Trouble

A mountain can take it
A blade of grass can fake it.
But all of us here in between 
run for cover when it's seen.

Traffic island

Immobile in a river island of traffic
that is lapping around a long truck
I notice the trees on the roadside
waiting more patiently than me
for things to clear up so that
they can finally grow some leaves.
Just that afternoon, you were talking
about leaving the city and you said
you were counting time and money
more carefully than ever.
We agreed to that whatever in the
warmth of affirmative echo of friendship
and rowed the next day the usual.
But now I see everybody, walking around
with the engines revved up.
The compasses point homeward.
A home where we are all headed
once things clear out.

Caved

When I learnt from the guide book that
the hills have been scooped out for creating these caves,
I felt the renewed force of the chisel working
the air around me and making way for my 
superficial meditations. When I looked at the ceiling 
sculpted and painted centuries before Michelangelo,
an ache ran down my back twisted by the forceps of Time.
The ghouls, gods and the ordinary dancers on the panels
hopped me across centuries and the rock itself for a moment 
turned into fabric waving in a timeless wind. 
A flag of longevity raised in stone.


(Ajanta, Ellora)

The remaining

The ones who came from the same place.
The once inhabitants of that temple of birth.
The siblings, make one final circle.
A circle of the remaining
Into which sooner or later
each of them will disappear.
But life teems even in this shadow
of a dark door opened underground.
It lets out the cry of a child
seeking attention and pulls away
from the miner who is searching
with a lamp oozing darkness.
It drowns in silence the real sound
of the battle and the massacre
of the final day. And it questions,
who wants to stay longer?
Neither the decaying body
nor the assembled minds
that are calculating when
they would reach home and
what's for dinner, where
Sugars rush over the waters of life
at a meal of the good sigh.

Family only

Often I forget what it is all about.

I forget that after eking out a living

one has to go on to seek the loving.

The egging on by evolution
be taken up as a hot pursuit.

All the way to the altar would be good
for an unhitched man's libido
is too much of a threat
to the good and complaining neighbors.

Who could blame them?

These shoes of solitude are heavy

with darkness and dirt from the unknown.

Into the mild

If at all our ashed out ancestors 
look down upon us, some of us
will be really looked down upon;
while we debate whether to take rest
from populating our nest or just go for it.
To have or not to have is the real question
and To exist or not to exist, we answer them,
has become a thing of the ancient past.  
Moments for us seem more eternal now
than for those foremen who really had 
only two modes of living: fight and flight. 
They will mightily envy our position as we 
while away time to find the right person. 
Shuffling in and out of our burrows 
we discuss what we think is grander 
than just food that lies cold 
between two probables who are 
warming up for the long night.

Lonelier than thou

Lonelier than thou is the anthem 
that goes on in full blast in my head. 
Drugged by this I pass over others' stories 
as if they are spread out in a newspaper 
that is filled with only headlines.
A big S, a big F or a big B holds my gaze
depending upon the curse that starts the flood.
There is always time and place for one more 
curse for the world which is out to get us. 
As others' problems parade in full flare
the flag of solitude is hoisted inside me.
There is a sudden volcanic eruption 
and the moment hardens into a memory 
that is walking by your side. 
I hold on, maintain silence in respect
till the shadow has its way. 
Each moment becomes a pin hole camera 
and I try to get a convenient view 
of something far and powerful. 
But I make a mindful note that 
my love for you has grown to be 
a mountain that does not fit any mirror.  
And it does not help from how far I look.