It is strange and scary
To think so,
Still, I do
If I had not known music
I would’ve still known you
Still would’ve heard
The inarticulate whispers of your gown
Still then,
Gentle lashes silhouetted
Upon a sharp gaze

For the moon does not rise and set
Merely for its night
And the Mayna birds sing
But little to boast
For who dare boast but I
Who speaks and speaks, on, on of you

And they tire and groan
Who is this?
'Bet we could flicker a tad bit prettier
A sea’s sigh gentler than this leaf
That lives and lives, on, on in you'
Try then, I say, just try

Every dawn and dawn, they sing
Every dark and dusty blue
What do you think?
Curiosity tilts their heads
And I smile through my laughs
Still not, still not

And they wilt a little
Quietening down for a new show
Before a new sun’s birth
Before another shadowed sky

It is sweet and smooth
The envious mimicry
Of silver and song

Still not though, still not

No music I wish to wade in
Just the touch and touch of her breaths

I tell you
reckless rebellion sprouts
upon a hopeless soil
where
every scrawny arm
itself grasps,
its own kin smothers.

but they need not know
of the madness we house

still, tired I am
of moping around.
tired as well of doubts
so,
hollow us albeit,
let the sapling grow;
bloom and all and on—
till a stout, angry fuel it makes

then burn we may
and ashen too.
and I know you’re scared
curse this valour— oh,
curse we, yet
fail to topple
this palace of cards.

cards: silenced tremors.

fight, we fight the tyrant air
that holds firm our wings
and will let not go

and I know you’re scared

any clumsy wind may bare for us
our own restraining snakes—
stink of mud, of rot and ash.
but they have not yet.
not yet.

let grow this mad and
burning tree
let grow, let grow
for when you rot, I
willingly, foolishly
mimic

So, that third floor of the building
was forbidden,

and up we climbed three
quiet, mischievous rats,
As thudded and thudded
our frantic chests

Where echoes, as waves,
of every whisper plunged
into the unlit well—
Scurried away all the lizards
at the unbidden thunder
of our steps

There sat
the pretty, pretty sun
awaiting—

Smirking past a dust-licked glass
'So you made it'
yes, yes, yes
and look at our trembling veins,
Gazes alert as spot-lit fawns’

Fear is beautiful

and only now do we know
only now, only—
A thousand hours of conch shells uncurled
Only just—
And we’re never going back

Then, the teacher comes
and roars out a fury
As we stammer and serve her
with our sorry words

but a smile dares slip
and down into the gaping sea
we go—

Then flutter and run we
away from her tides
Thread with thread intertwines
and we weave laughs
out of the lively looms
of our throats

run and run
as up chuckles the buoyant sun

No wrath shall hold and pull us now
Not again to those grim, dim
places shall we go

we have witnessed the luring miracle
of a little fall.

outside, the cosmos swirls on,
in here, the daisies scream
and ask the walls of who they cage
they silenced stand

one prayer was broken,
and one hushed;
one was hazy,
and one too late.
one then, never offered

in the age-slicked thread
of that shapeless rosary
sun on moon falls
with naught a sound
but a sigh.
and moon on sun still

within, a finger, a finger flays—
one nail was chipped
one’s skin too dry
one, imperfect a temptation,
and aching for ache one.
one then,
left alone with a clot

ask the walls
of their unwavering serenity
as hollow, massless bones
they stand

laced with cracks,
with clatter, with
thousands an uncounted
blemished prayer,
and skins as
paints scrapped off—

waiting, waiting;
to smother the daisies
to a quiet marrow

Settle now,
you tyrant prince
So pretty your tantrums—

There is a chaos
oozing out of this weaved stronghold
so quiet,
no kings, no servants hear.
Guards joke on of drinks and thunder
Mothers, with children,
wander, and so do moons and ghostly clouds
But you will not sleep,
what is wrong?
(what did you do?)

What old folks’ lore
awaits our fall
to fill the blank of its words—
What dogs sniffing around,
a thousand suns after,
for the long-smothered stench of our bones?

Then, so lovely a waking—

Dare not you stir, wretched bloom! Dare not
you whimper or flinch
Still now!
As rats we stand
to the great shadow
of our unleashed beast

Surely, some doubts lurk inside its head—
Surely, we are the dead; surely, statues…
Never known a taste of life,
surely, tasteless we!

and pleas and pleas fill up our eyes
As, slowly, the beast moves

Hush now!
do not you flutter, do not sing.
Still, still—
as, oh, the shadow
smaller goes.
Oh, far, and now further

so close we were to an eternal night

(and the flock of birds
to sun sails
as winter crawls behind)

Had you giggled a smallest of tides—
oh, but don't you stir now!
Give me your hands,
your soft-skinned ankles
and neck young—

It is alright.

You’ll grow up to paint
wonders on these ropes and
They will not ***** as much later
No, not snakes! Ropes they are. See! Harmless—
Hush now!
Not a whine, precious child,
not an accidental sob

(the winter comes, I know,
but dare not you shiver.)
Still behind a betraying gust
may hide the unleashed beast, so
be done with this excited foolery.
Hush! Don’t you weep—
No, the beast still lurks; it does,
it does, it does, and dare not you move!

You’ll bring upon us a plummet undying

Stop now! Stop with your flutter, your
trembling gaze,
stop, stop, please—