in the streets
where hollow buildings
aflame ask
what do we do now
what do we say
outside the city
where land meets sea
birds are tearing the sky
to pieces
and all the alphabets
have fallen on the ground
lines lead to squares and circles here
in the deep division
of the multiplying mad world
round and round
the clusters of burning lights
flowing into the darkness.
The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).
for human suffering
it is so bad
the misfortunes
I feel eyes
watching me
all the time
my mind
is disturbed
but there is
only myself and my pain
and the suffering
is such I feel
I wish I could be a bird
but the horrors
become a mountain
they flay me
as I stand fighting
I will die
when I will
I shout
and then
I hear the birds tweet wildly
and Bombay explodes in rain
the dark city dances like a ghost
I go quiet and watch
the unhappiness begin to wash away
until my body and mind are silent as a tomb
and I feel the cosy comfort of the womb
O cradle of civilization rock me now rock me now in this rain
and thank you thank you so much for stealing away my pain.
I imagine
what they
look like
in my mind
are they red black
is my mind
is it wet
is it like a mouth
words are all
I have
I tell myself
in my cave
I pave
my way out
with words
in the morning
I sing with the birds
so musical
in the sky
and with the clouds
I fly
to this
quiet place
where there
is no sound
and the world
looks so round
so beautiful
so delightful
so full
of enchantment
words make me forget
this life on rent.
The above poem is from my third book The Branches (2015).
this happiness
this room of red
humming beautifully
through the dark
to a tailor
and ask for pants
would be to find
deep pockets
in the world
where I could go
to rest.
The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).
of 2014
June 4
I have cleaned
my house
and sit on my bed
that has freshly changed
bedsheet
and myself
bathed
in my T-shirt
looking at the world outside
in the rain
how the light has changed
so early in the morning
to something so different
I sit here searching
what is it
I wonder in my heart
and it is so beautiful
this deep valley opens up
that goes on and on
and a cock crows
and I listen to the ensuing silence
I look at the houses
yellow green blue white
but it’s mostly the smell
and the coolness
and again the cock crows
and there I go
through the streets
through the swishing vehicles
their lights blazing
reds oranges golds
and all those fluorescent streetlights
like dreams
passing by the buildings
the gardens
of forgotten days
when I would walk in my windcheater
amidst the fallen branches
on the footpath
the crushed yellow laburnum floating
in puddles
I would look up as always
at the balconies
and sometimes find someone
picking clothes from a line
how sweet that used to be
but often it was the trees
and the dripping raindrops
dazed in green
that quickly carried me away
to those spots of skylight
where I wandered on
and walked till I reached the moon.
The above poem is from my third book The Branches (2015).
the sheep are led
down the wet street
my mind is a spring
by the Parvati river
how it gushes and rushes
down the rocks
as I am
whooshed
into a thousand bleating
mountain goats
led by this little shepherdess
in medieval red
how sweet
her beautiful girl face
under her cap
and I go down the grey road
leading high up
where the mountain peaks in May are still capped in snow
and as the sun comes out you see them glow
and O I am this high Himachali wooden house
looking out my dark eye windows
my roofhead of beautiful black slate sleeping in rectangles
until that black dog in Tosh takes me
down to the waterfall
and I fall down the earth path that is steep
and I sit on a rock and I weep
and as the water forces me open
I become all sound crying
Guruji I shout tears streaming down my face
and the high Himalayan snow-capped mountaintops smile
Shakespeare I cry aloud
and the white peaks dazzle like diamonds
then a bird begins to sing its sweet long note
teeee tee teeee teeeee tee tee
tee tee too too tooooo
tee tee
just like jazz
when I find
the dog asleep
behind me
and as I turn
the sparkling hills are starting to fly
Jimmy Jimmy
I say
thank you for your help
as we shout
Jai Bholenath.
there is birdcall
in the sky
they are celebrating
with chirp and song
and whistle
the paradise of summer
in the mist
beautiful white buildings stand
like they were eternal
in the trees gulmohur bloom
bright red
and yellow laburnum flowers
adorn the streets
and now the sun
slowly rises through the blue
in swathes of gold
but only I know
how it feels
sitting here
at my window
only I know
my burning life
turning to ash
on my tongue.
for a piece
of white sky
there are these dark clouds
to sort out
what do you do
when your mind gets stuck
what happens when
white sky steams
when the humid grey world
turns into water
where do you go dear?
The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).
in the darkness at night there’s a movie in the sky
it’s always too good it’ll make you cry
as your life in trains and rooms go by.
Sometimes you’re in a train in the afternoon passing by
and the sea is so beautiful it’ll make you cry
and at night the stars come out to dance
and the moon climbs high.
Sometimes you’re at home all high and dry
and you’re doing some work by and by
and you see the birds fly slowly in the sky
and you look and look and quietly sigh.
Sometimes you’re at home sleeping at five
and you go sliding down your bed into the sea
and you wake up with the sound of your own cry.
Sometimes you’re on the street walking when you almost fly
and sometimes you’re bewildered that everything is a lie
hold your breath for a while that it might pass by.
Sometimes it’s best not to pry
and let things quietly lie
Sometimes it’s too much my oh my!
The above poem is from my third book The Branches (2015).
Donkey Kong
Octopus
the day is longer than the verandah
summer is hot
and I know
what it is to be sad
life I cannot fathom yet
but I see the buildings and the trees
I see the roads and the cars
and the faces of the people and I am happy
only now this summer I remember all this
sitting in my room
the laburnum outside is a yellow carpet on the trees
there is so much shit in the world
chemical warfare in Syria Kashmir is burning
an iron griddle falls on a little girl’s head in Bombay
a piece of her skull gets lodged in her brain
what horror I think lying down in bed
as the afternoon sun breathes like a dragon outside my window
and then the doors of my mind close
the words I read and write become water
I hold on to my life
I can barely recognise
to claim
this is not the person I am
this is not the world I know
I think
and this is what life is
I realise
as it slowly begins to get darker
and the birds start playfully wheeling around in the sky
while I sit alone at my window watching.
