Cosmic

We want to be everything we see

The tree, the breeze, the bird, the sky

We want to be them for a while and be back

Inside the familiar house that looks out,

The road turns right and disappears

What was seen is no more seen 

Must still move beyond the building

Seen still by the surveillance eye,

The mind imagines everyone is alike

Going back to the days they left behind

Seeking respite in the bursts of bonhomie,

Remembering is not the way we want it

The happy streets we like give way to ones

Where we walked the gauntlet of hostility

To be without a thought is to be spacious

Suddenly so very spacious as to be cosmic.

Late bloomer

There was a rose bush

We planted in our yard

It did not yield any flower

Past when it was expected to

I could not believe it could not

It seemed most unnatural for it to

Be so unproductive to not fufil

Its purpose in a life we had brought

Into the world with our diligent care

I felt personally responsible for its

Infertility and pleaded with it everyday

To at least come out with one blossom

To remember it by before we vacated ----

It seemed to have listened and the day

We left the city behind it had a lovely bud.

Hiding

Hiding has become a way of life

We cover the thinning hair with caps

Sport beards to mask the hollow cheeks

The happy photos posted do not show

The unhappiness many soak up every day

Like bats some stir out after daylight dies

With surgical masks on to evade creditors

Their gates remain locked from outside

The gig worker quietens his hunger with tea

Counts how much more he can send home

If he goes hungry and runs on his reserve

The state fudges figures to look good

Says the world is envious when caught

The earlier migrants want to drive out

Recent migrants and claim a country

They themselves stole from the earliest

Truth is hidden in a mythology of lies

Till the digs or stone reveal the buried

Death is the one we can't hide from and

May even invite home if he takes his time.

Waiting

The blank page
Waits for words
To fill its emptiness,
The bare blue sky
Will not mind
Even barren clouds,
The white wall
Wails for
A child's scrawl,
The lonely aadi wind
Knocks on doors, windows
Crying to be let in,
Dreams stand orphaned
In every street
Of the sleepless city.

Lust

In the dark
Colours lie awake
For the day to break,
Roosters sleep light
Cannot wait
Serenade false dawns,
The dream brings those
Who have vowed
Never to step
Into the house,
White chases tan
While brown blanches
Ochre darkens
With lust
Turns ogre
Finds the door shut.

Colours of desire

When we meet
We swap lists
Of what we have bought,
She looks admiringly
At my designer wear
Praises my taste
Envies my luck
At getting a rare shade
Extracts a promise
To get one for her;
Pleased, I seek her tips
For repainting my house
I tell her I liked her decor
The last time I visited her;
After making a fresh list
Of what was new in the market
And what we needed to buy
We take leave, heads bursting
With the colours of desire

The deep

The hands are tired
From clappping
For those
Who leave little for others,
The throat is hoarse
From singing praises
To someone whose miracles
Include taking away
The little there is left,
The feet are weary
Of the mountain path
Leading to an empty shrine,
The eyes keep looking at the skies
Hoping for signs of cracks
The ears want to hear
The rumble of volcanoes in the deep
Which wants to give up the dead.