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Life on a Metro

The next station is New Delhi. Gates will open on the left. The constant crooning of announcements lull me into a trance.

As I consume time and distance, I don't want this ride to end. Everything is so clean. Everything so much in control. Each of us sit silently sullenly looking into some point on the roof that is really not there. Nobody catches my eye. They don't want me to remember them. Nobody wants to remember me either.

It's a ride. And it is all paid for upfront.

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Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda,
You would have smelt of summer roses
And Autumn pine.
There would have been sheer love
Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache
And loneliness bordering the divine.
You would have had so many secrets
Welling up as in a girly giggle
And so few friends who would hear them all.I am no Neruda
I can't paint you a Summer breeze
Amidst this long winter chill.

The Color That Blinds

Every time I close my eyes
I see the green of Kerala countryside
The dark greens of lumbering rubber trees
The even tranquil green of silent paddy fields
The light lemon yellow green from tender clover leaves 

And then I remember your dupatta
Deep red or possibly maroon
Standing out among the Kerala countrysides.

Hush

You don't have to tell me.
I just know.
Its that little sniffle that comes through
The unexplained pauses
The slow responsesI know when you call
Just because you needed to cry.