Dreams

The night looms large
as death rises from its grave
like a tiger on a prowl
sniffing about as it goes
softly on the wet grass.
Silently, it reaches the front door
refuses to knock
but waits waits waits
watching my composure
and waits waits waits
till the wolf howls at the moon
shuddering softly
emanating its eerie glow
on the hood that covers its face.
If snakes can speak
then they will whisper
sweet nothings,
an ancient rhythm
I stumble upon
in the ruins of broken promises
a frenzy of sleep-walking stupor
and drunk mornings.
There I see the smiling eyes
that draws the sword
and strikes at my breast
till they bleed dry.

I only sweat.

Sunday Mornings

Dadu
I remember you
in your old cassettes,
ancient as they are
ancient as you are,today
in our memories.
Now that you are gone
each of us will remember you
quietly in hushed tones,
in a way different than all of them
put together in the drawing room
on a rainy day
over hot steaming cups of 'cha'
and Ma's childhood memoirs
that I write down inside my head,
ever since you would sing
'Robindro Shongeet'
every Sunday morning.

Do not worry if you disturbed us
back then with your old stick
as we ran through the rooms
that looked like a long train,
never ending-
a river of walls and creaking doors.
Do not worry if you demanded
like a child, one hand withering away,
and the other, clutching your stick
that grew with you in your last days,
and you flashed a toothless grin.

Dadu,
my head is a diary
where you tread on an
endless corridor,
Inside my head you will be
my autumn leaf.

Sigh

On certain nights
when the moon fades
with the tide
I remember how we were
singing love songs
speaking through love poems
under the starry sky,
meandering through our souls
a divine melody
of nothingness,
a void that grew
when the first breath
intertwined with the anticipation
of our first kiss,
growing inside us
twisting melancholy
into words we knew not.
Only a chasm remains
that plays like a song on a loop
a broken rhythm, a gentle murmur
a hoarse whisper, a deathly silence.
We walk miles ahead,
each on our separate paths,
praying to the leaves
of an eternal promise.

A word here, a comma there- and
the universe spirals.