Ageing

When I was young, maybe 10 or so, I remember jumping from the attic box-room to the floor below. In my mind, I was a superman, and this could be achieved. The excruciating pain that followed reminded me that Superman also experienced pain when trying to achieve extraordinary feats!

It was only yesterday that I lifted you off your feets and swung you around, your hair forming a circle in my little room. I love the shreik of surprise that you let out, and the tantrums you throw when I don't put you down. I would love to do this with you all my life.

That hint of a sprain in my lower back tells me that the Superman is still alive in me, it's just that you, probably, you should hit the gym more often.

Dead People

It was probably the moustache
That attracted the fly
This was probably the last time
He would be buzzed
And the first time
That he would not know.

There was a lot of white
The drapes, the sarees, the cotton
With which his toes and the thumbs
Were tied.

When you are dead
I guess these things don't matter
The color, the flies and the incense
That invades the nostrils
Until you feel heady
With his death.

When you are dead
I guess you are
Probably just dead
And it's different
From just not being alive.