There Are Trees

on top of the mountains

in the distance

from my terrace they look like ferns

almost fantasy creatures

I’m so glad my neighbour switched off the music

now I can hear the wind through the trees

this morning the birds chirped so beautifully

it was so joyous

life here is good peaceful calm

the valley is so lovely to watch

and pretty painted houses

at the other end through the trees

also look like fantasy creatures

green pink white yellow

they are so beautiful

and yesterday while I was reading

my neighbours

a short lame boy and a young woman

were at the gate

the young woman said

she wanted to pluck neem leaves

from my tree

and she jumped and got them

I felt good then

and now the little birds chirp again

so sweetly

they make a flower in my mind

I give to you.

You Said

you were walking

with a bucket in your hand

you said God was in the bucket

you said you walked for hours

along this road in a foreign country

while cars went zzzupp zzzupp

in the afternoon

many years later I met you once

outside my house

you were drunk

you played your piano in that hall

and hit us

we sang

transported on a sea of song

we sailed to Rome

O captain at the helm

see this soldier

marching off to war

in his helmet and armour

his mother weeping

we ran like deer through the woods

chased by a burning moon

we sang and the hall rang with our voices

vive la vive la vive l’amour

your wife had died…

many years

after your own death

today I think

of your dark glasses

your grief.


– For the late Mr Fernando, Singing Master,

St Joseph’s High School, Wadala


The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).

Sometimes You Stare

at blankness

and depend on fancy

life often does that to you


the monkeys

stole an apple

from my living room

and left it half-eaten

on the terrace

which I found today

most of the times

we are victims

of our own nature

open to error and death

and now the birds chirp

while my illness bothers me

I don’t feel well

I want to


my stomach my throat

my back my body

won’t let me

and then I hear my neighbours talk

and I know

there are other lives

billions spread out across

the globe

living with hope.

If I Was A Painter

I would paint the scene

outside my window this morning

Mograpada in mist

the small brown houses

in the distance

the railway tracks beyond

all hazy

the signal poles the buildings

and the trains slowly ambling

it’s like a scene

from some dream

a painting

in beautiful hues of whites blues and earth

I would draw

this local paradise

but it was while I was thinking this

that the best part happened

when an engine blew

its loud melodious horn

and had the final word.


The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).