nightmare

truth with one portion of guilt may taste better
and when its almost drunk
you see sediments of fear that wait for the climax
tea leaves can wait for another life

about me

and my name is complicated
it would never show on the neon boards.
it would be easy to forget
the names of the old roads.

and I've been
sticking prices tags to my memories
now it would be difficult to find a buyer
and the worth of all the owners.

every time i went back the old street
where they sell fish dumplings
they make it easy to remember
the taste of every kiss

and my name is complicated
it wont remind you of anyone
so it will be easy to forget
and it will only be there somewhere

Rooted friends

Rooted in a sooted boot,

lets loot! lets loot!

some happiness in pursuit

of an unending, unbending life

still rooted in a sooted boot.

Climb the black chimney with the loot

slip a foot!!! oh no sir!! no

sooted boots may fall

but let the loot out of the wall

sooted may it be,

looted may it be,

who needs boots afterall!!!

everyone's space

i want
to cut off my hair
really short and color it red

spend a night on a bench somewhere in Maidan

watching the Victoria lights
and the stars that escaped from the planetarium

let hunger take over thoughts

and write graffiti on someone's clean white wall

in neon colors
i want to take pictures of drunk men and the loonies
talk to them about the mad world
and count the lorries
coming from Chennai and going to Punjab
or vice versa
cheap thrill of crossing the road
just before they can crush your guts
and in the middle of night scream
on the bridge above the river
and dive into the water
just when the policeman's hand is a hand away
if the river drowns me i shall be happy
it will share 'its' space with me
if not
i will give myself away
....................................................................................................................

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

To the escapist

'escapist'

you're running on an open field,

running from the wind,

running from the sky,

and you touch me as you pass by,

i wonder in my hopeless hopes,

how would you run when on the slopes?

when tired would you need a hand?

would you need warmth in the coldest land?

..........................................................................................

warp of time,
starched and brushed in rice,
under the tamarind trees,
colored in red,
and woven in gold.

she waits to cover a skin scarred,
and beaten with green with red,
or only red the skin will wed,
and the green will be jealous.

why were you late?
why didn't you color in time?
naked threads were safe you thought ?
now red looks better
and you are just an accent

the debt collector came early,
and set sins of the skin free.
skin can now be red and gold,
pure gold without green...