you tell me that on a whim you invited death on google search and received religious instruction from multiple sources and links and that it was not actually a desire to end the journey but a call to the dead to answer whichever way they could the unanswered questions of existence it was more like standing on the balcony and asking the predawn darkness what does this all mean the lightning and the thunder and the silence the dream and its unravelling; the unfinished story of man and progeny the faceless ancestors who left these words to remember them by, maybe speak through us of the beauty and warts of the face they had seen and want us to see --- the dead answer through the living; this rain falling quietly is telling us life is not one man's burden to be borne alone.
Wednesday, November 26, 2025
Saturday, November 22, 2025
Existence trail
You have to prove you lived
Here long enough to show
You are not from across the border.
How do we know this is your wife?
She is, unfortunately, for the last 70 years.
Do you have photo proof of wedding?
We didn't take any in those days for fear
Of shortening life and she didn't complete
Schooling to secure a leaving certificate.
She doesn't have a birth document too.
Why don't you speak to me in Hindi?
This is my place and I speak my language.
Oh, then come tomorrow with someone
Who speaks mine if you want this done.
November
The newspapers are put away
After a cursory look at headlines
For they are bearers of bad news
With the government asking us
To trace paper trails gone cold
But they can be put to other uses
And fetch useful cash when sold,
The weather reports on television
Are much more heartening as they
Forecast more rain and even a cyclone
That will probably blow us all away;
The artificial flowers in the vase bring
Colour to the room and ask little back
They do not move with the seasons
Defy time, unchanging in their corner,
Siblings post readymade messages
Of affection and evergreen memories
On smartphones but remain remote
With little to say when they are called,
Perhaps they are afraid of reviving ties
That death, fast approaching, will sever
The November sun is cool like the moon
Invites the feet out for a walk past trees
That have withstood storms and summers.
No return
We left because we thought
Leaving was best when staying
Would mean dying in despair
And waiting looked like endless
With no one coming today or
Tomorrow though it was said
It would happen when it was right
We could not wait to find out for we
Didn't know who was coming, whether
To free us or tell us to wait some more
For the true one who follows the other;
Leaving was best for in moving, the mind
Lost its imaginary mooring and the feet
Learnt the virtue of moving, not waiting
Indefinitely for time to move and change;
In movement there was freedom for there
Was no destination and no threat of return.
Someone else's sun
Sunlight falls on the coffee mug
I am drinking from and my hands,
The fingers are red held against it,
I am too sleepy to rise from the mat,
The November sun, after the rain
Has stopped, is cuddly warm
To keep this moment is difficult for
The heat rises and the day is on
With the noise of vehicles and horns;
The children are still sleeping after
Burning their phones through the night
Talking to clients and bosses all the time
The work seems more talking than doing;
They wake to someone else's sun, sleep
During his night and rarely get to see
Do not know when the western sun will set.
Wednesday, November 12, 2025
Need only to be still
Time hides inside the mind
Making the feet look for it
In places they have long left
The landscape has changed
And erased the landmarks
That marked our growing up
The house we cannot rent out
For fear of losing it to tenants
Who are too possessive to leave
Remains locked with all its
Furniture and memories inside
From the wall hanging gifted
By a friend called to heaven early
God exhorts us to only be still
And leave the battle to him,
From time to time whenever
We can, we return and relive
The years we cannot relive,
Sit staring at the hill looming
In the distance and still carrying
Footprints of sky-clad renunciates ----
Our coming and going count for little
As the time that counts keeps chipping away.
Friday, November 7, 2025
Together
At first light birds find their voice again
After the long silence forced by night
For me tottering out of forgetful dreams
Into the new day the chorus from the trees
Seems a gracious greeting from kindred
To one who can fly about without wings
Bring down white clouds to soften nests
Make the moon glow brighter with praise
Let the rainbows linger long after sunset
At home both on earth and in the sky
Revelling in the respair of the present
Keeping dreams warm till they are hatched
Teaching fledglings that they have to fly
But can't fly forever for they have to roost;
The sun begins to cast its shadows
The colours return to the colourless
The streets are back to their cacophony ----
For a while at least the other was together.
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