Friday, May 31, 2013

a poem, incomplete ...

Once, into his ears I had whispered
the story of those glowing fireflies.
And since then,
 during many mysterious nights,
under the magenta blue sky
my whispers deepened
and the story became a dream;
a dream of a tomorrow, pregnant with today,
a dream of an unknown joy
with strange pains, hidden,
a dream of a horizon
towards which I had turned my back long ago.
The dream was soaked with the moisture
gathered from the monsoon rain. And then
he became my rain. Now,
He keeps drizzling in my brain and
 I carry him within
Like the fragrance of the hasnuhana.

But I know,
Soon, a silence will grow heavy
burrowing roots in the corners of the house,
and  the rainy season will change,
leaving behind
memories of a rainbow sky,
that I alone shall have to carry
into a warm winter fire,
struggling  to decipher
the mysterious monsoon,
of having once been soaked
in the rains;
wondering occasionally,
if it still rains where he lives
and if he still thinks of the paper boat
that we together tried to make!

Answers to which I will never know.
And till then, each time he will say he loves me
I would be surprised why there’s a lump in my throat
that refuses to dissolve into tears!

Friday, May 17, 2013

untitled ...

What if I become a snail struggling to hide my body into a stony silence?
What if I become a porcupine and you can’t make love to me anymore?
What if I become a comma and fill those empty pauses?
What if I am a riverine nymph and swishing my fishy tail escape into the ocean?

What if Hitler’s mother had Jew connection and Osama bin Laden’s Hindu?
What if my mood stops changing like the monsoon sky?
What if I become You and I peep into your soul?
What if someday you get the strength to let me go?

What if I become my eyes and close it against the world?
What if the blue black night becomes me and you watch but can not see?
thoughts are a museum; pictures on a wall ...
you leave it but it never leaves you!

Thursday, May 9, 2013

for my unborn children ...

I have looked for you
into the pregnant river water
on the right side of my bed
in the crevices of my long stretched days
in basil leaf and jasmine flower.
I have looked for you
among the happy giggles of children playing.
I have looked for you in his warmth
 in his heartbeats.
In the day, night, dawn and dusk
and in the coiled vine of desire
I have looked for you.

When insomnia becomes an infection to the eyes
I  colour your apples
Name your dolls
Sing you lullabies.
When the night becomes a blue-black bruise
I look for you.
When the orange Sun looks like
an excess bleeding in the sky
I look for you.
When he holds my face in his palm
I look for you.
I lie
I nurture secrets
I long for the sticky knowingness of his skin
I die to see myself in his eyes;
All for you
Only for you.
Waiting for you to be.
Wishing for us to be.