poetry

The night had two moons

The sky descended down 
with her heavy veil of cloud
lifted above her dark hair
She brushed her lips against 
the earth and rose swiftly 
back in the air leaving behind 
the earth restless with lips parted

The sky descended down 
with her lips shaped as a ring
to tickle the earth with her breath
She whispered in her ear 
and watched her moan and
blink the million leafy eyelashes
that the world would trim

The sky descended down 
with her starlit fingers stretched
brushing the palm of earth
She held her hand firmly 
to fly her away, away from 
this world that was sleeping 
in the shade of her bridal veil.

poetry

I am timeless

A perpetual load on my desk for the next day
then why do some nights make me more restless?

Worn out and drained the same each night
then why do some nights make me more sleepless?

Rendezvous with accretive failures
then why do some nights make me more hopeless?

Same maniac and jittery person retires to bed
then why do some nights make me more breathless?

Chattering on end to spill out everything
then why do some nights make me more friendless?

Drowning deep in the ocean of distractions
then why do some nights make me more aimless?

Same dead man roaming around the world
then why do some nights make me more lifeless?

I wait patiently for the shooting star on all nights
then why do all nights vanish effortlessly by morning?
For countless nights, I wait. I am timeless.

poetry

He is eighty, She is seventy

married for eternity, yet
haven’t danced together or
sang songs for each other
never used the phrase “I love you”
but both knew it was hanging
if not floating, in the air.

Their beds that were once
one large bed, have a large
silent musical gap in between
on which the frayed
blanket, torn in two, dances.

On his bed, he farts
cause he doesn’t hear,
she gorges even after burps
cause he doesn’t hear
He hates his hearing aid,
now she can’t hear whispers
cause she always yells.
Still, he mutters-
why does she whisper?

She answers his phone calls
cause he doesn’t hear
the loud ringtones
or the hello from the other end.
He complains- “My children have
forgotten me, their children have
forgotten me.” She yells that they
all love him. She won’t say
she loves him, cause he doesn’t hear.

No television, no internet
but both are busy.
Lost in his newspaper
that he never lets her touch,
a treasure he enshrines
on his bedside dating
from some random years.
She stealthily takes a few away
so that the pile won’t fall on him.

High blood sugar, swollen knees
thinning hair, bags under eyes
both sick in their beds.
He makes her tea. His eyes on her face,
getting restless when she isn’t around.
He is scared that tomorrow
when she’ll whisper his name,
the way she does every day,
he won’t be there.

Nanopoblano 2020 – 6/10

poetry

Tiffany

Did you hear that sound?

.
.
.

In this deafening silence
there was a sound
In this stillness
only rocks breathing
there was a sound
In this humid loneliness
there was a sound

Did you hear that sound?

A whistling chandelier 
swaying in the air
whooshed and slammed
the rock-solid ground
Candles sizzled
and darkness tiptoed

Did you hear that sound?

Cracks flowed in the glass
like veins branching
in the spider web
making way for
long jagged shards
that all fell on the rock
with a thump
like an orchestra
led by no conductor

Did you hear that sound?

The shards fell for the rock
kissed it hard and bounced
back in the air
to fall again on the rock
The air hammered them
against the rock
smashing into splinters
then grinding into the sand
that can’t be lifted and glued
but has to be swept

Did you hear that sound?

The glass frost on the floor
reflects the moonlight
and watches the moon
flirting with the stars
in this humid loneliness

Did you hear that sound?
A sigh that Tiffany made
travelling on my breaths
Because I didn’t.
I felt its pain as my he-
art broke

.

.

.

PS- Tiffany – a glass chandelier.

poetry

Boiling Water

A steel pot on the stove
confines the calm water
as our trap holds our tongue

The fire hisses
in the ears of air
and the air bubbles
on being stung

The water searches
for a crack
to seep away
or cool the fire

The air storms into
the cool of water
and pinches the monster
entombed
in a divine depth

Water
once healed the burn
now burns in pain

A million eyes
and no iris
blink on the floor and 
walls of the pot

The monster
opens its eyes
wider and wider
exploding a few
and sees nothing

The eyes stomp hard
on the floor
restless
to escape the grave

One watery eye
perches on the hat
of the pot
its pain vaporising

The monster whines
pulls the shackles
The hat pounds
But when did the dead
open the grave?

The watery eye looks
beneath
in its reflection
a growling monster
consuming itself

The watery eye
gives a sigh
as if a soul beholding
its sleeping self

PS- Shall I turn off the stove?

poetry

Alchemist

Eyes closed – a dazzling castle is my abode
Eyes opened – grim realism – castle exploded
A long journey – prosaic song – I’m not strong

A sudden gust gave me a thrust – I’m not brave
I fell forward – and further it gave me a prod
I rushed, all my attachments I was robbed
A bit of me died and some other left behind
Standing stark naked in pitch dark with a spark
Chasing the moon in the noon – I’m racing

Move forward – it is hard – turn around –
That is in vain – I will rebound – so no gain
A halt – I fell asleep – just to crawl once again
Like wind – sleep also messed my bain
Castle can’t be seen – I continue with my remains

I was roused – at a distance – an abandoned house
I turned back – desert stretched to horizon smacked
Stark naked. I’m wasted. House is a relief
Ample food beyond belief reduced my grief
Water flowing on the floor knocks on the door
Eager to fly – I open the door – there is an ocean
Water flies in sky. I float in the ocean

Castle is a mirage. I want to give up.
Waves ask me – where I go after giving up?
So, I decided I will row and cross the ocean
All alone – now castle in sight – I fight 
With all my might I swam the ocean
Waves slapped me waves helped me
Castle is the truth. I clapped.
I am no longer trapped.

poetry

A mother – a weapon

Amidst the terror and the dead, she was witnessing all the life

Longing to get wrapped in a motherly embrace
She was engulfed in the heat and cold

Scared to touch anything, she was scared to be touched
Fearing to be caught breathing, she feared to breathe

She slept with a single heart and woke up to find another one – throbbing fast
She was a reluctant mother, inside her an unwanted sapling
Unwilling to nurse the obstinate child – a parasite that doesn’t abandon the host

Then came the realization – the sapling made her a weapon
A bomb that can explode any time, wiping out her existence
Leaving behind the budding shrapnels, a blooming virus

The reluctant mother thanked God for this perfect birthday gift
The undesired child born and playing on her hands
One can indeed be attached to the disease – a deadly disease

She loves the feeling of being a weapon
Albeit the kid derives nourishment from the mother, leaving the mother to die a bit every day.

PS – That’s what I felt when the report said that I am positive (covid-19).