Untitled 2

Untitled 2

I have had a subpoena
Slapped earlier on me
This stands annulled:
Your Honor
As of now I am a free bird

I am out of jail
After nine years nine months
And nine days
Of rigorous imprisonment
Under section 420 of IPC

Further details of the case
Are furnished herewith,
Verbatim:
I am the accused
And I the victim,
I have survived the gallows
Not because I did not try hard enough
But because
My bones have become porous
With the lack of some vibrant sun on them

As the matter is subjudice
I shall refrain from further comments

I would now
Like to peel off the last traces of sorrow
On which a nascent
Glimmer of a smile is stuck
Like second hand news

I walk towards
Semi freedom
Your Honor,
From this self imposed exile,
Neither insomniac
Nor laughter starved,
Transmuting myself
To the intransigencies of time
………………….

Untitled

Do not come
To share in my pagan grief
To dilute it:
Or take away a millimeter
From this tumult
From this secret potion,
This imbecile love

Do not for a moment
Believe that you may take away
This wild joy of sharing grief
You are not shareholders
In this phalanx of death

I see envy etched in your eyes
On my aloneness
And the corresponding freedom
Or the audacious joy
Of my overflowing eyes

These thirsty lines
Are not maneuverable
With or without syntax
This is disobedience movement
Unbridled

Do not come:
There is no agonizing torment
That you may copy
And reproduce on your faces
When the time is ripe:

Like a painted mask
On painted faces
………………

Height and Weight

Height and Weight

You say I have
Gained in weight
The weighing scales say so

It is only on the scales
That I am overweight
Outside of it
I am as weightless as a thought
Or a whiff of cloud
What with a punctured mind
And a hollow for an inside

You forget
That I carry memories
On my back

I am bent from the load,
The sack full of memories

Even Mummies
Under blazing pyramids
Carry weight on their shoulders
Albeit dead,
And I am a live woman, mind you
With that extra load of a womb

In a tavern
Under the arcane of a feeble night
I could well relieve the load
But it is loosely packed
Haphazard

It is better that I carry them
To the next juncture
So you may sort it out
Under the monologue of stars

So much for a little weight;

Height is altogether
A different matter,
Of a more serious magnitude

You see
I am pint sized
Due to compressed emotions

You may choose to disbelieve it
Truth is as flat as a flat tyre
You may check the tubes
For a puncture

While I sit under
The fragrant murmur of a banyan tree

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Voyage Series & Other Poems 2007
Copyright @ Pen Books Pvt Ltd

Sandstorm

Sandstorm

After a stretch of brooding rains
I returned
To the city of childhood
Which welcomed me back
With a horrendous dose
Of sandstorm

It lashed in from the west
And covered the arthritic city
In an avalanche of sand

Sand over eyes
On yellowed buildings
On cars
Scooters
Inside lungs
On men
And women

Sand blanketed the day
And night
The weekend
The high-rises
The malls
And mind

There was continuity
In the sand madness
Leafless trees
Poking shrubs
The slums
Everything squeezed
Out of shape
With sand

You had to scratch out people
From under the rubble
Ouch! This is the potbellied neighbor,
Not your father,
Nor your brother
Who had anyway
Gone behind the clouds
Without waving back

And if you had to dream
You had to put on
Grandma’s spectacles,
To see beyond the sand,
Myopic landscape
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Voyage Series & Other Poems 2007
Copyright @ Pen Books Pvt Ltd

Orange Orchard

Orange Orchard

As a small child
Brimming with childhood
I strayed into an orange orchard
In search of flowers

There was this lingering aroma
Of ripe oranges all around
Sweet and sour
Flowers forgotten
In the ache of the moment

A tree with star shaped flowers
White, to be honest
With thick pulpy branches
And an ashen hue
Stood amidst the scent in the air
As I climbed on its branches
To escape the oranges

I know not
How long I stayed on the branches
Like a quadriplegic
With a wandering mind

As is usual in an orchard
One must turn left or right
Or lie still
Female monkey
Plastered to the branches
While dusk descended
Among perfumed oranges

The watchman’s whistle
Dents my senses
And the enigma of orange smells

A mental note is all
That is needed
To stay up in the branches
Or down in the dumps

Past the orchards of childhood
Innocent florescence
I am not too sure
Whether darkness travels
From the steaming grass upwards
Or falls with a thump
From up above
After the sky splits in two
Sour and sweet
-----------------------
Voyage series & Other Poems 2007
Copyright @ Pen Books Pvt Ltd

Travelling over Time

Traveling over Time


Over the anxiety of hills,
And deserts shrouded in sand,

A backpack slung over my shoulder
Packed with the tidbits of love
Destination unknown
Unknown fate

Packing has been easy
But, the unpacking!!

Fermenting cheese,
Whispering blobs floating on buttermilk
Soaking up sand from the horizontalised
Hourglass

Traveling over Time

Phantom love under rainy trees
And the murmur of decaying leaves
Shimmering beaches
Where salty water belches into the hollows of my footsteps
As I inch towards survival.

Ignorance is a fear-fuelled chronicle
Bliss, the unbolted metal trunk of freedom
With doors opening around you all the time

Over fuming pyramids
And sand dunes corroded with darkness
Weightless over the haunting call of the muezzin
Over hooded eyes
Gypsy skirts
Candle lights flickering
Over beseeching eyes

Take this love off me
Prise it off-
It is too weighty to be carried to the grave.
……………..
Time Series & Other Poems 2005
Copyright @ Pen Books Pvt Ltd

Caravanserai

Caravanserai

I remember
A journey we made
At the rear
Of a long line of a caravan
Crawling towards shattered shores
With only a tangle of words
Between us

I remember too
The roads wrinkling towards panacea
The wind reeling in the trees
And landscapes sprinting past
On kangaroo legs

You had a book
Open on your lap
With words as blurred and soggy
As our minds

Love
Is the painless ache
Of a healed wound
The melting sweetness
On your arid tongue

It is here that I get down
You said
While I move ahead,
Farther than the farthest
Beyond the rainbows
And then take a right turn
To reach an oblong pond
Carpeted with white lotuses
And bent shadows of coconut palms

Seven opium years,
Seven hundred blurred notes
And seven thousand dreams

Break this mirror,
Break it now
Into innumerable pieces

Neither my reflection
Nor a tiny slice of past
Is visible in this mirror of life

Let me just sit beside this pond,
My anklets
Making a soundless muffle
On past waters
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Voyage Series 2007
Copyright @Pen Books Pvt Ltd

Geometry of Love

Geometry of Love

Once you told me
Counting waves
Is an absurd activity

I can only laugh
At the absurdity of it.
I have done wierder things
I have loved you from all angles
Though I am not good at playing
At the likes of love,
Where geometry does not fit in.

My mind
Dolphin like
Dives at the scent of love
As I sit at this curved beach
With a large and round sun
Plastered on the horizon.

Do you see
That black rock
Sharp and slanting
On which the waves explode
With such disdain
And come back for more?
Absurd.

Love
Is the flicker of hope
On a sordid sky
The image
That flits past a smiling mirror


One day
We shall sit on the cold of this stone bench
With just a hint of moon above,
Our thighs barely touching
And an ache hanging between us
Till the night
Tortoise slow
Grinds back to reality.

Let us count all the waves
On all the seas
To the very last of them
On unarmed shores
Where the sea and the sand
Are plaited into one
And all absurdities dissolve.
....................
From the Anthology 'The Silken Web'
Unisun Publications 2007
Copyright@ Individual Poets
info@unisun4writers.com

Fishing for Love

Fishing for Love

A half done bridge stands
Poking into the breasts of the sea
Rusting metals clothed in algae
And bits of time hanging loose on them

On a rounded anchor hook
I, worm
Half alive, head down
Is dipped into the sea
Slightly dazed and anesthetized

Alice in wonder sea
From this painless state
Wrapped merely in a cellophane of words

And a dash of silence
That I use frequently
To erase fractured dreams

Folded starfishes
Shimmering coral islands
Around which
The hypnotized sea throbs

Scary toothed sharks
Hello how are you?
And a horsefish without hooves

I assure you
At this depth
The sea is hermetically calm
Unlike on the surface

The worm on the hook
Head down

No wonder
The world looks topsy turvy
At times I forget, kindly remind me
Am I the hunter or the hunted?

There is a measly tug on the hook
Hesitant at first
Insistent now

Perhaps
I have been out hunting
For too long

Back from the inertia of the deep sea
To this inverted world
I can no more see the verticals of reason
Nor the horizontals of dreams
-----------------

Voyage Series & Other Poems 2007
Copyright@ Pen Books Pvt Ltd

Self Immolation

Self Immolation

Seasons change
I go on

As I lie on this makeshift cross
Nailed with words
Spread-eagled
Under the mango tree
With a scorching sun above
And bird droppings
For company

Was it night
That left in a huff
Or a plaintive day
As soundless as a coffin

Night and day
Day and night
Passing in stealth

I am but a dead weight
On this cross
It cannot sustain me
Drunk as I am on an elixir of past

Let me remind you
Of a promise you made,
A journey into the unknown
On a boat with no oars
And very still water beneath
From continent to continent
Where no echoes may reach
On this exquisite journey
In a tessellated world

If you have not yet bought
The ticket to eternity
Let us just sit on this boat
And wait for the whisper of a wind

Better still,
Let me immolate myself on you
In a mystic rite
Crucified as I am

This convulsive moment
Comes once in a lifetime
And I would not
Trade it for a life
On the ground
----------------


Yoyage Series & Other Poems 2007
Copyright@ Pen Books pvt Ltd

All The Time

All the Time


There is a Q outside a mile long
Twenty four hours a day
Seven days a week


Typed applications
Neat and tidy
Some of them jaundiced
Some, from the last century
Did they take a genuine gate pass?
How dare they bring last century’s application!
To the present table
Past is past
Period


Over a period of time
I have been issuing time out
On a regular basis
Some moth-eaten
Humor time
Tragedy time ( longest Q for the same)
Comedy time (no crying please)


Dates have swung back
On the pendulum
You carry a shadow on your back
Please stand back
No baggage allowed
Shadows need their own time and place
Weren’t you told at the beginning of the journey?

I cannot answer your lynching
I have no time
Naturally


Cupboards have to be cleansed
Racks cleared
Tickets issued, your signature please
Hurry

Someone is sleeping on your berth
Hello there
Ticket please

Sorry, Madam
That is my shadow you are speaking to
------------------------

Time Series & Other poems 2005
Copyright@ Pen Books Pvt Ptd.

Desire

Desire

One is you and two is me
And three is a crowd
The singing forest is behind us
Only the tail of its scent hangs on me

We walk together
And when I count
There are only two of us
But a shadow stalks the space between
And a third party stammers to the wind

Excuse me you said something
While I listened to the silence

And who was the other
That walked with an angled gait
And paroxysmal laughter
Bruising this cold evening?

You brought desire
In your pocket
It is fine by me
But for its clanging
You should have wrapped it in muslin
It is cold
And the fire is outside
Leaping at us

One is you
Two is desire
And three is me
We should come closer
The forest has folded on its own

And where shall we put
This armless eel
Which you had to carry
In your pocket
And how do we get closer?
Three is a crowd

It is you I need
Not this limbless stranger
Coughing in the darkness

The sizzle of an evening
Cannot be contained
In a loveless rigmarole

Let’s count one last time
One two three
And where am I?
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This was the first poem I wrote after 'Time series.' It was written while returning from Bangalore in our new car after visiting my brother's new house.

Published in the Anthology 'The Silken Web.'
Unisun Publications, Bangalore 2007
Copyright@ INdividual Poets




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Love on a Windowsill

Here is a campus love poem from my first collection, 'Time Series'. It received wonderful reviews and from different quarters.

















Love on a Windowsill



Love is the chemistry
In a physics class


Awkward and tentative
Jittery and tremulous
Unclouded love
Where minutes pass into oblivion
Weak kneed


And fingers move unguided
Through wind filled spaces
With a will of their own
Unawakened love
Of adolescence and beyond


I look back at the mountains of words
Left unsaid
On decimated afternoons
With not a beginning or an end


If you had pronounced it
It would not have been love
You left it at that
At the edematous juncture
Of love and more


Unwritten words
Have faded on the sands of time
The more you hold on to it
The more it drizzles down your shuttered palms


Yes I know, men are different
They ruminate on the days lost in transit
While I roll my lucid tongue
Over blurred images


You sat on the windowsill
With an indecipherable invitation
Dangling your legs
Hands clasped
And wished the room would vacate
Leaving the window open


Whenever I pass the arabesques
Of lighted windows
In a speeding taxi
On a crawling street


The image of an open window
Comes behind me
In slow motion
----------------

Time Series & Other Poems 2005
Copyright@ Pen Books Pvt. Ltd

Break

We would take a break every now and then. A break was – driving out to the nearest hill station. And the nearest hill station was the Nilgiri Hills.

As winter approached on cat’s paws, the hills would beckon us. That’s why perhaps we loved our blanket like our second skin. There would be that thin aroma of the glinting lake and the surrounding trees of the Nilgiris, wafting in our home and instantly we would recognize the smell and the calling.

Herstory runs backward and history, forward.

So there we were, in our exotically shaped Ford car racing over the hills. Dusk flowed into the night. He loved driving as do I, but then the climb became tedious as a blue mist had descended on the valley. We drove for some more time, lazily till nothing much could be seen, a foot away from us.

We were not anywhere in the vicinity of our favorite destination, the Hotel Savoy. At the end of it, it was a huge mist that sat on the bonnet of our car that decided the matter for us. We could not see an inch beyond.

He braked the car and yawned and immediately fell asleep. I watched over him. He would snore and his body would slump all over me.

I would sit out the night.

As the night slumbered over the hills and morning was just around the bend of the lake, I opened my eyes and got out of the car.

The first thought that raced into my head was that this place was someplace else – not where we had parked our car last night. The car perched precariously over a precipice – but the beyond and the bush on which we stood was a sea of violet-blue flowers.

It was the Neelakurinji, which blooms just once every twelve years. It resembled Thomas Mann’s ‘The Magic Mountain.’

I forget its Botanical name. It has no particular aroma, but the sheer sight would have taken anybody’s breath away. We found several people watching over the waves upon waves of sheer blue flowers. Some of them were madly clicking away on their cameras.

I do not need a camera, my mind’s eye work like one. I shall paint it for you in a jiffy, drawing from that vertigo of sight and smell.

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