That time in life

That time in life
When in the heat of smoldering summer
Wild blush of spring roses
Bloom on your dimple cheeks,
When dead daisies from last season
Flower fragrant in your breeze.

It is that time in life
When life  itself
Swings to fluttering rhythms
Of a beautiful butterfly wing.
When wild flowers burst forth
A parched desert dune
And hope that lay dormant
From long years of arid ennui
Springs and bursts forth
Shoots of living green.

Live on, I say
For these are not moments that you lose
To thoughts of yesterday
Or hopes of a tomorrow
That may never come.

O How I Hate

How I hate the silly perfumed wind
As it rushes to breeze you in.
That stupid oyster grain
As it delicately dangles
Between those secret place I believe
Are oh so mine!
That hint of a bindi blazing fire consuming
All my worlds all the time.

That glow on the setting sun

The setting sun down west
Put up such a splendid show in red
I had to hurry down to you my love
In case
You had for a change
Given away too much of your blush!

The letters you wrote to me once

Cobblestone pavements
Naughty Kites that once flew into the horizons
The faint aroma of a robusta, rightly brewed
The smell of Jasmines buds, recently sprinkled
The big temple bells' chime
An old Morris minor, polished chrome gleaming
My English teacher's lipstick
Grandma reciting grand tales from the Mahabharata
A long competing hooting bout with a Cuckoo
A short rare one with a crow pheasant.
Thoma on his ancient cycle, selling fish
Eliamma's six felines courting Thoma all the time.
Green from the paddy fields of yore
Red from the fiery musandas
Yellow from the April showers
White from my grandmas starched mundu 
Love from your letters
Reached out and colored
All of my remembered universe
Until I safely stored them
For another lifetime.

Come away
The cities have invaded our kind countrysides
Grandma is no more
And the kids of today
Don't bother with real kites.
We will meet again
And rebuild our little lives
One cobblestone at a time
A path, a pavement, a crossroad at a time.

Good Byes

The silences that fall over oceans
Once the Ships that set sail
Reach their shores.

The darkness that fall over walls
And curtains of a theatre
Once the play is done.

The feeling of that full stop
Which placed right at the end foretells
The End.

Crazy Poets

Who is your best friend?
I
What do you mean I? Indu?
No. Just I .
Don't be crazy. Everyone has a best friend. Someone with whom you can share all your secrets, all your pains. Someone with whom you would love to walk into the sunset. Someone with whom you can share a giggle, be yourself.

I do all that with myself.
I have no secrets,
I write.

Secret places

I love to get lost
And then be found again
In places that I never knew existed
Until I was lost
And I thought I will never be discovered.

I love your secret places
You don't look for me there
And I love it
Just that way.

Twisted

Every time I am with her, I am reminded of a Neruda: "I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me too."

Every now and then, from the random chaos of everyday living rises a warped relationship that is funny and entropic. I love her, and sometimes, she loves me too. Every time I hold her close to me, she melts into herself, rarely have I felt her melt into me. Those proud threaded brows, with their perfumed winged lashes flutter in random anticipation of a kiss, but those eyes don't talk to my eyes, they seem to be in deep conversation, with themselves. I know her favorite dress, I know her special days, I know her fears, her dreams, most of her desires. She knows where I live, she knows what I do, not sure if she knows my middle name. She knows I have a niece, not sure if she knows about the nephew.

Many years ago when I was frantically searching for a copy of Dr. Zhivago, I remember what our librarian Thomas sir told me, R, where these books go and hide, is a mystery. When it is time for you to make friends with a Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago will come in search of you. Until then, there are so many other yarns to weave.

I loved her. Sometime she loved me too.

Forever Mine

That shreak of surprise
And delight
When I first lifted you off the ground
And swung you around.
Your open hair fragrant
Spreading a heady note
Into an otherwise empty room.

At that moment
At that very moment in time
As I looked into your doe like eyes
And you looked into mine,
Together
We transcended time.

What I told the Sun today



If you found the dawn a tad lazy today
And the deep orange hues play around you
For a longer while than it usually does,
Remember my dear
This was especially for you.

For, as I watched the chariot rise
I called out to the Sun for some respite.

Down here lies my princess asleep
Would you care to slow down
For a while?

You remind me of lilies

There are these places
In me unknown to me.
Mysterious places
Rarely visited or remembered by me.

That evening
When you walked in with your red dress
Smelling of lilies
From colonel Mishra's garden
And smiling like you knew me
From some other lifetime,
I was remembered
Of a night from my teenage
When I had jumped a fence
To kiss a girl
Who could sing like Streisand
And looked like Helen.

She was not for me
And with time those lilies,
They smelt like roses like jasmines
And like other flowers, whatever you will;
Until the night you walked in
And I remembered how lilies smell.

Much like in dreams,
They smell so much like you.

Old Things

Raj?
Yes Princess?
This rice cooker is not working!
I know baby. Will repair it this weekend.
How much do you earn Raj?
Baby, I don't like where this conversation is going.

Why have you not bought a new one? It's always the same, the burner of this ancient stove, the rice cooker, that ramshackle apology of a washing machine that you have... Why? Why don't you just get some new ones?

Baby, we have discussed this before. You know I won't.

Shall I gift them for you?

No Princess, these don't leave my house. I can't accept new ones.

Will you always always be so difficult?
Yes baby, always.

Why?
Cause that rice cooker has been with me for 12 years.
So?
So I can't just chuck it.
What does that mean?
It means that as long as it is amenable to repairs, I will repair and use it. I will use it even if it costs me twice the cost in repairing it. I won't give up on it, until it gives up one me.

Do you know how crazy that sounds?
I know baby.
And you are OK with it?
That's the way I am baby.

How long have we been together?
22 years baby.
Love you Raj.
Love the cooker too baby.
Dog you are!!!
Bhou Bhou Princess.

Picking your hairs from a white marble floor

My fingers tremble
I am not used to this.
I wish I could use my lips
To pick them all.

Every bit of you
Smells so much like you.
Even this little lock of hair
As it frolics on this floor
Smells of your Shampoo
And is so full of you.

And as I try to hold them
A small draught of your wild wilderness catches a wind
And they go sliding through my fingers
On to the floor, again
To be courted and loved and longed
Until finally coiled and entwined
Off they come with me
Into my forever times.

Also appeared in Muse India

Butterfly Heart

That slight tremor at a touch
And those glazed eyes measuring
How much you possibly mean to me
And how much of the surreal
Is real

Those subtle hints of ownership
Of someone you believe
Can't be owned.
That desperation for another hug
Before time intervenes
And rips us apart.

I now live a day at a time
And count my days
As one with those filled with you
The rest
My love
I do not remember
To have ever lived.

Death in hue motion

On a dark magenta evening
I could see bright ochre leaves
Falling wearily on to a willing ground
Awaiting one final embrace
From those
Who had once moved up
In search of life
Outside a lemon yellow shoot
That eventually turned
A dull dreary brown
With all this tired living.