Sunday, 21 December 2014

half spilled

half cup chilled dreams, chasing me
blankets of doubts flying close by;
rippling, silver reveries glimmering
in mirrors, on face and in heart, eloping,
half spilled, half shaking, moving
and then every time sways
between spilling and catching,
and the road spreading so long


Thursday, 18 December 2014

Kissing the sky









we had kiwi cake, a bit of your love
packed and carried through the street to home;
we had that cake cut to pieces to share love,
I didn’t count how old I was that day
then came black forest, pineapple,
chocolate, coffee-almond, that melted
and tasted togetherness and love;
we had birthdays every month, your’s
Mine, kids’, and all loved ones’ .
But I believe, every morning we birth once again
and when I watch big trees swaying in air
kissing the sky, I hope for such heights for our love;
dear, can we celebrate birthdays each morning
not the cake, we can share a piece of bread
with a skinny dishevelled boy yonder
or a little girl hanging on to that railing
where a hundred trains cross daily.
Dear it’s an ocean of love that we share
let’s rain as drops every morning
to grow up as trees kissing the sky,
let us hope…



Wednesday, 17 December 2014

Where sense and senseless doesn't make sense....

Memories are books in a shelf,
I pick titles and then they turn pages;
home, where you lived as a kid
never seizes to be a favourite title
                                                                                    with pages as many as stars,
Saturday nights came as chocolates,
 Sunday mornings as bread, butter, egg and milk
when sleeping a bit more was fun,
when ache never was attached with heart
but wounds, lost toys and silly matters
when butterflies, shiny pebbles, broken china vase
were precious;
memories get hurt, even existence, when you learn
that beyond a made-up boundary
 many dreams that weren't even
old enough to taste memories were crushed;
their Sunday bread and butter will remain unserved
as bleeding sour wounds bearing relentless curse;
aches, all hearts ache,
those who crushed,
I hope, have never been attached
with bread-and-butter Sundays…






Thursday, 11 December 2014

The Sun, The Sky and The Soul...


Courtesy Google


Ivy of hope crawled up high
up the rock and cement--grey and high,
                                                                    here from the small pages, sigh,             
black letters, they sigh and whisper;
out in the window grill a sparrow chirps,
wings flap hard, no it’s not the sparrow,
my room echoes strong wing flaps.
“Jonathan Livingston, are you there?”
You can’t trust your imagination,
they too have wings to flap
willing to fly high.
“So you are still here, you know, there is no limit for sky and soul.”
His words addressed me or Jo?
“Jonathan!” I echoed my thoughts.
He flew, flapped through my small room,
his eyes seemed longing for the sky;
constraints are pain for wings that have soul.
I patted him with care,
Hosseini’s Mariam Jo is peeping;
 heavy curtains would not hide her,
their eyes met; sometimes it’s good to be quiet.
Silence is more close to soul.
This room for a week
sheltered not just me, but
 two more souls breathed here.
Life, freedom and sky seemed of the same color
A thousand splendid suns’ glory
lives not elsewhere, but in souls
who mirror blue, depth and the sky.








Sunday, 7 December 2014

to catch a breath...




Silence flowed like a lost river
her banks embracing bare land, and river,
her soul still flowing like love
of a mad lover embracing waves
rising and falling inside, waves
that carry ages and ages of moments lived,
pearls of life, love--
she untied every yesterday that was she
that was life, memories--
she lay in a corner of all that is a memory
peeking from where everything is
bizarre and fading like tears rolling down,
down through a blushed cheek and
 half smiling lips tasting saline;
she lay there peeking into the corridors
where she can no longer put her steps back
where she can no longer put words back
that were lost between moments of ego and pride,
her eyes behold past
and waves of future drags at her feet;
she lay there where the floral corridor
holds her back and waves of future drags at her feet.
She lay down there in the corner staring,
imbibing, that every song begins for an end;
she lay down there in the corner
to catch a breath that the sweetness will linger.

Tuesday, 2 December 2014

losing at winning points

I roam about with the world at my fingers
I taste the whole world from my plate
I wear whatever my mind decides
I am a winner wherever I go
but sometimes I lose my pride
I realize it was a misty fog
that I relished
that
I belong to a creed
that still believes
that religion, color and boundary
can stand high above
what my name, smiles and virtues
could stand for;
am I a winner or a mere loser?
 Sometimes ghosts of prudence mocks at you!



Monday, 17 November 2014

Listening to smiles...

a journey forward step by step;
eyes wander back at times---
blurred images in bright and dull hues,
 a journey forward;
you look forward, a little of the tears
brimming on edges from yester years,
each step carries dust and sand
of aisles passed by, fragrance of
forlorn thoughts, sighs and laughs
like the wind brushing against your skin;
you carry many summers, autumn, winter
and spring, you carry a soul full---

Drank the drizzles
Sweated in summer
Curdled in winter
I sprouted in spring
Of whatever I carried
And life’s cipher is my soul
Of change and acceptance

A journey forward, step by step;
learning each day
that I was not perfect
that I am not perfect
that at the end
a smile will be enough
for every question---

the truth resides in a heart
that bears the sweetest smile.




Friday, 31 October 2014

Happy companion


Six hollow pipes
Dangling like happy friends
Free minds
Soul of life fills them
And they dance like saints
Giving soothing music
My window looks beautiful
And it sounds divine
Wind and music
A companion for thoughts

Wednesday, 29 October 2014

Important VS unimportant and things that you call limitations…

courtesy Google


round very round and whole
floating on its blue blood are patches of green and brown
you hear names, Gaza, Palestine, Iraq, Afghanistan,
Laos, Congo, Sudan, Myanmar, Somalia
and you see pictures that may haunt or drown
among many pressing matters of life, cooking,
eating, shopping, shaving, saving, gaming, office, school,
at night when you are sleeping under a thick blanket
and when you startle by a distant cracker of festival
you go back to sleep relieved, for a peaceful next day;
morning you call your milkman when he is late
and life is like a pressing matter of cooking, eating,
shopping, shaving, saving, gaming, office, school,
and when you plan a trip, you never come across
names like, Gaza, Palestine, Iraq, Afghanistan,
Laos, Congo, Sudan, Myanmar, Somalia and many
and you never think twice about gun shattered lives,
empty tummies, dry sleepless eyes, dried out childhoods
because life is a pressing matter of cooking, eating,
shopping, shaving, saving, gaming, office, school,
and you live on illusions, and reality is dug deep under
volcanic, vulnerable tectonic plates...