Those Two Cyclists

in all their gear

flew down this street

on their bicycles

like birds

sunlight spreads like joy

over the mountains

in Kumily

and the trees sway

in the breeze

in the evening

this town

is like a dream

I do not walk

the roads

I am lifted

down its streets

like a balloon

and the people

I meet

similarly are led along

in some dream

they come floating down

to smile and say hello

and in the dusk

I find the entire town

slowly moving in the air

and everyone is

without a care

and then the mountains prepare

to sleep cosily against the sky

into whose arms we now fly.

It Would Be Better

to live in another world

than here

with coronavirus all around

and you look at the trees

the forest the green leaves

their beauty

and you are calmed

the virus is claiming more lives

more and more infections

and the sky yesterday

was so spectacular

one big white cloud

so full of light

glowed in the beautiful blue

cumulus cloud Claus said

and there were darker and bigger

light purple clouds in the background

and Claus Omana and I agreed

that it was going to rain

and then there was  a deep blue glowing

in pretty rectangular shapes in the sky

through the trees we saw them

and I found the colour so lovely

it made me so happy for a moment

coronavirus or not

I just soaked in the wonder of it all

the sky up above was so great

it was challenging fate

and we in lockdown

understood this

and soon there was the moon

so big and so nice

burning silver

and once again

there was that enchantment

that joy born of fire and ice

fuel that warms the heart

and the light in the sky

made our minds fly

away from coronavirus

and all the death and destruction

it had wreaked

for a moment it seemed

the moon was our ship

and we were embarking

onto it from the terrace

it was here to rescue us

and birdsong

led us through the air

completely free from care

and the sky that I saw

was bathed in ochre light

it was like one big brushstroke

sprayed across the blue

through which

we were now travelling

in the moon

when the whole damn world

has gone crazy

like a loon.

My Mind Is Wandering

like the wind

we would go mad

if we could not fantasize

how much of life can we take

how much can we have

so we need excursions of the mind

for it to be happy

to fool around

to play around

a little

or else we will be

toy soldiers

never to come alive

you see this reader

we are not perfect

that is what the bird

keeps chirping so loudly

outside my window

we are mere dust

we’ve got to live

you see

it chirps

and slowly the sun

begins to shine

after rain

and people talk

and my silver camel

stands with its head raised

and Goofy is riding his engine

and this porcelain white skull

looks out at the world

with holes instead of eyes.

What Comedy Runs In The Head

life’s a joke

I want to write

the darkness

I want to swim

in its depths

through this valley

through the trees here

I want to fly

into the night

and whirl like

a star in the sky

I am lit up

for this entertainment

this deep blue wonder

I wake into

and find air

and peace

a musician

blows his flute

he is made of ivory

and beautiful planes

and he gives me the key

to my home

a pyramid

at whose triangular entrance

I now stand

bathed in laughter and light.

Time To Go

tossing through

the yellow room the ship of shadows

in all this talk of trains…

 

to see pink buildings sail the sky

you can’t miss them

buzzing through in a taxi’s

 

butterfly flight

where blue red green

and other colours you’ve seen

 

bring you back home

in an orange steamer’s dream

blowing in the afternoon.

 

 

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

The Purple Cape

of a comic book character

broke free from

the minds of the children

playing in the verandah.

In the wind

it floated through the dark passageway

of bathrooms bursting with stars

into the mango tree nearby.

There it remained stuck in the branches

mistaken for a bedcover

which I always cover myself with

before going to sleep.

Looking out at the sky today

from my window

it’s beautiful bright blue

everything seems perfect.

Part of the terrace

of the building across mine

is a child’s painting

from a sketch-book.

Two white pipes

rise beautifully quiet.

A crow flies next to it.

 

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

This Fall Into The Gutter

This endless swaying of the green treetops

The beginning of the world

The tie and the bridge and the tongue burning

The hare and tortoise race

Madness

Howling men and screeching spitting women

Children hanging from trees upside down grunting like stray dogs

I swallow the oceans with all its creatures and life

I switch on all the streetlights and then I switch them off

I hound all the bars all the shops selling skulls and bones and flesh

I eat 200 cats and 400 rats and 600 bats

I eat every strand of my hair running wild

Through the shops closing shutter

And now you can imagine my fall into the gutter.

I Walked

and walked in

the noonday sun

till my clothes

turned into a river

I swam through

the heavy traffic

asking for directions

no one knew the place

I wanted to go

I walked back and reached

the railway station

with crowds swarming

all over the bus depot

the streets the restaurants

the tea-stalls

the street-food sellers’ carts

rickshaws puttered everywhere

then someone pointed out

the building

well I had passed that place

but never thought

it would be there

off the street

in a cluster of several others

I was looking for a seven-storey building

and not spotting one on both sides

of the road

had walked on and on…

finally entering its cool foyer

for a moment I thought

how nice it would be

if I could forget myself

forget my purpose here

if the lift with its sliding iron doors

forgetting its function too

could take me straight to the sky

where large white clouds were blowing

unthinking in every direction

unmindful of anything

that happened here.

 

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

Spark

was the word

the man said

imagine the picture

the vest

the god

the fluorescent tubelight

the green walls

the grey grey Wednesday

he said the spark

had caught

it had scored the music

he could see the other houses

sailing in the moon

their windows open burning with light

the red BEST buses

creating a roar

and the lines and lines of washing

singing in the wind

he said he could now hear the music

setting the stars on fire

making them jump and dance

in the municipal gardens

where the children made new friends

and cheered and played

he said it was the spark.

 

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

It Is Too Silly

of these buildings

to come visiting

across the garden

when childhood

and youth

have gone

when middle age

has taken residence

in my body

giving me hypertension

now it’s that rocket

in the middle

of that garden

that knocks

on my mind

reminding me

of my boy glimpse

into the atmosphere

the world beyond

the sky

I could not see

well it’s that same world

where I’d like to be

O woe is me

I’m an old monkey

hanging from a tree.