The World Is The Ultimate Magic Show

such a lot it has to offer

now I’m here in Kumily

it has been raining in May

Claus Garden is lush green

and Claus talks about life and insects

suffering and death

about Germany and Europe crumbling

I am old now it doesn’t matter, he says

and I’m relaxing after a long journey

two-hour flight from Bombay, five hour taxi uphill

and after living alone for so long

I’m happy to be here and happy

to hear Claus talking

I noticed the jackfruit hanging

from the trees

all along the way

I saw green rivers smiling in joy

and boys and men jumping into them

now the crickets begin to chirp

and before you know it

it’s a chorus

and then a roar rising like a wave

and now I know nature’s symphony

and think of the waterfall cascading

down the rocks

along the way

dawn is slowly approaching

the cocks are crowing

I look at the lightening blue sky

and I look at it

it’s wet deep blue like an ocean

like nature’s cinema and the

beautiful green leaves and me.

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Three Dancers

in brightly coloured shoes

scratch their scruffy hair

till they shake off a train.

In the dark at Oval Maidan

Rajabai Tower’s clock

rings its half-hour chimes at 9.30.

Beautiful red BEST buses

their interiors lit fluorescent green

go skating round the ground.

Like fallen beads from a chain

sparse groups of men in twos and threes

sit under the stars hanging hard.

And the trees so free

swaying so mightily

turn into rockets

ready to fly.

 

The above poem is from my second book Reeling (2013).

Through The Green Hills

we went

through the clouds

in the sea

there we heard voices

calling out their names

and saw shells

white glittering pieces of rock

beautiful red stones

we saw them

the sun floating in the water

the ocean singing dancing

and knew who we were

as we kicked our ball in the sand.

 

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

And Now

after all the madness

of the night

of red blood

seeping down the sky

down my walls

I sit here blank

and unhappy

my heart is a

ship on fire

sinking

and the roaring waves

of my days

engulf me

like demons

Dominic

Dominic

they call out

and I know

I tell them

I know the gardens

I know the dew on the grass

how it feels

I know I tell them

the kiss of the moon

on my eyes

Dominic Dominic

they call out

as the water

darkens my hours

I know I tell them

the warm morning sun

on my skin

I know the air

I tell them

I am a white butterfly

how wonderful it is to fly

but

Dominic Dominic

they call

as the roaring now

threatens to drown everything

around

I know the ant’s journey

I tell them

I know how they live

I was their friend once

how sweet they are

how much of the world

is theirs

how good a family

they are

I say I know

their lives

take it easy

I say

yet Dominic Dominic

they call out

my name.

The Old Merry-Go-Round

in my school

how it rusted

broke down

and became

dangerous

once it was green, blue, yellow, red and orange

it slowly crumpled

the small garden

it was in

became a mess

too many weddings

too much cooking

it became a wasteland

dry yellow stalks

grew in the iron

and wood

of the carousel

the mangled metal

hanging jaws

arms

angry

tilting like an old woman the sun burned away from our minds.

 

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

Now This Is How It Is

inside I’m full of sadness

my mind is weaker

than a blank page

the sky mocks me from up high

so many years

I rose before it

and now

here once again

I sit

on my bed

writing this

the rains

are blowing

the emptiness

about in my life

the world lush and green

waits like a shy bride

and I see nothing

but the endless

haunted road

its beauty

its terror

and sigh

and in my mind

I see lorries go by

and think

will I go like this

into the night

full of stars

will I roar free

into the dark

will I tell the moon

horn ok please.

The Mist Takes Away

the palm trees’ worries.

They stand there dreaming.

 

You think of yourself

coming to an end,

slowly.

 

Then, the wet red roof tiles

of the houses below

breathe awake

stirring the bluewhite

in the sky

like water.

 

You see all this.

The cream buildings

bathed by the sun

smiling in glee

and the grey gloomy ones,

 

the old,

standing impassively,

and that leaves you

looking on quietly

with nothing

nothing at all

to say

to the day

waking outside

your window today.

 

 

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

Belapur To Bandra

In the darkness of the bus depot

the bus arrives

its interiors lit fluorescent

beautiful green

I am travelling in a bus

after ages

and we turn and turn

road after road…

the neon-lit streetlights

and buildings go past…

while the bus makes a sound

like a wave…

my fellow passengers

are such quiet men

such sweet women

in this late night ride

reminding me of so many others…

O what is that guy up to

in his life…

what is she doing…

and the dead whom the sea

remembers so clearly

so eloquently

so well…

and there we already are

turning one last time

down this narrow near-midnight street

parked with cars asleep

the driver blares his loud horn

a rickshaw gets out of the way

and we race into Bandra bus depot

burning brighter than a festival.

 

The above poem is from my second book Reeling (2013).

Riding The Grey Crest,

the grey acres of the city,

the mind’s misses…

 

Who can tell you

what is what dear

returning home

at night.

 

With this grey road ahead

in the oncoming traffic

in the weariness that dies

in this noise…

 

We become ghosts

to ourselves…

Strangers passing by

in the dark.

 

 

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

Now The Dimness

has become a black stone

this is dawn

this mountain

behind which the sun rises

come steam in the desert city

of skulls and ships

see how the heat

scorches life

to rust

in this harbour

these white pigeons

how they sit at the parapets

and coo

what do they say

the barking dogs

the noise of the vehicles

have burnt my mind

to cinders

and the crows the sparrows

what are they saying

I hear the storm

rising in the red earth

and watch how the dust whirls

and at night now

the cacophony rises

the demons come out

dancing with wild abandon

their red tongues out

thirsting for rain.