Friday, November 1, 2013

We


Then a small bird will chirp
From within the heart of the old clock
As we explore the invisible landscapes of love
A moth will dance around the candle flame
A street dog will growl looking deep into the dark
And the cane of the watchman
will tap its annoyance along the lanes
As we sit silent
Drinking deep into each other's eyes
You bloom into an orchard of wild flowers
The storm of silence blows passionately
Over the spring leaves
And as I step into the morning sun
From the warmth of our secret
I look back like a kid who lost his way
And there you stand
The cherry blossom
Smiling at the eternal Spring

Monday, October 28, 2013

Crossing the river



When you come into mind
I dream the river that longed to
stream back to the foggy mountains
and the snow hut of Santa Clause.
When you come into mind
Gushes in my heart the sudden downpour
in the misty Christmas eve
and the lamb that was washed off in the flood.
One rainy day, you told me that
wavelets are the ECG of river.
Like the feeble heartbeat
nailed between drought and flood.
You said one can hear the music of heavens
While touching the ECG of river.
But what I heard was a deep sob
(Was it from the depth of your soul?).
There is a river between you and me
That we never dared to cross.
Like the arrow-line between the hunter and bird
Like death never be put off.
When I read the ECG of river
I feel the wails of an unseen soul.
The bleeding heart that was once
Crucified to the dissection board.
When I place my feet in the river
I see you, full moon blossomed in darkness.
And I freeze in the river, a statue of water
Like the unspoken word that choked the throat.

Greenwich

(Again an old one)

Greenwich—
She said, the meridian of zero,
Where there is no east and west
But mist and snow,
That looked like the grey beard of Santa Clause,
The invisible straightline
That linked us; like two poles that never meet
Greenwich—
The geography of the null, vacuum,
Where temperature is never marked
In the narrow line of mercury
The pressure always evades
The throbbing heart of barometer.
She said once she had seen a red, red star
Over the sullen skies of Greenwich.
Someone called it a bad omen,
While the others hailed it the divine birth,
The birth of the son of God.
Then, an old carpenter was
Busy giving the finishing touch to a cradle.
All of a sudden it started to downpour
And Greenwich became a valley of flowers.
A little girl plucked all those blossoms
And traced the red star to a deserted barn.
Greenwich was the backbone of our time.
Had there been no Greenwich
Our time would have been static and stagnant,
Said our geography teacher.
No sun rays to greet you good morning
No golden sky to bid you farewell.
No snow, no rain
Change of seasons forgotten to come.
Greenwich—
Our dreams of eternity and spring
All you see is blossoms and birds.
Once I thought of flying to Greenwich,
Dreamt of playing in the snow
"No," she said, "don't go there,
It's the end of our dream,
The last spot of green."
So we went to the womb of the bed
And slept there like two embryos
Dreaming of our rebirth in Greenwich;
Greenwich —
The last of our dream
The spectrum that peeps through mist.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

My Neptune

Neptune… Neptune
In the frozen hills of the
Planet unknown
I remembered a birth
That I had long forgotten…
Neptune
In the fathom of the deep blues
I discovered a pebble
That I lost in my childhood…
Neptune, my playground in snow
That faded into the darkness
Of my growing grey
A reminiscence frozen in time…
And from the halo,
The uncreated light of Neptune
Where I found the divine touching the skies
Descended a butterfly-like flame
In search of the pebble
I lost in childhood.
Neptune, Neptune

The rebirth of my memories…

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

The Snake


You recounted the
Snakebites of love,
The rivulet that flows
Through the veins,
Diffusing blue into blood,
The white angels of heaven
Who longed to embrace darkness.
Birds that take wings
To the frozen hills of death
Sang the last hymn to God,
The little rainbow
Went missing in the Ocean,
There began the flood
And we began searching for our blood.
When the earth splits into two
We would bloom in love,
You dreamed
A lone tree in the wasteland
The unborn chick that
Drives its bill
Through the shell
To the wide universe
Then on and on you
Swam in the little ponds
Of forgotten times.
Rowing down the
Spectrum of memories
A lone star glittered in your eyes
In the stillness of time
You hatched forgetfulness.
Through the darkness
Of your slumber
A little snake crept
In search of deserts.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

I don't know if this is the beginning of creative writing........

The journey

We knew it was a small township on the other side of the huge wall. But, as kids we were denied entry there, and our world ended at the edge of the playground next to the wall. There were small eateries where the kids of the soldiers came with their parents to enjoy the evening. The toy shops there had curious toys that we the slum dwellers could not even imagine of. The parks were all green with flowering trees green, red and yellow. But that township was in a world where we had no permission to enter, which we accessed in our imagination. There we saw we playing with our peers in uniform; we tasted the sweets we could not even imagine on in our slum life. With the ears pressed on to the wall we heard the music from the world beyond walls.
One afternoon, some of us finally gained the courage to climb the wall and enter the world that we saw only in our imagination. Climbing on the shoulders of the elder boys one by one three of us entered the world we saw only in the dreams.
But to our shock, it was only a thicket where there was no humanity around. Combing the undergrowths and creepers we moved further, following the trails of a wail.

And finally we saw one old woman knelt before a tomb…. Wailing, wailing and wailing. What we could see was the endless array of tombs covered in white flowers… and beyond that the mighty ocean of darkness. Staring at each other we stood there not knowing the way back from the world we saw in our dreams. In that stillness we felt our roots going deep into that outlandish landscape from where the memories of the centuries crept into our veins, and slowly we merged into the blissful forgetfulness…