherwise.
Flashback a montage of poor choices
HEED- bold, bright and underlined
In invisible ink of course
No life deserves such imprudence.
Waved down an auto
negotiated the fare;
Tuk-tuk it sped
With us in its rear.
Skipping over potholes
rocking us snug;
Delusional in its abilities
it raced speeding bugs.
Hopping across lanes and
scampering against one ways;
We toured the little city
forgetting our morose weekdays.
Years had passed;
Changes were many
Some of us even
had some pennies.
We three sat talking;
Three we sat mum.
Moronic trio in a blast of
our selves from the past!