Thursday, February 28, 2008


In that strong gale
Am a quivering blade of grass.

When the night breaks in,
In the grass lands I lie
Casting a swooning shadow
On the moonlit meadow.

The early rays escape me
But reach the reaper
Dwelling far from the
Shadow of the hills.

The morning dew
I preserve
Is still afresh
And here comes the sickle.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

The clown

We thought
It was just another performance
And there were chuckles

As he was buried with
His tears, His mask and
His gown .

Monday, February 25, 2008


Unperturbed and undiluted
By the din.
Like the eight directions
They chattered
In silence.
Or was it music ?

The octave engaged in a symphony
Scaling each other
With ease
Of a conductor's signs.

Dusk fell
And they dissolved ;
The silence fled
And the noise returned.

I am surrounded now
By a different silence.

The conclusions were made.

( eight mute people conversing on a railway platform;
Courtesy : Gunjan Verma)

Sunday, February 24, 2008


Somewhere distant
Near the horizon
Whirlpools and vortices
Are everywhere.

As a warning
The waves rise in a distance
But they reach the shore
In submission.

Her tears well up
In the high tides
As she rises up in vain
To reach the moon.

Solace is often found
By her
At the shore
In you and me.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Space Trip

You said the world was a dark place
And showed me the moon
A window out;

We then flew and settled
Amidst the stars

You said the other galaxy is new
Lets check it out
And I followed suit.

Now, we are the end of universe.

Thursday, February 21, 2008


I would archive it later;
The evening spent with you

I would paint myriad images
Of the hills, of the moon
And many more

But you, me and us know
That all I was doing
Was looking into your eyes.


I converse for hours
With the mirror
But it is your eyes
That blank me.

The moment of silence
Heartbeats in tandem
So close we are
Yet so far

In cliched expressions
I describe you;
And I realise
Language has limits.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008


In the used-goods shop
I cut a deal for the anklets
To decorate the feet
I bought the other day.

To some forgotten tune
And lost in fulfillment
They seem to be complete now.

In my thoughts
I try to sculpt her in vain
While she whispers
"Visit the used-goods store again".


The quivering image in the pond
Breaks away with the gust

There is this ephemerality
I rant about
To the passers by

Stillness settles in
And then I breakaway.

Thursday, February 14, 2008


The mishmash of alphabet
Is woven into a gossamer of words
Just like this one

A trap of stanzas
Waiting to grab
And transport your soul
To a strange place

Before you start deciphering
You would breakaway
From the geometric maze;

And become
A broken tile
No longer bounded
By the order of the mosaic.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008


I am scared
Of getting lost in the crowd
Recluse to me
Is still an illusion

I take a new bus
Enroute strange places
But still seated around
Are the familiar faces.

One busily drawing
Another busily scribing
And some others
Just musing.

I jump off and run
To an escape
But soon get captured
In their creations.


The pebbles chime
To the stream's gurgle
I wait for a ferry
That would transport me
To that red streak
Floating afar.

As night dawns
A struggle washes itself off
The last scent of the blood
In the stream of time

The streak dissolves
Nature absolves
Another era's struggles
And the stream gurgles
In resigned acceptance.

Monday, February 11, 2008


Did you see the eagle?
What a lofty flight it has!
Over the dead soldiers and Alexander
"Today would be a blood clot in time"

Did you call me?
What an eerie silence!
You are decorated, epitaphed
"Rest in Peace".


We meet and forget
The memories seem to be erased
Till suddenly you resurface
As my log-in's password.

Sunday, February 10, 2008


It would be six runs
When the ball was found
In the back yard cemetry

Every day,one among us
Would beat death to it's grave
And return with the ball

Today he went and never returned
He was not one of us.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Sweet Mints

As the sun goes up
We would start towards the school
Climb the bus
And look for our friends

Around the bend
With a cane basket
An old lady chewing betel
Sold the sweet mints
As red as the betel
Ground under her teeth

We buy the candy
And attend our school
We come back for more
But she would be gone
Leaving us wandering
In search of red trails.

Years rolled on
The morning sky is now
Clad in yellow and red
Cane basket and sweet mints.


Only the arial script
On his notepad marks him .
Typing, typecasting
He dwells in the delirium.

In the bright background
Of a virtual canvas
Dark stories are told
The hills and the morn are typed
Smiles are worded
And tears are metered

Oblivious and lost
In the clatter of the keys
He types away the world around.

Later, a tree from the rainforest
Would carry his message
Well typecasted
In laser print.

Tuesday, February 5, 2008


The wind blows fast
And her silhoutte forms
Out of the raging sand.

My heart burns
With a mounting desire
To whirl away with her
And reach the lands
Distant in that blur.

Her tears fill the sea
And as I walk by
The water touches my feet
Taking away
To those distant lands
The remnant bits of me.

Friday, February 1, 2008


Feelings faded
Like shelved old newspapers
Rearranging them
Images flash
In the morbid alphabet.