We Are Tree

bird

singing angel

in the blue bush

of the sky

when we stand

at windows

in the cool air

of the morning

the buildings race

like a symphony

till the eye can see

the mind register

this beautiful expanse

this silent music of the senses

charmed

begin to soar

in the darkness

that is clearing.

 

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

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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).

I Have Been Collecting My Thoughts

day by day

without fail

but they all

seem the same

the same old room

the same old sun

the same old buildings hum

I think I’ll be mum

rather than some dull drum

but my mind keeps pushing me

and I go from room to room

and keep forgetting myself over and over

in the morning

in the afternoon

in the grey evening light before night

when birds circle frantically in the blue

I coo

O sky fall

do not stay there so sombre

let me rise

rise and rise

unrestrained.

 

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

Thoughts

I am a quiet man

I have imaginary conversations with no one

All day my moods shift like waves on a beach

Speaking of the beach I love the sky and birds

I love the buildings of Bombay the sight of lit windows at night

Sometimes my mind gets charged with murderous thoughts

Making me sink like a dead animal’s skeleton in sludge

I hate crowds and noise if it’s hot I sweat a lot

When I was younger my hands and feet would get chilled in the evenings

A boring book can send me into dim despair

Amidst trees I am sad and gloomy amidst mountains and breeze serene

I love to watch sunlight on things

They become magical they take me to my childhood

If I can’t dream it’s death

I love taxi journeys bus-rides

Trains I love their sonorous horn at dawn

I love elephants

I love to watch large white clouds move slowly across the sky

When I get stuck I burn away in anger

When I see glowing streetlights snaking along the road I am lit up a 100 lifetimes over

I become a traffic policeman

I become a prostitute

I become a telephone operator

I become a waiter

I become a stray dog

I become a beggar

I become a magistrate

I become a window pane

I become a local train

I become an aeroplane

I become the falling rain.

 

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

There Are Some Open Spaces

where you can be

preferably on a rock under a tree.

 

The vehicles in the distance you will barely hear

the old buildings across are dead and dear.

 

And as the rhymes you read open your mind

you look up at the sky calm and quiet.

 

There you see the endless white flowing

also perhaps one or two birds flying.

 

Now the day darkens and you feel

one with the trees one with the breeze

and you begin to walk home

one with the streets.

 

Shops and shoppers,

vegetables and vendors

gladden your eye.

 

Streetlight and headlight

brighten the night.

 

 

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

I Could Not Stand Up

not even

to my knees

there were words

so heavy

my head knocked

against the street constantly

I did not want to go on

but if I stopped

nerves burst through

my body

and my back cracked

so I stumbled on.

 

Out of nowhere

the music began to play

the notes slow

I saw the sea

and as I started

to stand up straight

through the mist

several skyscrapers rose.

 

 

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

The Watchman

sat under the mango tree

on a blue tin chair

tapping his stick

on the ground

in the afternoon.

 

Across the road

a cream Fiat slept

in its rusted garage

in the shadow

of a faded

yellow building.

 

The white sky

burned in

complete silence.

 

 

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

The Sky

is a big blue jar of water

I drink from all day

the birds do too

before returning to circle the buildings

how beautiful they look

carefree

going round

and I stay

at my window

and watch

I find

the shops

the thin strip of road

the timber sticks stacked

the trees

the locality

asleep

just waking

in the glowing golden light

giving it wings

making it merge with the sky

in the morning.

 

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

They Are Playing Cricket

at Oval Maidan

in the hot afternoon sun on Saturday

the boys are shouting and cheering

the thwack of bats on green tennis balls

groups of people in their track-suits

run along the periphery

from the taxi I’m travelling in

I look up at the graceful Art Deco buildings

standing in the shade

Palm Court Ivorine Belvedere Court

later returning by the same route at night

tired and perspiring

streetlights join my ride

quiet cars at traffic signals…

and at the Stadium Restaurant

where I have my dinner

I can’t help thinking again

this is the same city the same Bombay

where so many bombs have gone off.

 

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

You Would Know This

the afternoon asleep

like a log

the sun pouring and pouring

its light

the streets in silence

the lone man or two out

walking slowly

as though in a dream

the cars parked

deep in slumber

with always one rusted long dead

and here sometimes

when that rare breeze blows

a stray dry leaf

dragging along the road

is loud enough

to keep echoing in your head

50 paces or more.

 

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