Sometimes

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).

Advertisements

The Focus Is On A Point

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.

The Mad Woman

with her dark black face

in the night

her ragged hair

and her bags

was deep in conversation

with herself

in the stench and the grime

of the platform

at VT station

when she caught me

looking at her

her face contorted

she shouted out an unearthly sound

and my heart froze

until she went back to her argument

slap slap she started beating the walls

with her slipper

slap slap slap slap

the platform echoed

till my train arrived

and hurtled me home.

 

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