Another reminder

Stains inside my coffee cup
remind me of rain washed memories,

Hazed faces of you and me
play across the window panes,

And the coffee stains run down
like the heavy hearted drops ,

drawing familiar patterns
whose destiny i changed with my fingers.

sleepless

When sleep avoids me,
and chooses another lane,
that clings to the river,
my memories laugh at me then.

My memories are chalk dust,
that wrote several sums,
yet never learnt to count,
may be thats why they ran in circles.

Circles remind me of birthday cakes,
all kinds and shape,
bread, chocolate sugar and candy,
like layers of pages stuck with age.

I always smell new books,
i also smell the old ones,
and every time i sneeze,
i fear a memory is loose.

So i sit up late and write,
if words could a bring jealous light,
and bring my sleep back,
and wipe the memory board black.

One fine day

Lost in a map- less city they wandered,

in limp white linen and all time slippers.

Round and round they went,

tying the monument,

in their wonder and thickening heart beats.

They walked from shadows to sun,

like a dream entangled in the barb,

like the vision of the monument barred,

they walked in the city,

entangled in cigarettes and tea.

They were lost forever,

cobbling and plumbing,

and buying post cards at the monument,

to take back sometime,

to a home where waiting had just begun.

No regrets

Jigsaw of colors and shapes.
They made a picture of me
Some pieces rebelled.
The nose was ugly they felt,
walked out and never came back.

Year after year
I counted the shapes,
numbered the colors,
and then bought some clay
on a playful rainy day

Within 4 cups of the 'perfect' tea
on a white mirror table,
I painted my nose blue.
The shape was wrong,
i spilled sugar and tears,
then curled up sleeping with my fears


Between Orange and Grey,
the sun chose a color.
grays are boring and oranges funny,
rest is a mist.
Still i took a Red,
and took it to bed,
and swallowed a pill that said
'Awake the dead'

poems?

poetry happened a year ago...
we walked , talked, swayed
then one of us must have left another
or the carnival lights blinded
when i was looking for the hands that moved the puppets
my poems joined the circus
it will be another summer, another winter
then maybe spring shall bring us by
how will i look?,what shall i say?
will my poems know me from all the puppets that strayed?

one spring, one autumn,
maybe when i will be busy tying old knots
i will catch a stray poem
and plant it in my garden pots
then maybe forever
we will walk, talk and sway
or the circus will bring my poems maybe
in my fancies of blue and grey