retribution

heal slowly
in tamarind mornings
when they sleep
lost in forsaken dream

heal slowly then
while i trace
your footprints
and carry your body
across the end of history

heal then my love
and finally retribute
the pain, yes all of them
while healing me
then heal me
heal me!

the tryst

a drowsy film wraps days
and sun burnt afternoons
my somnolent gaze fades away
in the nights to come.
away from earth’s alertness
and dreamless walks
time builds up like a tombstone
around the grave of days long ago.

she took me home once
when I was a careless stray
on cobblestones, the urban lights
on my disfigured nonchalant shadow
tracing my forsaken dreams.
she sheltered me again
when I was walking silently
along an echoing shore
where the waves whispered my name.
she had fed me when I was hungry
ravenous as the next beggar
starved of the delicacies of life.
she washed me, cleaned me
till I shone and sparkled
like a shimmering dew drop tiara.

we grew together as we inched closer
breath by breath, sweat by sweat
corps et âme together.

au revoir! Goodbye we bade
on the sands of Egypt
like the mighty pharaohs bidding adieu
to golden mornings of desert sands
with promises of lives beyond
the seven wonders.

the hourglass still holds her memories
shimmering and sparkling against
the contour of past and future.
now that I am reborn,
uncontaminated and untainted
in rootless nomadic freedom
i sense her once more,
in my countless heartbeats.

the colour and the season

there were some leaves
and some more green,
a dash of verdant,
valleys sloping down
spiralling up
and halting then
in midsummer dreams.

then a few shrubs
unkempt, uncared for
since ages long ago
and for years to come
they shall be, they shall be
springs lovenest,
with colours strewn
all over marigold mornings.
transformation of green
she said, smiling.

and i believed her.
in my pulsating wisdom
i knew she was right
she was, she was!
didn't she tell me once
in westbound prophecy
that colours were what
she was waiting for
since methuselah's times?

the thinning of time
lifted the crimson veil
of sunsets and dusks
in november skies.
winter, ah, winter
was it then when i held
her palms, moist in the colour
the butterfly left
in her dewy fingers.

a few roads

there was a road
and there was another road.
one led to eden
where they wanted to go,
last paradise lost
the touch of human agony
mortal fear and immortal hope
vouched its beauty;
green and more green
and life amidst it
and a few packets of ruins
and ashes and debris
of all that was
and all that would be!
then there was another road
a little crooked, a little commonplace
waterlogged here and there,
muddy ochre on which they walked
carefully measuring each step
footprints on wet earth
to be sought and followed
by those behind!
ah!such beauty of ugliness
such addiction to tempest
and rainforests, dense and smoky;
such love for the journey
such fear of losing track
time and again.
and when they woke up
to bright summer skies
and sands of kalahari
they knew they would
walk again
meet again
on a third road
never walked before.

Here I am seated
Amidst endless seas
Beneath the blue dome
Within the bounds
Of careless freedom.

Here I am washed
By your absent dreams
Which held promises
Long ago; not here,
Not now.

Here I hold sway over
My estate on rubbles
Of million dispersed 'I's
My fragmented self
scattered like quanta.

Here the leaves gather
and salute aged Nature
Around my dusty feet
Finding comfort and peace
In autumnal austere strength.

Here I pick up rags
Of silhouettes and shadows
And string them with dusk
And evening skies
Of nomadic freedom

Here we separate, branch out
And then bond like one
Amidst green foliages
Of shady cypress and
Tall Eucalyptus trees.


Here we isolate and mourn
The death of rootlessness
And slowly, unwatched
Away from scrutiny and eyes
The gypsy heart grows.

Measure

Tell me now stranger, if I serve myself

In delicious ambiguity on your platter

Would you taste me bit by bit?

Would you gulp down my consciousness

Of eternity in seconds to come

Ticked in time by magenta sunsets?

Tell me now, tell me a little of your forefathers

And how you metamorphosed into the strangeness

That I see today, that I see now.

Tell me how you lived and how you laughed

And how you loved--

Tell me all of them scratch by scratch

While I measure myself.

Tell me tales of the seagulls

And how they flew overhead

When you embarked on your journey

Of ten thousand miles across light years

And seven seas’ ugly lonesome nights.

Tell me about the northern lights and the winds

That blew my slumber away in dreams to come.

Tell me now, for I long to hear them

From your lips, from your eyes.

Your voice creeps into my ruggedness

And wakes me up; stirs me down

Like a cup of freshly brewed coffee

That is how you taught me to measure myself.

And I measured this stark consciousness

Dressed in satin and silk from the Far East

Elegant as the regal attire, delicate as the dew drop tiara

And I measured myself and grasped the meaning

Of the wondrous look in your eyes

That I am priceless!

there

the nightscape erodes
as minutes tiptoe in hourly silence.
time begets time.
the rugged pile of consciousness
is at its brightest and wakeful best
at the phantom hours.

this is not my world.
this is not my reality.
this is far far away
beyond silent waters of blue seas
and dusky evening sky
away from sweetness of love's symphony,
miles away from agony,
away from angst, pain, hopelessness.

this is where i am elevated.
feel not heart, fear not mind;
think not, see not, hear not, speak not.
this is where everything stops.
your wheel ceases rotating
my cliched existence
amongst piles of mundane everyday.

here you are not my lord.
you cease to be my fate.
i, finally, take up the reigns,
i am your destiny henceforth.

i know i have realized this before
i have spoken this ten thousand times.
uttered them in solitary pristine glory,
alone, many times.
in childlike wonder, in blind resentment to you!
this is also unique like the ones before.

Countless

How many streams must I cross

Before you learn to swim across

El Nino of turbulent times

How many roads must be walked

How many of them should intersect

And lie love locked till you hear them

Calling you from the depths of my eyes?

How many flowers should be born

‘to blush unseen’ and how many of them

should garland you when your sensitivity dies?

How many times should I rock your cradle

So that you sleep peacefully amongst rubbles

Of creepy lonesome nights?

How many rain clouds shall it take

To bring in monsoon for you?

How many times will the church bells chime

Before they cry ‘hallelujah’ and kiss

Your footprints compassing the new journey

That you embarked now.

How many love songs shall it take

To wake you up?

How many lullabies to hush you to sleep?

How many deaths shall I die

To live your life again?