On a February Night.

If I think of you, should I

not have the liberty to hold

you close? And if I am far away

with distances and nonsensical

aspects of life, such as growing up

separating us, what more is

there to be done, than to pick up

that mundane telephone and

give you a call.

"Hello.." "I called you to tell you

how much I miss you." "Oh, sorry,

I am _____, she has fallen asleep.."

Words dont do justice to my err.. ,

jealousy. Of course, that is a very

poetic way of putting it. What I feel,

on the other hand is nothing poetic.

Should I wonder what you were doing,

before slumber took over you ? I

can imagine the two of you in that

blue-walled room, that smells of you,

and rains, and trains. Did you sit

on that window ledge and smoke

a cheap cigarette or two, while

her eyes ran all over you like

she was caressing you with

her fingers? Or were you talking

of things you love the most--

films, art, Cal, life and death ? Or

did you just sit in each others'

arms, quiet, letting your hands

do the talking?

I will never know. If I ask you,

then you would perhaps laugh

it off, or be offended. But then,

I will never know. If I think

of you, should I not have the

liberty to hold you close? If I

think of you, shouldnt the heavens

above send you to me? They

have been known to perform such

miracles (!) If I think of you,

should I not have the liberty

to love you?

An Ode to Writing

i

have

been

told

that

this

is

wrong

.

(to all those, who could not.)

"And in short.."

Should I stand in a corner

Fold my hands and wait

Or,

Should I plunge into this life

Whatever this life maybe

This life that made me walk
on maddened, nomadic roads

Roads that lead from one city,

a City of Joy to another, a city

That looks like a dark green bowl

where all, in sixes and sevens

just pour in, hoping

to embrace one another.

These nomadic roads

They lead somewhere - of course they do

but I do not want to know where they end.

Who is to say what

I am

I am not lost

I am not found.

I once saw a sunrise

and a sunset, standing

On the terrace of the

Nandan Cinema Hall.

The night came, and

with it brought something

else. Truth is, I never found out

What it was. I once saw

A sunrise and a sunset, only

This time it was from a

French window in a

posh restaurant in Connought Place.

Do sunrises and sunsets change ?

Do skies change ? Did the air

I breathe change ? Yes, they did.

They all changed.

The scenes, the sights,

The roads, the smiles,

The tears, the villages,

Their sounds, he dreams

The vows. They all, all

changed.

"Change is the only constant"

Some madman had once said

I dont think he knew

He was speaking the Eternal Truth.

If you are confused, then so am I

Come, let us hold hands and

Walk these nomadic roads

I do not want to know

Where they lead, or end-

I like their mystery.

August 6, '11

4.40 a.m. in a

Yellow coffee cup

Slumber flirts with

Their brown and black eyes

Something must have been said

Something had to be said

Fingers make love

Noses rub

Lovers, humans, they might be

And yet a green silence hangs

Over their souls and peace

Eludes them

And Marley sings

No woman no cry

Through tears in his eyes

And a hole in his heart.

too early

in the day

too many people.

8.45 a.m., new hair

look around, its the world

a red scarf, you say

"dont buy me things"

poetry is not something

i am good at.

you want to go to lunch with him

i want to hold your hand

and smell yellowed, moth-eaten books

in old curiosity shops

9 a.m., your hair looks nice.

you are like the night's sky...

imagery is overrated

may i tell you that i

perhaps am in love with you

do i dare to ?

for every step i take towards you

you remain standing, motionless

you do not come any closer

winter becomes more cruel

warming hands at a roadside fire

is not the same as warming hands

inside your skin.

you dont have everything that you want

but then i dont have you

so life trails on peeking into

the by-lanes of a this city.

10 a.m., you move closer to me

because you are cold

i move closer you to you

because it is you

my heart slips down my sleeve.

little girls in pretty boxes

their skirts in the air

their hearts on the floor .