The other day

"The other day you wanted to be that datura"
"swaying happily in the mountain breeze"

'yes at that moment I wished'

"Are you going to live only in those few moments?"
"In those fleeting joys and whims"

'Is life in itself continuous?'
'or is it closely knit by us'
'with colored threads till the end'

"Yes it is weaved by us into one final peace"
'True indeed'
'but the little gaps are filled'
'With questions like these'

Who are you?

Time flows
Taking with it
The drifting moments.

Happiness and sadness
Worries and sins
Emptiness and activity
Everything is gone, awash.

Only a strange image remains
Asking
Who am I?
And who are you?

Piece keeping

The chronicler was absent that day
Else In that blue letter pad
he would have listed
the things that were lost.

As the cameras flashed
There would be speck of light
In every one's eyes.

Reporters argued for this
To be a moving story
More moving than others they said.

Storytellers wandered in the rubble
Picked up their next piece
And gave empathy.

Painters, yes, they took time
But they came with the canvas
To crayon the place.

That was how
Piece keeping was done.

Swing

Images stay
But imagination does sway

I see you
But its not you
It is me in you

Done with you now
Where is my swing ?

Let me oscillate
Meet all my selves
Till there's a snap
And a feather-like fall.

Diary

I hate sudden voids
So,I enjoin the incidents
In that process
fill up the diary

Once this gets started
There is no stopping
Flapping those yellow pages
I write some new ones

My last attempt to stop time
-The new diary with no dates -
need this to finish off
What I left in those yellow pages.

Between the lines

The distant star's light reaches us
(without any pomp)
Silently and solemnly
She would cry facing the wall.

Thunder and lightning
It was her chuckle
Then in a flash
All smiling, she was.

She comes to me
"I wrote a poem" she says
"It doesn't look like one" I say
(So broken it was ,on a crumpled paper)

She sniggers away
Leaving the paper with me and shouting
"He likes it ! He likes it!"

All day I wander
Among the broken lines
And unknown lanes
As the creases on the paper
Breathe life into it.
(Like the river routes carrying vitality )