Rest in peace

The mind imagines its absence

From everyday scenes at all times

When the street is thick with traffic

And near empty as sleep shuts eyes 

The feet stir less and less outdoors

And almost never after lights are on

For the eyes cannot stand the glare of

Unblinking headlights bearing down

All those who have left have left for good

Though we invoke them on certain days

Marking their absence with photos they

Stare out from giving no clue where they

Might be still wandering restless, formless

The mind cannot imagine its absence after

All the turmoil and torment and ferment

Rest in peace is what I say to all of us.

Morning

The house is not awake yet

And the day is yet to stir

Between night and day 

This hour is best when

The world seems mine

The birds must think it's theirs

The way they clamour and cry

The milk is still on its way though

The smell of coffee is already here

This could be the time when the universe

Shares its secrets and answers all prayers

This could be the time when all dreams

Leave the minds and look to take shape

This could be when the mist disappears

And the deity stirs and rises like the star

Or this could be when peace comes unasked.

Dark ages

The first light is fugacious

The day does not last

And night is soon upon us

With or without the moon

Though dead stars look

Down upon us with light

Beaming from aeons

Love is life-threatening

When caste cannot be shed

Though class can change

And shadows pollute no more

The shrine has to be washed

As someone who cannot 

Has entered the temple

The sun shines on everyone

Even those inhabiting the dark ages.

Career plans

Back in the day when

My two children 

Of the same age 

Were still growing up

I overheard them 

Making career plans

One declared he wanted

To be a surgeon, rather

Do surgery behind closed doors

The very thought horrified the other

So the would-be surgeon suggested

That his brother become a paediatrician

Writing out prescriptions for medicines

This immediately cheered up the child doctor

However, his fears for his sibling doing

Risky operations did not go away

What if the patient dies, he wanted to know.

Haven't you seen what is done at such times

Remove your glasses, wipe them sadly

Look up at the ceiling and tell the relatives

"We did everything we could but god is great."

Time is death

I hear my heart in my arm

And change my sleeping

Posture, not wanting to

Feel my body at work

Shuddering at a memory

Of an oximeter reading

The tick-tock so reassuring

For the baby in the womb

Is not a pleasant sound

For the old man who 

Worries over it stopping

The breathing must not

Be conscious as when

The lungs gasp for it

In an unpleasant way

The death of a cousin

Just a few years older

Is a grim reminder that

Time is on its way ticking

Like the restless heart.

Injurious

Falling in love is injurious to health here

It won't be a slow death as with intoxicants

Where the pleasure is the slow poison

And more the tolerance more the poison

Required for the same pleasure to hold ---

To love is to look and to like what is seen

To talk and to like what is said and

To want to stay together more and more

Find even a moment of separation intolerable,

To forget where you were born and want

To leave with her the place carved up with

Borders no evolved human would tolerate,

Legitimate desires are illegitimate here,

This could be the last sunset I see for

I have been asked to meet with my future

Kinsman to mediate our future --- now

Seeming increasingly impossible for

Signs tell me it is a sick sickle I could face,

I cannot live in fear so let me end it there

My heart going out on a limb to maybe yield 

To the sharp, cold edge of acquired hate

Or make a friend of a foe if his love has reason.

The tree is like the sea

In windy July the tree

Is in unending movement

Like the sea that cannot

Stop its dance or chant

In my line of sight a crow

Is busy building a nest with

What it can find on the street

It often catches its breath 

While carrying a broomstick

Or dry twig, on my roomy ledge

The heaving branches make the 

Little airy home in the making, bob

Seeing all this frenetic realty trend

Another bird is buoyant, serenades

Its speckled mate, through the day and

Night, when its cry cannot go unheard.