Night

The rains have retreated

Leaving behind a shower

Of the silent dew at night

Through the window I see

The mist clinging to trees

And the street lights that coat

The road with a whitish hue

Looking like moonlight

The past is the unseen eye 

Through which I see the present

The house across the street back

In my native city comes back

There I saw for the first.time

The framed photo of hell and

Felt a stab of fear as the faithful

Explained the wages of sin

I have seen since the earthly

Versions of inferno and wondered

How anyone can be punished twice

The night is passing quietly with no

Dogs to break its merciful silence

I do not want to retreat yet and miss

The dark goddess who recites new verses.

Denouement

The cat it is said thinks

The world disappears

Once it closes its eyes

What does it dream of

Rats or milk or cats

As it sleeps all day?

In the clinic when

I have to shut out the

Visual stimuli around

The world morphs into

A babble of voices,

Patients are called with

Respect due to clients,

Initials become important

When two have same names,

What is the story of the namesake?

I would not change places with anyone

Even a cat that gets to lounge all the time

My plot is just thickening, heading to a

Denouement that I can't come back from.

memories

who can I share all these memories

with but you who do not want to

have anything to do with them again

though we got them growing up

together when we delighted as children

in the little creatures like butterflies and

glow worms and snails and dragonflies

do you remember the scorpions 

you took for walks on the street, stringing 

them along after cutting off their stings

the girls including me screamed at this,

we climbed walls to get onto terraces

in rented houses where there were no stairs

the stars seemed within reach then

the black and white films we watched

i have to watch now without father and

mother and you, and i fly back to the past

where i walk alone on streets we walked ---

what do I do with all these memories

which I have now to suffer all alone.

Sunday

There's more to a Sunday than

Staring at the wife's face

How would a man know if

He is working on sabbath too

The rising sun is worth looking at

Through the canopy of trees

Where the birds greet its return

With a fanfare worthy of a king

Were you not there when the baby

Took its first steps towards you

Called you dada for the first time

Kept you awake with his stories

Spoken in the first language of man

There are chores to be done that

The hands doing them all alone

Six days a week should be free of

Let time not show its face for a day

When we have a face-to-face at home.

Sunset

The sunset speaks of dying memorably 

Turning heads with outbursts of tints

And outlines between form and thought

Homes beckon birds and humans while

Stars say there could be other roosts

That we have forgotten or lost sight of

The red orb flashes between buildings

Through the traffic it can be seen briefly 

No one has stopped to look at it sinking

The eyes wait impatiently for the signal,

There were times when the instant canvas

Daubed the heart with a myriad colours

Of ache, longing, nostalgia, and romance

When life's purpose was almost revealed.

Apricity

The light dims and brightens

As clouds keep the sun in and out

I am in two minds now  ---- to begin

The day or go back to bed, pretend

To sleep, hugging the shadows of night;

It feels colder than January last year

This could be because I am a year older;

What is that word to describe winter warmth

When the late riser finally gets to turn up?

Apricity --- is appreciated in the city not used

To the few months of hill station weather

The dew, I will swear, makes music sweeter

Even my voice is bearable when I dare to sing 

In the wee hours karoake songs of my summer.

Spectator

On the curved lamp post

The grey and striped pigeon 

Perches, warming itself in

The rays of the January sun

Now rising to the right of the

Lakeview flats looking out

On houses where a lake

Once rippled and glittered

The predator can't have enough

The gig workers have resumed

Drilling at the nearby wedding hall

Raising two more floors probably 

In deviation of city building laws

Given the congestion of the street

All around me the world is busy 

Earning its daily bread with labour

The pigeon too has flown away

Leaving me gazing at the wisdom tree

Trying to hide a pair of doting mynahs,

I go back to my many chores cheerfully

Taking heart from all who are at work.