Saturday, January 2, 2016

Tagore I

Why mist clouds my heart-sky
Prevents me seeing you,
This attachment-mist Blinds me,
Prevents me seeing you;

Why must I see you only occasionally
And not forever?

In a split-light, in an eyelid-flutter
I perceive you;
An enduring fear- your Being lost,
For I lose you in a moment’s surprise,
My desire unfulfilled- I lose you
In the flutter of an eye- I lose you
My heart unsatiated- I lose you.

What must I do to obtain you
And keep you stored in vision?
O Eternal, wherefrom will I get such love
To store you in my heart?
Am I capable?
Who is, without your empathy?
Unless you yourself arrive?

I won’t look at any other self
Thus I pledge my life.
If thus be your words-
At this moment will I
Surrender my craving for the tangible
At your feet;
Surrender will I, un-fatigued.
Surrender will I, within your Being.

(translation of মাঝে মাঝে তব দেখা পাই, চীরদিন কেন পাই না...)

Musings I

With each passing season
I shed my skin,
I wear no masks
Yet, as time passes
The skin tires of change
Shrinks, sinks in.

My relationship
With my skin
Is like, well…
Relationships in general
I wear it
It wears me.

Someday, I will change this skin.

On a night such as this...

On a night such as this...
I found myself
Unable to write
As the ghosts beneath my pillow
Made too much noise.

I fed one with memory snacks,
The other I cajoled
With stories of the cruelty of men;
A third, precocious one
Told me—
I needed to change my pen,
As my writing tilted right
A sure sign of pessimism!

Initially exasperated
I soon found myself
Loving their company;
They were dead after all!
And less fearful than men
With their spears and spiked boots.

Dawn broke—
And I was able to resume writing.
I began with a couplet—
'Truth is Ugly
And Beauty is a Lie!'

Turning Asexual

A known stare
A husky voice
Doesn't turn on,
Any more than the murmur
Of clouds
On a post shower sky.
And tea tastes
Better than kisses.
Yesterdays seem light
Even when laden
With memory weights;
The present bears
The certainty
Of the dancing earth.
And futures smile
With the cold comfort
Of the morning snow.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Song of the Banshee

As the moon rose within her womb
She covered her face
And wept—
Tears that could give birth
To babies with ten heads—
A dream
Clutched in each paw.

A wail arose from her self
A song—
A lullaby that had once put
Nightmares to sleep.

Years ago,
Many would join, 
They would sing and rejoice—
A chorus of sirens,
Each with an unborn baby.

The babies have grown up—
Men with innocent stubbles 
And daylong lusts.

So now,
They have fallen silent—
Afraid of the melody,
Teeming with the coldness of memory
And the warmth of abandon.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

You suffocate me, yet
In strange ways you liberate;
Inwards I walk, yet
I see the shadows of my thoughts
Upon your bridges, columns and arches—
More than two centuries old
Their cold largess
Inspires ideology,
And drives me mad
With lust for revolution.

You bred me in your body, yet
Ravenous, I feed
Upon your dying flesh,
Just as you devour my life-force
To sustain your hunger;
Your poets, your songs, your insanity
Are mine to hold,
Just as my loves and desires
Are yours to engulf.

An alien space may take hold,
And unwalked streets may seduce,
But you will cling
Through known voices and faces,
And, even as I lie dying
You will absorb my traces.   

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

To a pair of blue jeans—

Perhaps the lather was enough!
Yet … I scrubbed you clean—
Peeling layers
Left by
Unknown lanes and unwalked roads,
And by shaky fingers and trembling lips
Which perhaps paused briefly
At the zip.
I scrub some more…

Am I a mermaid still?
In these jeans of yours
With their names still on it?
Should I clean the traces
Or let them remain?
The choice isn’t mine to make.
I scrub some more…

Even as I know
 won’t ever do this again!
The ritual of cleansing
Has freed me of legs
And given me fins.