dreamless

one of those nights again

when i dont sleep

a million images float around

a million stories

all asking for attention

all asking for words

one of those stories

make it to the top 

while the others fade

while the the morning comes

i remember only one

i remember very little

one of those posts

that i write on orange

only few know

only few read

fewer understand

fewer care a little more

one of these nights

when i will wake quietly

and stories wont know

and none will scream

i will write  about the breeze

i will sing to the trees

one of those songs

i will keep under my pillow

it will stain the muslin pink

it will make the linen green

the feathers may float

the feathers may stray

but i will neither  talk

i will neither be away

I am sure

Newspapers tell many stories

while I soak them in a bowl of water

the stories fade and sink

and then three days later 

I paint new stories with pink

I saw a little boy once

while he played with a spinning wheel

I counted the cups in the sun

and tea that steamed in the clay cups

made every story  heal

The streets around my home are narrow

while I walk looking around

the puppies follow me everywhere

and when I hide to lose them

they suddenly forget why they were there.

Now I dont search for 'that' something

while I know that its out there

it doesnt really matter anymore

and I dont really need to care

because you were not here before.

to the nightmare

and if you come to me as a wall

i shall change the direction of my crawl

if i fail to reach your end

i will end my reach to you

and if you come to me as a flower

i shall keep you in my album 

when the photos will grow pale and yellow

you shall still be blooming around

and if you come to me as a madman

i will shoot myself in the head

if i fail to forget your madness

i will be the madness that will count.

but i dont want you to come as anything

i dont want to know your name

i dont want to know you exist

because you remind me the longest sleepless night.

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.