Gandhi Market

Amidst evening and footpath stalls,

the toy-sellers have their wares out.

My mother will buy me a gift

for my birthday, any toy I want.

There are buildings and there

are lights and there are people.

The sky changes from blue to pink

all along the stretch of concrete.

God’s hand runs over it, I think.

God’s palm that is making the sky

change colour,

and on my own palm

I have an aeroplane rolling,

sparks of gold fly in its red windows.


The above poem is from my first collection Reeling (2012).

I Realise There Is More

emotional turmoil in me now

and that has made my mind burst

in a world of memories

real and imaginary

now I look at the sky

and see a golden sparrow

in the bright blue

I hear song

such liquid voices

thrum through the universe

there’s this lovely rhythm

and soon I’m beginning to live

in a small way

I hold on to it

I start and keep going

see there are all these fruit trees

to climb

all these cassettes

what are they

I ask

and then I tell myself

see there are these kites in the sky

in the evening

that come and sit in the pit

of your stomach

this feeling of having ended

closed like a book


and then there is

this release once again

into the skies

this self-forgetfulness

when you become the kite

and calmly fly fly fly

over all that you’ve seen

the world your life spread out below you

like nothing

like absolutely nothing

and now it is once again

happiness open unrestricted happiness

joy joy joy joy joy

and as far as your eye can see

light that warms your heart

making it sing like a bird

soaring into the skies

songs of the universe dancing

but your mind just won’t stay this way for long

unknowing in these heavens of bliss

these coos of cloud comfort

it goes to sleep

and when you wake

you are once again

in your old yellow room

in bed next to your grey cupboard

and there is so much talk

in your head

it is all just too much

too much I tell myself

too much for your poor head to bear

your heart to utter

see how it leaves your mind’s tongue twisted

tied and tired

how your ears ache

go away wild voices

I say

and begin complaining

and cursing

crushed crazy.


The above poem is from my third collection The Branches (2015).