Train to Hyderabad

A familiar train ride it was

the afternoon sun bid me goodbye,

I, lost in the myself of time.

Familiar faces haunted

my dreams at broad daylight.

"This feels good!", the wind

pounding my head

a sudden heaviness in my heart.

Hyderabad- a mystical song

I journeyed to,

way back in July 2007.

Times however changed.

I left with the hope of return,

and I did, this time, 2012,

only to know I never could truly return.

The familiar paths

told me, "you are gone, my child."

"It's too late, fly away."

The Biryani too mocked my existence

asked me, "your first time here?"

C- canteen, a familiar comfort zone,

lost in time,

sang a different chime.

F Hostel path

unrecognizable hummed a melody

I knew not of

8.30 PM now

I drink my coffee

pondering over many a thing.

I know the answer

my hat has found a new hearth.

I Ask....

Tell me

Will you wait ?

if i tell you

i'll take a while.

Will you wait?

Tell me

Will you listen?

if i tell you

i'll need some time

to let my soul sing.

Will you listen?

And tell me

Will you walk?

if i tell you

i don't have a map.

Will you walk?

Why are you silent now?

The paths are familiar.

The faces have stories to tell.

Yet, a fading silence

overshadowed by this twilight of time.

So, tell me

will you wait?

will you listen?

will you walk?

and lose our way....

Quintessence

I am petty.

Why do I pretend

to be the one, I am not?

These voices in my head never stop,

incessantly suffering like a radio

in my head, I talk

to myself over and over again.

I listen to crazy songs

watch crazy videos.

consoling the mind.

It's all in the head, I know.

I have to deal with it myself.

It's all in the head, I know.

My heart speaks the truth,

Am I not petty?

says Truth to Beauty.

From Dusk to Dawn

I wake up silently sweating

reeling under the heavy thud of my heart.

My hair in all its wild abandon

wants to calm down.

I look for a hand near me.

I find the hand comforting.

I love the hand again and again,

a soft caress from time to time.

I know, I will sleep now

for I am safe in your arms.

I seek refuge in everything that you are.

I feel like a child

And I feel no shame

that indeed, I am one.

He softly turns towards me

as I melt under his arms

I know he loves me,

the essence running down my spine

from the brain to those tiny toes

that make my tiny frame.

I smile, at once all knowing

I am safe now.

My dreams fade away to oblivion.

In Lust Unknown, the Path to Fire

The drinks fuck our plan.

No, it does not, says the heart,

for this was meant to be.

We met in the heavenly orchestra

not to make love, but to talk of our band.

You love the Cello I play,

and I love those exquisite fingers,

that carelessly, ceaselessly strums the guitar.

Can we say it just happened?

Did our hearts want it all the way?

Music conspires, doesn’t it?

The night in its entire crazy tandem

we knew not what to say.

Dusk gave way to dawn,

morning seemed different for me.

Was it the same for you?

I put my clothes on,

while you looked on,

smoking like you always do, in deep thought.

Oh! What a reverie this is

I feel like a song.

What about you?

How do you feel?

Is it your first time?

I cannot say the same.

In moments I shall walk out of your room

hoping you will call.

Will you call?

I am proud,

vanity dancing in all its glory.

I will not call

but will remember,

this night-silent, deep and poetic.

This is love after all.

Forever 27!!!

He sings

a new song everyday,

melancholy, tranquil, fearful.

For once, just once

he wants the truth,

let it be in circles.

He listens to songs

healing but temporary.

He wishes to be a legend.

A Jim Morrison poster

while Janis, his love dances.

She muses, his only muse.

He loves each time

only to loose.

Cobain tells him

"Loose yourself, but only in time."

Now, his essence, a wind chime.

Jimmy shot himself,

a drug overdose, they all say now,

the News, making huge profits out of eternity.

Jimmy shot himself

not for fame,

but to join the club.

But if not for fame?

why join the Club at all?

Mad Mad!!!!

I am a simple simple.

Looking at me

they say,

I am a simple simple.

Little do they know

little will they ever know

how Mad Mad I am.

I look at grasshoppers

they hop hop all the way

in green green grass.

I call them grasshoppers.

They don't get me

complexi-fying, a new Language now.

They like things complex

complex buildings, complex shopping malls,

complex love, complex hatred,

complex blood group, complex ideas.

They write big words in so little a space.

They sing meaningless jibes in a crow-like voice.

They dance in fests,

swinging, thinking, questioning

Am I the next Fred Astaire?

I make no sense

no sense, sense no, nonsense,

they tell me.

Time! my only friend

in a friendless planet,

everybody, everyone revolves.

I don't!

I stand, transfixed

for I am a simple simple.

I am a Mad Mad.

The Yellow Woods

In your lingering silhouette, lie the memories of midnight.

In your despair, lie the moments of today.

And while I walk through the woods,

I remember you, hiding in the mists

like the very first time, I held you.

The bird flew away from its nest

carried away by the fog of tomorrow.

At your command lay promises,

forgiven but not forgotten.

I wait here, claiming, clutching

the fragments of a past, skeletal like,

moving yet frozen in time.

Smiles and tears,

trials and tribulations,

blasphemous introspection,

honest lies,

have been through it all.

The yellow woods, the pale blue pond

the cloudless night and the starry eyes

lie at your behest, waiting to claim you,

claiming to take you.

And yet you runaway from what is yours

for the taking.

The quest is an illusion

marred by the real of the unreal.

The journey is not the truth

for the truth is only ethereal,

here now, gone today.

What is real is the unreal,

the illusion of the yellow woods.

Till death comes knocking

I shall wait for you, my love.

The bird shall return

with you on its back,

phoenix tears, magic wands,

all forgotten, we lay in the graves

hand in hand, not far apart

we sleep at the yellow woods.

Broken

In this small sleepy locality

time stops,

each day passing in still frames.

Indulging in lower middle class revelries,

they all lived together

fragmented, fighting, almost biting but existing still.

FAMILY A

A mother, a father

two sons and two daughters

all married, basking under the Sun.

The mother was worried

Daughter 1- getting older and unmarried.

The father was worried too

Daughter 2- flirtatious, out for the night.

Two sons, silently suffering

burdened by the idea of freedom

they never knew nor ever will.

FAMILY B

A wife, a husband

and a daughter- their only child.

The wife was worried

her daughter- awkward, quiet and dark-skinned.

The husband too was worried

his daughter-not the best in the world.

FAMILY C

An aging mother,

her only son died

leaving behind ashes of memory.

“She is Mad!”, others would say.

“Her son died in a freak accident!”, they would whisper.

Little do they know

he visits her at night

in her dreams where everything is all right.

She prays for him every moment,

her God- deaf, silent and uncaring.

FAMILY D

A newly married couple

happy, too happy to be real.

Ever present everywhere,

cracking up like bubbles.

Gluttony, being their favourite Sin

It will be a matter of few years

she will want a child.

he, burdened, seeking a moment of his own

“No time for me anymore!”,

they will say, silent and suffering.

FAMILY E

We behave we are the richest,

the classiest and the most educated,

I laugh like a clown.

Petty fights, petty reasons

false dreams, selfish motives.

Petty Us, truly educated.

This place is home no more.

This place is home no more.

No wonder then,

in this small sleepy locality,

Time stops,

each day passing in still frames.

Another 'Ism' – Lets Kill!

Lets Kill!

in the name of the mighty Almighty.

Lets Kill!

You, Them, Us.

Lets just Kill!

for its fun

when the pen turns into a gun.

Ideas are to be killed.

Spirit shall evaporate

as your wish is our command.

I heard you are a certain Mr. M.

How does it matter?

What's in a name?

You are all same, of common blood

you kill, your men kill

in refugee camps, in homes

they be, rising, in pairs

till pairs turn into groups.

What are you waiting for?

You and I, together shall kill

all humanity

for the God

neither You or I have seen.

Vision-
yet another fading vision.

Shiva's Tandava- the fire rages

destructive, glory at last.

City Lights/ Building Stories

I walk on the terrace distraught with thoughts,

I want to run away from.

Down there on the road

three boys walk

discussing the mundane.

“Have you seen that new Adidas T-shirt?”

Endless questions, all same

Pantaloons, Nike- over and over again.

They return from tuition class.

A little distance away

a boy of about 12 stares dreamily at the sky
covered in a mist of dendritic waste,

alone- a loner he is.

He wants to be like those boys

but he wears the cardigan

his Mother made for him,

before she died.

Yesterday! It was yesterday! Yes!

the maid-servant of my next door neighbor cried,

her Master beat her up

for she touched the clothes

the very ones she washed.

I wonder!

Can detergents wash away hierarchies?

Block C:

Aunt, it is rumoured

is having an affair

with a married Man.

He has a wife, two children,

and assorted mistresses from here, there, everywhere.

She drinks her grief in all glory

two pegs and a half- Single Malt Whiskey.

This building tells stories

tattered bits of a novel-like existence

unknown, ever changing dreams,

chaotic chases and college drop-outs

and of city lights.

City lights

they are disturbing.

F. Loyd Speaks to a School

Mother! How I loved you
traversing across time and space,
since times immortal.
Now it has changed
for I know not what I feel.
The silent anger boils.
I seethe from within,
realization creeping slowly
a tentacled feeling,
that things will never be the same.
You and I,
different yet of common blood,
different where we both sing a different song,
different where we both hear a different drummer,
different where the rail tracks can never meet,
different where the drift seems endless.
Yet I lean on you,
perhaps fear decides it all,
knowing I have hurt you.
But the bird has flown from its nest
and this bird you cannot pin down,
for it flies free.
To chain would be to kill
death being cruel in the last hours.
Why Mother why?
must you see yourself through the common eye.
Why Mother why?
must you decide where the winds should blow.
Why Mother why?
must you impose your ideas.
You love, I know.
You care, I know
You fear, I know.
But you, a murderer
every hour, every minute
you step on mundane dreams.
Tender buds, they are
seeking sunshine warmth.
Yet they die
every day, every moment
cruel, barbaric, inhuman
they be, the moments,
of seeing the sunrise,
and knowing sunset.
Sad they be
the dreams,
crying, endless
in the grave of fear.
And you ask
Why this silence?
Why this distance?
Why this change?
I look at you
not knowing what to tell,
not knowing where to start
not knowing where it will end.
I only sense
the truth,
the truth as it is
that we can never meet.
You are different.
But so am I.