Works of RK

Dear friend,  I know you have been busy living your life. I know that in your busy living, you find little time to think about all those people who might think fondly of you. Ever so often, when the clutter of living reaches a crescendo, I take a hike into myself. I close my shop and go into my gullies and basements, I move into my dimly lit attics to collect the best of my memories… and gather strength from them. Wherever I go within myself, I find you there. I hear your voice, sometimes a crib, sometimes laughter and at times your favorite holler that used to bring down the house. I see your face, smiling at me through photographs and mirrors. I see you smiling at yourself, and I see you everywhere. The roads of our lives are winding. It is difficult to figure out all those alternate destinies that each of our turns have in store for us. Remember, of the millions who tread their lonely lives home all over the world, there is one who never treads alone. It is I. I tread my life with y

Dear friend, Ever since you went away I have seen the shadows lengthen And the hours move ahead into days And Decades. I wait for I know The shadows that lengthen with time Shorten with time And some day when we are together I will leave the shadows And the lost time behind. More Life in a Multiverse

The arrow of time hurtles forth forcing All in its wake to stumble along Running chasing hurrying Trying to keep pace With all that is ever changing Mindlessly evasive There is no escaping. I too run along desperate Holding on to my memories of you ever closer Holding on to fleeting fragrances To thunderclap reflections frozen dew. I close my eyes but sleep won't come For what if there is a turn ahead And with me, you don't run!

Spring me from the mountains Run me down stream Guide me through the valleys River me to the sea. In you is all there is to me With you I am All that I will ever be, Hold me long hold me strong Storm me through this life River me to the sea. If there is another dawn waiting Sleep with me through the long night And rise me up from the sea.

I am not a painter, have never touched a canvas, never splashed colors on to white space awaiting life. But had I been a painter, I would have drawn you crossing the street, catching light, long burgundy hairs catching flight. I would have painted your smiling face looking up to the skies, your jingling laughter floating around the floors, while you chat on a telephone. I would have painted you in your thoughtful moments, deep black silent eyes poignant, your entire frame frozen, waiting, for that one one moment of clarity, and then the sun would shine again. I would have painted you riding your bike, your face covered with a shawl, a terrorist on trawl. And I would have painted you looking at me all confused, not knowing what to make out of all the stupid things I say, giving up, and letting be. I am not a painter but a writer. And it is you I paint, in every written word of my life. Also Published in Muse India, Jan-Feb 2017 issue

That you light up my desktop with your Monalisa smile, and look at me from files and windows in which you hide, is no surprise. When night falls and it is time to sleep, I love to blow a kiss your way, hoping that I have not missed.  That wild draft of wily air which fondled your locks, was my gentle kiss goodnight. Whoosh . . . Goodnight.

Life has a beautiful way of finding reasons to live. In its strife and its grace, in its rhythm and its pace, it evolves its own definitions, theories and beliefs. It is for life to find its reasons to live, innovate... I just participate.