Night

I am not a nastic flower

That I have to shut down

With the onset of darkness

This December night when

The dew and stars arouse

The nyctophilia in me

I sneak out

To the woods behind

My hostel room just

To stand alone, feel the

Cold breeze on the face,

Listen to the psithurism,

Inhale the damp scents

Of tree and grass

Watch the bittens learn

To fly, circle and land

Against the sky ----

The cigarette smoke of

An intruder sends me

Rushing back inside ---

When will I ever have

You to myself without

The wolves coming sniffing.

Stars we named

It is so cold we wish we

Could have stored the little

Sunlight we had yesterday

In a vat like we do water 

When we have scarcity

Like we draw on memories

When the real turns us away

The full moon could do with

A beauty spot, you say and

Proceed to put a dot on it

There see the maiden blush

You laugh -- what a useless

Pair we are with our fanciful 

Thoughts and flights of lunacy

We all become redundant

Some day and our skies

Come crashing down and

In those shards will shine

The stars we ourselves named.

Memories are warm

On this cold night after we

Have warmed ourselves

We fall back on memories

Remember the silent valley

That spoke in rising mists

I was stung by a bee for

The first time in life 

Sitting by the window

At a vegetarian restaurant

Later we ran into a swarm

Locals asked us to duck

Till it swept over

Nature behaved itself 

For the rest of our time there

It did not show its other face,

If we had been around

Long enough like the residents 

The hills would have palled 

We remind ourselves 

As we surrender to sleep.

Nowhere

There we are when we are not there

The doors open and close like flowers

Which know when to and when not to 

Against the wall we can see the rain fall

There are times when we want it to come

And times when we don't, like children

Weather keeps us guessing, whether or not

A giant fire is lit atop once volcanic hills

We have made a fetish of flames and fury

When the god comes down from the hills

He comes up with mundane demands

No one can ask him profound questions

On the meaning of life or what death holds

We can decipher dreams as nature's call

Nothing more as we go about our journey

Seeking directions on the way to nowhere.

Till we can't

Don't take Gibran's word for it

Go back to find you cannot go back

The television visuals show the streets

Of my native town flooded and my feet

Feel the water flowing around them

There were two theatres we frequented

My father and I, to escape home weather

In the square opposite the famous temple

Rationalists thundered against gods, myths

I remember the priest asking me to move

Throwing the flowers and ash at my hand

Careful not to touch, to avoid any pollution,

Nothing has changed there or elsewhere

The god of music himself cannot cross

The lines of caste and get nearer the shrine

The past draws borders we cannot cross

Only the memories of places we can own

The land and times we still carry with us

Exist no more out there; when we go back

We find out for ourselves we can't go back 

But can remember as well as we can,

Till we can't remember even the way back.

Flames of sorrow

Festivals are shadowed

By thoughts of the dead

When lamps are lit to mark

The defeat of darkness

The flames rekindle sorrow

Over those who have left ---

Father woke up lifeless that day

Days before the Deepam night

The rain came to mourn him,

When the last rites were over

The grey skies so burst out

The city and suburbs were flooded;

On phone brother recalls how

Friends and relatives struggled

To reach home from the funeral

We share recent dreams where

He reappeared and I tell him of one

Where he was lighting these lamps

And tasking us with tending them ---

Dreams bring back to us loved ones

Death took away and refused to return.