Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Arriving early

They arrived early
for the anniversary dinner.
Even ahead
of some of the cutlery at the table.
They are here
well before the children that will follow.
They are here
taking one step at a time.
They are here
like the will before the way. 


Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Pecking order

I work in a glass house.
An old granny-type of building
Peering through its thick glasses.
Inside, I peck at the keyboard trying to make
bread and butter via a computer.
There is this regular visitor
that never misses a day of my work:
A bird pecking at the glass window.
It must’ve confused it for another bird
Must’ve wanted to kiss it up-close.
Or does it suspect it to be a still pool of water?
A taut vertical lake that is devoid of any ripples.

While holding tight onto the twig it chose
It seems to observe me for a long time.
Trying to make sense of this
part of the world before flying away.
Chewing one end of a pencil I try to note
everything down and rumple it up at you.
Knowing well that your heart is a frozen, faraway lake.



Tuesday, May 2, 2017

The lines of history

Lines of fate
Lines of authority
Lines of events
Battle lines, Bloodlines
Front lines, Headlines
Lines of graves and prayers
Lines in a textbook and on water.


Thursday, April 13, 2017

Driving lessons

The ABC of driving, the instructor tells me
are the accelerator, brake and clutch.
And warns that if I accelerate alone and don’t brake
then we all have to clutch at something to hold on to.
But soon I realize that the car is not capable of all that.
The only thing that works perfectly is the heating.

The rest of the alphabet of driving, he says, is to watch
other people on the road - both moving and standing still.
Only when I am at the wheel I see all these unnecessary people
on the road whom I would like to delete from the scene.
Honking can do this trick, he instructs, if the sound
is loud enough to be an extension of my disgust. 


Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Report from the hills

The view of the distant snow-clad mountains
made up for the lack of any paintings on the walls.
It was snowing during spring which the locals said
was very rare - as rare as our vacations.
We did nothing during the entire stay.
This is totally different from the nothing of the plains.
Wrapped in fleece blankets we looked like sketch pens
tightly packed in twos for warmth and ease.
The next day, the sky was clear and we could see
the mountains shake the snow off.
While we struggled to keep it within us
as we went downhill.