Togetherness...
We went out to see tiger, deer and peacock in the forest.
We went out to see tiger, deer and peacock in the forest.
You
had waited for a long time for this day.
Among
the abundance of nature and the swinging car ride
and
the sparkling excitement of your young eyes,
Hyderabad
is an enigma with its rocky exuberance.
Even
the orange colored trees lined up to go to the
water
that fell into the dam. We were happy.
He
kept complaining about
his
office
about
India
about
the traffic.
We
learnt:
His
office is bad
Life
is bad
Traffic
is bad.
I
kept nodding affirmative, you fell silent.
The
sun became rude and the ride bumpy!
We
came back
and
he complained about
not
seeing tiger, deer and peacock
and
we learnt: forests are bad.
Later
you and I discussed the deer in our chests
It
makes noise
And
lying on bed we heard it clearly!
…………………….
City and I ...
Dearest City, you and I
Dearest City, you and I
had
been busy with other things
involved
in the urgency of our work, but
now,
away from your touch
my
eyes long to see the Imli tree
under
which I had buried a fistful of my
loneliness
and a slice of my secret joy.
Dearest
City, you hold the word ‘home’ for me,
the
home that I carry like a liquid in my eyes.
So,
would you accept my desperation
to
put my memory in your time?
…………………….
Words about you ...
What if the paper flies away from under the words?
What if the paper flies away from under the words?
Words
that dance in your roads, lanes and by-lanes
and
sit and watch the flip-flop of the water of Hussain Sagar, and
the
Buddha standing tall in the centre, already captured in my tattoo;
words
that sleep and play among the folds of history, tucking the zari bordered
sarees of the queens from across
the
light and sound of Golconda Fort,
and
words who often tend to hide behind the layers of the rusty Charminar !
Fearing
if someday the paper decides to escape from under these words,
I
have put a heavy paper-weight on its chest, in the centre.
Now
the paper can’t escape. It can’t move. Because
It
doesn’t breathe anymore.
……………….
Identity...
City, you are I, and I am you.
City, you are I, and I am you.
My
forehead is your courtyard where the pigeons
eat
the scattered grains every morning.
Your
summer and your winter
are
my ear rings.
My
pierced earlobes are the
nails
on your walls that developed a crack
because
of the hammering.
My
varicose-vein legs are
your
trees that fell in the storm and
lay like unclaimed dead bodies.
Both
of us contain mud, clay and
throbbing
life in our bodies.
City, you are I, and I am you.
…………………………..
8 comments:
Very enjoyable read
I worked with google Hyderabad for nearly two years and I have loved Hyderabad always . To my knowledge it's a neat place with good people around . I love the paradise biriyani there :) earned quite a few friends from Hyderabad .
I was most struck by the way the man's temperament slowly squeezed the joy out of the day. I lived that reality once. I also really enjoyed the poem to your city, and especially like the line " the Imli tree under which I had buried a fistful of my loneliness and a slice of my secret joy."
Lovely reading your poetry again. Nice pieces.
An interesting and introspective journey. A good read.
I only read the first, but I found it so delightful that I'll try to get back to read the rest. You pinpoint exactly how children learn what to value in the scene about going to and returning from the forest.
Very well written!
http://firmlyrooted.blogspot.in/2017/04/complexity-of-sanity.html
Such an enjoyable read :)
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