Skip to main content

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.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Clarity

I have looked at myself
From the edges of reason
And discovered
That both my sanity and insanity
Springs forth like seasons
Out of my distances from you. Realizing thus
I have allowed the outer rims
Of my diffused sanity
To fritter away into crumbs
Of misplaced memories
From my time with you. I have often found myself being unreasonable
When I am away from you.
And generally insane
When otherwise.

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.

अबकी होली

इन रंगों में वो रंग कहाँ
ये रंग नहीं, है फीका पानी
जो स्वाद थी तुम्हारी
भरी इस ज़िन्दगी में
जो तुम नहीं
तो वो स्वाद नहीं।सुनो प्रेयसी
थी अबीर जो सिंदूरी
उड़ गयी शायद
बीतते वक़्त की आंधी में।लो आज फिर जो आयी है होली
एक चुटकी तुम अपने हाथों से
वो लाल हरी चूड़ियां की खनखन से
उड़ा देना दखिन की ओर
और रंगरेज मेरे इन रंगों को
फिर घोल देना बहती झरनों में
और ले आना मेरे आँगन में
फिर से एक ऐसी होली
जिसमे रंग हो उसके गुलाल की सिन्दूरी
जिससे कम हो जाये
फिर हमारे दिलों की ये दूरी।