She was eight days old when I first blinked
She had seen the sun
The nurses that bathe
The milking breast
The beautiful tired mother
The man with a *******

I didn’t know her then
She didn’t know me then
But when I came to being
She had already been there

She took the lead
And stretched it further
The eight day advantage had compounded
when we met for the first time
Almost 15 years after I was born
And I’ve been in awe ever since
I’ve always been
a hopeless puppy around her

Today I called her with a broken heart
And she showed me hers
Hers was broken too
She told me not to worry
I told her not to worry

She has chopped her hair now
And bruised her ego
But she’s still here
And I’m still here
We’re still breathing
And nothing else matters
We watch as the big yellow moon rises
Fills the hearts with love
With memories, with nostalgia

I hope when I finally go
She gets eight more glorious sunrises

It's a pity!
Those big beautiful eyes
stare at the impassive lens
that blink at the perfect moment

I wish they stared at me instead
I'd never blink
I'd never turn away
from captivating eyes that promise mystical worlds
I'd fight tears
for tears blur the sight

However, I am grateful
the digital eye blinked
The moment they shut
is the moment that was captured
And the one that mine can see
Always,
now even when they're shut.

आज खुद को किया खुदा से आज़ाद
ना माँगेंगे भीक ना करेंगे फ़रियाद
आज़ादी के जश्‍न में भी दिल में ये दुविधा
खुदा ने बनाया इंसान या इंसान ने खुदा?

there is always that space there
just before they get to us
that space
that fine relaxer
the breather
while say
flopping on a bed
thinking of nothing
or say
pouring a glass of water from the
spigot
while entranced by
nothing

that
gentle pure
space

it's worth

centuries of
existence

say

just to scratch your neck
while looking out the window at
a bare branch

that space
there
before they get to us
ensures
that
when they do
they won't
get it all

ever.

death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
shouting like dumb crazy dogs against the glass
only to spin and flit
in that second larger than hell or heaven
onto the edge of the ledge,
and then the spider from his dank hole
nervous and exposed
the puff of body swelling
hanging there
not really quite knowing,
and then knowing-
something sending it down its string,
the wet web,
toward the weak shield of buzzing,
the pulsing;
a last desperate moving hair-leg
there against the glass
there alive in the sun,
spun in white;
and almost like love:
the closing over,
the first hushed spider-*******:
filling its sack
upon this thing that lived;
crouching there upon its back
drawing its certain blood
as the world goes by outside
and my temples scream
and I hurl the broom against them:
the spider dull with spider-anger
still thinking of its prey
and waving an amazed broken leg;
the fly very still,
a ***** speck stranded to straw;
I shake the killer loose
and he walks lame and peeved
towards some dark corner
but I intercept his dawdling
his crawling like some broken hero,
and the straws smash his legs
now waving
above his head
and looking
looking for the enemy
and somewhat valiant,
dying without apparent pain
simply crawling backward
piece by piece
leaving nothing there
until at last the red gut sack
splashes
its secrets,
and I run child-like
with God's anger a step behind,
back to simple sunlight,
wondering
as the world goes by
with curled smile
if anyone else
saw or sensed my crime

I wanted to jump
A twelve foot fall wouldn't do much harm
Would probably break a bone or two
But would save me from a bigger fall

They would put me on the strongest legal narcos
I could spend a week or two
On the recliner bed in a TV room
With the nurses just a click away
Visitors would be a major pain
But the visits would cease in a couple of days
Then they would forget
or wash their guilt with a phone call

I was tempted to jump
They would call an ambulance
With blaring sirens and nervous men
And a poor soul stuck in the traffic
Would squeeze his vehicle in desperation
To make way for the ambulance
And his friend would go
"लगता है आज फिर किसी ने jump मार दी?"

And I laughed…
Nobody laughed back
I was laughing alone
There were eyes on me
I could feel a lot of eyes on me
Feeling me up
Lingering on parts of me
Some parts more than the others
The eyes soon got bored
Lost interest in me and my parts
They switched their attention
back to the customary dullness
However, every time a new pair of eyes set sight on me,
it lingered for a while
But they soon joined the rest
Eyes, many eyes, lots of 'em
I saw them looking
I sensed them looking
They wanted reason
They wanted a story
They wanted to see more than a happy face
It would cheer them up
Helped flush the blandness in?
They dug it out of my laughing face
while I was still alive
I didn’t have a reason now
But they didn’t care
They made it up
Each pair saw a different story
Some were similar, others distinct
Some saw varying proportions
of tragedy and insanity,
while others saw total madness
Some shared their imagination
while others kept it to themselves
Eyes, I wondered,
were funny little organs
They compelled the mighty brain
to think about what they saw,
every time they saw,
and they never stopped seeing.