Dreams, Diaries of Loss

That is what they are

always the remembering

the thinking in space

but here you probably have something

I mean the day’s done dead and all that

still, the moon comes to weep on your shoulder

you know this gives comfort

this remembering

picking up your umbrella ready to leave in the rain

you know these tears you cannot weep are not yours

drink a glass of water

pick up your umbrella and go into the rain

the road the ride everything you take with you in the backseat of the autorickshaw

going into the night that melts like ink in these streets

in your mind

is the way things work

this giving away that you know you live for

the gathering the going.

 

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

My Throat Is Trench Torn

wounded soldiers

try to run

with their guns

but fail

cannon blasts

rend all asunder

politics is the speech

of the day

should a girl talk

is she a doll

is her father dead

I don’t know

I say

and try to run

although I can’t

move an inch

and the buildings

all hoarded up

like forts

and mother and child

at the window

watching waiting

all their lives

what to do

where to go

at the railway station

the heads of the people

turn 360 degrees

in the streets

I drown in my own blood

eeeeh eeeeeh

I say

and scramble for safety

and when I rush to a garden

the merry go round

makes such a noise

the sea saws

hiss like snakes

and when I look up

at the sky

I see the sun bursting

into black ash

and now the world is gone.

If You Are So Buoyant

you’re not going to write a good poem

I tell myself

let’s see

I answer

typing with two fingers

you always do that

I tell myself

and I see the sun

above the ocean

in my mind

the orange brightness burning

like no other colour

the water so beautiful

in small sweet curves of transparency

my heart grows joyous

like the moon shining

in the dark

and I feel so happy

are you not like the deer then

I ask myself

silently watching

the world

and I wait and listen

while the sparrows chirp

outside my window

and a train goes gliding by

so silently

like a ghost skating

in the morning air

and I type with two fingers.

 

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

So Nice

to be sitting here

on Om beach

watching the beautiful green waves

from this high rock

the swimmers calling to each other

the patch of green rolling hill

and the wide open sea

a gorgeous deep light green

how lovely the couples look on this hillock

this girl in a bright pink salwar kameez

laughs so happily

and down there

there are two foreign couples

doing yoga

how beautifully

their arms move in synchronicity

and the sunlight blasts

the grey-brown thatched cafes

and shacks on the beach

they too seem to be laughing

shining bright

and the coconut trees in their grove

of golden green

call out to the black rocks

in the sea dazzling

smiling their blackest smile

and the boats so slow are all lazily looking

at this other couple in front of me

hugging and rocking

hugging and still

so long I say

so long Dominic

I leave you here

to watch the ocean

let it calm your mind

let its soft silver waves

weave a garland around your neck

like it does the sand

chanting peace peace peace.

Lovely

time I was having

when my neighbour called

to complain about the other neighbour

and messed up my mind

now here I sit staring

unaligned

and I feel like some skin-covered flying saucer

at a tilt

and there is darkness all around me

and one lonesome blue planet

that is all.

 

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

Lines

have appeared

out of nowhere.

A lion’s cave

lies quiet

under the earth.

There are two skies

skiing with the clouds.

The mind multiplies,

breaks down,

goes to seed,

which the lion eats.

Have you heard

his latest song?

It’s about a sea green giraffe

dancing in his pond.

 

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

This House

looks so pretty

its beautiful staircase

its white and orange window

its brown brick wall

and as I look

a crow descends

on its lovely red-tiled sloping roof

and the coconut trees

sway happily in the breeze

that is blowing

green coconuts hang in bunches

against the blue sky

the sound the leaves make

is the soothing sound

of the sea

and the sea is just behind

us here

on this lovely resort

at Kudle beach

where all night yesterday

a woman in a nearby cottage moaned

making love to her lover

for hours their lovemaking went on

perplexing me beyond wonder

and then there was this animal

or I don’t know what

first the noise was in my cupboard

and I thought it was a rat

then it ran across the walls

and I thought it could be the wind

but whatever it was

it ran across the roof then

and this woman cried.

Last Evening

I had dinner early

and hit the bed

I couldn’t sleep

I was feeling too bored

so I got up and

went to Juhu Beach

it was wonderful

the sun was still burning yellow

in the sky

the waves were silver

the sand was golden

and it wasn’t crowded

I walked along

and spotting

some stairs

leading to a building

went and sat

down there

it was beautiful

soon I was joined

by two northeastern children

a tiny sister and brother pair

the sister older

threatened to beat me first

then quickly became my friend

and chanting nonsense rhyme

jumped down the stairs

one by one

I leaned my back

against the wall

the poet in me delighted

the loneliness in me unlocked

and looked at the sea

my heart beginning to warm

and then I found myself laughing

when I was shortly joined by

a shaggy brown stray dog

who came looking

rather purposefully

for something

all in a pant

and finding me instead

quickly slithered away.

 

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

Hurriedly,

the poem

went out

into the street

even before it began.

 

The poem stretched its legs

and walked.

 

Soon, it had to

stop for breath.

 

Tired now, it wanted

to go back home,

but had forgotten

the way.

 

So the poem dragged itself

to a nearby tea seller

and sipping from

a tiny glass,

started singing:

 

Golden tea I really like. 

Steaming, golden tea.

 

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