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).

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).

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).

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).

In The Morning

I lie down in bed

and look out at the sky

a crow caws

I find it so musical

it opens up the universe

for me

turning my heart to memory

to water

to waves

and the world throbs

to this beat

and it is so relaxing

and delightful

I write with glee

like a skater

like a fisherman

and see how all this

all this slowly disappears

and memory returns with trees

in the evening

in the rain

and now I know there is no rest

I have to be

a bird cooing

and I am stuck

so I wait

and railway platforms

bus stops

and several other places

come to mind

and I look at the crowd

I look at myself

and find it has all become

a bit too much

and I have nothing

really to say

and stare

in this air

of free confusion

blowing

and just then the rocking trains

and their loud horns

echoing down the sky

bring me back to my room

and I find myself

still writing

and there are more crows

in the sky

now cawing

and then a cock crows

from the chawls here in Mograpada

a slow long call

in the clear cool air outside

it is like an avian symphony

in the sky

I listen

to the quietness

it makes

inside my heart

I decide to put aside my art

I stop writing

and go out into the day.

 

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

I Am A Pyramid

of flesh

with a head

and a white t-shirt

sitting cross-legged

on my bed

writing this

my small yellow room

is calm

with the AC on

my two grey cupboards

I look at

then my teapoy with my toiletries

and water

and next to me is this

old yellow chair

from my childhood

where my thoughts

begin to wander

leisurely like air…

and when

I come back

here again

from there

I find

the white screen

of the computer

is slowly

turning into sky

beckoning me to fly

so goodbye.

 

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

And Now The Mind

is here

just behind the ashtray

good morning day

for long I have wanted

to kiss you

feel your dew

on my lips

no more I think

the body has failed

the mind dissolved

now it’s just this endless wandering

like I’m doing now

right now

through this white desert

trying to find all these words

for company

for direction

like lamp-posts

or all day I will just be talking

to myself

not reaching anywhere

like this I can wander to a bus-stop

and even get into a bus

for a ride

and see where it takes me

now when the day just folds

itself over me like a blanket

becomes night

my body clock broken

my mind such a mix

of memory and time

my life bursts open

burns

becomes bare ashes

and then just

skeleton images I have in my mind

caricatures of myself mirrors

repetition

rhyme

a connection

ignition in time

and I feel liberated

only when I write

like riding my bicycle

as a child

through new lanes

those moments

of discovery

in the morning

finding those new buildings

lime-washed in the sun

those trees

what fun

and now it’s nice

once again

and it smells so refreshing

this early morning warmth

the coolness of this coconut water

and the silence

and the silence

so beautifully broken

by these pigeons

their bush of fluttering wings

rising in one sudden moment

my mind gets completely blown away

and then I ride through sky

the wind rushing

down the roads

the buildings speeding

the vehicles

in their silent seas

the palm trees

and their swaying leaves

whispering

come

come Dominic come.

 

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