Flight

A wind flares the flame,
A gust leaves it cold.
The fire hisses out in the water
That waits to drown her.
A rustling of leaves warns her
Of escape, of life being lived.
She, reading the signs wades,
Through the treachery,
and swims.

The shore has thorns that prick
And rest unclean, drenched in blood.
The trees tower over her
And sway in welcome.
A bird in the distant skies
calls out her name in a song,
That she sings back, and silences the woods,
Only to go on.

The end of the cliff, beneath
her tender feet, is still.
The wind starts up the fire
Again, and with smoke
The skies crowd.
She leaps across to
Infinity that lies in the abyss.
The wind howls, the bird shrieks,
The land quivers at the edge.
The treachery still waits to drown her,
And instead, receives her parting kiss.

IN and OUT

Thank you, Gauri Saxena. This is for and from you.

Breathing is living.
Breathe, and you're alive.
You're a small speck in
a large universe but
you're still alive
just as long as you breathe.

Forget that the world is watching,
but remember every day that
you're always a part of it.
Forget that there are battles to fight
but not the fact that your right to victory
was etched in stone
the day you chose to start living.
Forget that there is anything
that is worth loving more,
caring for more, cherishing more
and making more your own than yourself
but know, deep down and on the surfaces,
that you are what makes your world
turn full circle - its all a pattern.

You may never find a basis or a
ground to rest your feet on,
but there is always a pillow
to crash into each night.
You may never discover the meaning
of life or existence or faith or truth,
but there are joys and sorrows and pains,
trials and tribulations, waiting
to work you into their design
with every swish of the brush.
You may make mortal memories
that you can never rehash or lay
claims on their immortal existence
but none of it matters -
just so long as
you never forget
to remember
to breathe.

2 a.m. Phone Call

Today we’ll call it death
death of the night.
The television still rings in her eyes
the neon lights deafen her still.
Past the point of no return.

She smells in the air
the hope, lingering.
She’ll sleep in an hour more.
She’ll kill another minute.

Knives of iron-clad will,
and soft brushes of the wind
to finish off the top coat.

It’s done. Or so she thinks.

Maybe there’s another battle
somewhere on the horizon.
Maybe she’ll chance another duel
and get her way with life.

With a caress and a touch
a soft balmy kiss comes crashing down
and the evidence swept
under the menacing moon.

Maybe she’ll chance upon rebellion
of the coffee and rust underneath her skin.
The silence is within
but the television is still on mute
and she says she didn’t try.

It happened. And today
she’ll turn mass murderer
serially killing
all her nights with a whiff
of a dice-rolled fate
and the shadows of the light.

It’s the dead of night
and the night is dead.

A Good Day

It is a good day
to look at life, unbungled
Free of traffic jams
In the concrete jungles
Full of spring air
and summer freshness.
It is indeed a good day
For life.

Its a good day to figure
Plans for today and
dreams for tomorrow
Hope for rain
and not its companion sorrow
Its a good day indeed
To figure ourselves into life.

Its a good day
to chronicle the big disappointments
Half assed efforts
Some missed appointments
Death, war, destruction
everything in between
Its a good day indeed, to be
Disappointed

And yet let it not be seen
For these good days are
Often few and far between
But when the last one comes
and let it be today that that should be
Because today, we're ready
Not to break down and cry
but to smile, shrug, and with a sigh
Accept - c'est la vie.

PARTED

I

Do you think if you didn’t know
that a border lay in between
that you could tell apart
these grass green fields?
What’s theirs and what’s ours?
Which is this side, and which is that?

Pat came the reply, no.
And I don’t think I should want to.
We were one once,
and I think just that knowledge,
for now, should do.

II

They gather in hoards,
everyday. Come hail or heat.
They smile and take their seats.
Men and women apart,
resting in one giant beating heart.
Their hands move to the beat
of the drums and of
the impending retreat.
they go back in memory
and shriek in agony,
“zindabaad!”

III

It’s there. It’s right there.
I could almost step over
and be a part of them.
All these years, it has fascinated
my brain, and I,
have only thought of going there
but it’s only now that I
have come close enough.

Why don’t you, she asks.
These lines were made by us
no one wanted it, yet
everyone chose to live it through.
We were one once,
but for now,
this reality will have to do.

IV

They chant away to dispel the threat
they chant away, unified breath.
They know what they think.
They know how they feel
but do they know what they do?
another war seems overdue.
The other side is silent
and with each passing minute
Their wishes turn violent.

V

The ceremony of it all – pristine
and a voice rises
I feel a pang of pride
and I stifle the pain
there was a loss then
and maybe tomorrow
will show some gains.

I can’t see a thing, she says.
She blames it on the height.
We were one nation once,
and now, in ceremony we fight.
She still has no clue.
This oblivion, for now,
will have to do.

VI

The wild dance contrasted
with calm and composure.
The pomp and show undercut
by silent spectators.
while they jumped and shouted
and slogans they cried,
the ones stuck in the middle,
if only for the while,
knew that the two sides
were one whole once
but in that fanfare, they know,
they couldn’t reconcile
even if they tried.
They and I return,
slightly shaken, mostly subdued
that land is another, far off one,
and for now, this truth
will just have to do.

05-03-14

Straight jacketed by memories,
I feel frozen;
Held in time like a culprit
Guilty as charged -
Awaiting judgement.

There crawls a familiar friend.
Scuttling across the sands,
each grain jarring
Against those iron pincers that
Wrench my heart from its cavity.
I feel dislocated
I hear a distant crunch
I see promises bleed out
I smell the rotting wilt rose
I taste failure
I taste heartbreak.

But it was a good run at the wall
My thoughts haemorrhage
And all I feel are tears
Swallowed whole by empty sobs
But it was indeed
a good run at the wall
I felt a brick move.

Dedicated to friendship, to love, to life.

Yaaro se saji mehfil mein

Dilbar ki kami mehsus nahin hoti.

Chand lamho ke jashn-e-bahaar bhi

Juloos se kam nahin hoti.

Kami reh jaati hai toh bas waqt ki,

Zindagi sametne ki chaah nahin mit-ti.

Baatein ankahee si jo thi kabhi,

Woh faaslo mein bhi mehfuz nahin hoti.

Kisi roz bichhde jab yeh yaar,

Afsos toh hoga humein khoob sahi,

Un mehfilon ki taadat zameen bhale chhu le

Uss jashn-e-ishq ka junoon mit-ta nahin.

Zamaana yaad rakhega

Yeh nashemand sohbaten bemausami,

Sukoon mein kisi din laut jayenge hum wahaan

Jahaan masoomiyat sawaali nahin hoti.