Death

It is getting harder and harder
To take leave of people,
Shake hands, perhaps,
For the last time,
Say goodbyes
Turn the back
On a home of yesteryear,
Friends on their last legs,
A town raised in
Fading like a dream
Often the feet refuse to turn away
Like a rejected lover
Tarrying at the door
Hoping to be taken in
And all sins forgiven.

Distance

The feet grow weary
As the distance grows
Between dream and reality
The peaks grow taller by the day
The more you climb
The farther they are
The queue grows longer
With privileged pilgrims
Joining the stream midway
The shrine is stepping back
The roundabouts are as clogged
As the direct roads
And the city lights
Are still not in sight
The head and feet
Keep moving away
And the envious god
Who will go unworshipped
Is still soaring
And the flower is still falling
The fragrance yet to spread.

Mob

The faceless mob is near
This land we thought was ours
Begins to slip from beneath us
The words we were born into
Have been held against us
We knew what was coming
When once-friendly eyes stared at us
As if we had grown horns and fangs
And the lies feeding on lies
Soon made monsters of us all
We could no more speak our tongue
Flaunt our god we opened our eyes to
Or wear clothes that showed
Where we came from;
We looked at the mirror,
Hated what we saw
Rued the telltale complexion,
The locks of fate
Wondered which side
Of the night would hide us,
The women and children
Cower in the corner
The ears faintly hear
The dam burst of hate
Heading this way
We are like trees,
We cannot flee
When you try to tear us away,
You'll know how entwined we are
When together we bleed.

Star

Illuminated paper stars
Dance joyously
Above a few doors,
Heralding a birth
That conquered death,
Just a few nights back
We put oil lamps
Along the steps
Often cupping the flames
Against the wind
Nursing hope
In adversity
Knowing how soon
They will be calmed,
All the while
Praying to be one
With the six-faced son
Of the immeasurable one
And end for ever
The searing dance of desire.

Order

In my house
Someone has
Assigned a place
For everything
Footwear without exception
Cannot cross the border
Of the shoe rack
There are hooks
On the wall
For bike keys
The teddy bear
Is allowed to wear
The ID cards
Round his neck
Through the night,
The driving licence
Has a box to go into
In the morning
As the clock starts ticking
And the search begins
For things not found
Because one was too tired
To put them back in place
The previous evening
It is the things
That are blamed
For somehow disappearing
As if wanting
To see chaos reigning

Rambo

You shall not
Call Rambo a dog
He is like a son to us
Next time you visit
Bring him something
Nice to eat
He loves badam halwa,
Ice creams and colas
You shall not shoo him away
When he jumps on you
That's how he shows his affection
You will have to learn
To enjoy his attention
You shall not call on us
In the afternoon
When he snoozes
On Wednesdays
When he has to see the beautician
On the fifth of every month
Between eleven and twelve
When the vet comes for check-up
On Saturday evenings
When we take him for a drive
If you know of a good groom
For our daughter, let us know,
The only condition is that
Rambo will come with her
And he must not grudge his expenses

Blood-stained

It's the same old story
Being told and told again
The characters
Seem different
Born in different climes
Set in various milieus
Yet saying the same things
In different words
Mostly complaining of life
Of dreams floating
Out of reach
Of smiles disappearing
Before they catch the eye
Of man-made misery
Masquerading as fate
Of death coming early
Like winter's night
Of things
Taking wrong turns
Like a story writing itself
As you watch helplessly,
When the tale
Is told and without lies
You know it's
The same story everywhere
Priests terming truth heresy
And rewriting stories
In people's blood