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Kalesh Kurup Jan 25
The year opened with two full days and nights of snow
Snow that fell through my mind and body
Pulling all over me a thick white blanket,
Hiding beneath snow just changed everything
The white was so pure
It swept over the grays
Those very grays of uncertainties,
Shadows hidden behind and
Shallow forgetfulness

Then the snow started melting
And the white started fading
Bearing everything hidden under,
The dirt, the adventures, the unheard sorrows
And the certainties painted as uncertainties
As the snow gave away, Shadows turned darker
Hidden ruins from beneath
Seeped up, shapeless and characterless

Some snow had stuck to the corners
Frozen, slippery and deceitful
As I kept walking
Those deceitful frozen snow
Called me out “Hey! step on me,
I know you like getting fooled around”
I smiled and walked on,
You never got me right, my dear...
Kalesh Kurup Apr 2016
"Will you wait for me?" He asked
Hesitantly, she: "How long?"
Hope and doubt intense, he: "for 60 years",
"Don't be a stupid, no one wait for anyone, that long": She
"But you said we are the soul mates,
The only key that fitted the lock"
She was long gone; into a dot,
Midst the temple lamps, round the sanctum


Hurried, she sent the message of the night and switched off the phone
"Love you; Miss you, my battery dying; Will text you tomorrow"
Amar replied "Me too darling, missing you and love you crazily"
Akbar replied "Hug me close and sleep tight honey, dream only me"
Adil replied "Take care my love, good night and sweet dreams"
Antony was angry, "Why don't you keep the phone charged?  Good night"; he was the hubby!
And the stupid opened the door, hugged her in
And whispered "come in, my soul mate
The only key that fitted the lock"


"Take me for a ride; I want to be a carefree pillion today,
Floating away with you..."
Holding him tight, legs across, she let her hair loose
“Fly the bumps, I want to fall all over you” she held him tightly
From the pillion of the bike, she longed to see all spectrums of life
"Faster you stupid, I don't want to spend a lifetime as a pillion"
Then one day, she climbed the hills, for good.
He wandered the plains for long
Within their own, they kept a grudge to themselves
For, not letting the lock and key to know
They only fitted each other


“I take you to be my wedded wife
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer”
“I take you to be my wedded husband
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer”
Until the God sets us apart
Honey turned the first leaf on- ‘Money!’
“My money is my money, and
Your Money is our money, Stupid!”
Then it was all about I, me and mine
Lock never knew there was a Key
And the Key went from the fights to flights and a final freeze
Kalesh Kurup Feb 2019
It snowed for two nights and days
Snow covered everything beneath
I longed for snow for long, for...

The snow covered...
The thronging steps on the pathways;
The daunted breaths on the grass;
Cigarette butts and unhealed burns;
The scars left as marks forever

The snow defined a new vista
A tranquil moment frozen in space
An unblemished surf on every muddle
Snow had grown in to a deserted horizon

I pulled over the blanket of snow
Head to toe, thoughts to dreams
I liked the deserted vista of snow
Snow covered everything beneath
Kalesh Kurup May 30
What do you do when you are all into yourself?
On your own, locked down, but not jailed
It’s an overall excitement of the containment in the beginning
The anxiety in finding that your routines do happen
That other’s routines also happen despite you getting locked down

Days go by and you start philosophy life
The pace and speed were unnecessary
Urge to be responsive to everything around
Even if some of it like the broken chair or the long-forgotten friend from school
do not seek your attention anymore

Weeks went by and you get this fire to rebel
Unshaven face stated the mark of a long beard
Locks started growing unruly defying combs
Stopped moving from “home me” to the “office me” for umpteen meetings over screens

Then came the revelation
The futility of fear of the unknown
And the pressure to be seen and performing
Sober and release said the inner voice
I took out the razor and shaved off the hair to begin with...
Kalesh Kurup Dec 2015
I am in search of that poem
I got that moment
I got that pencil
I got that paper
But where is that eraser
To find the right poem
From all those prose
I have written with my life
Kalesh Kurup Feb 2016
I was born twice
On the same date of the same month
With just a gap of forty years
First accidentally and then chose to

Twelfth in the count,
Not a meticulous plan; it just happened
"More the merrier, give wind its wings"
Said the rain soaked August night

When I was born first
I could not choose the date or time
Neither what to bring on or take away
It just happened, with a resounding cry

First, I was born into a house
As a son, with a mom and a papa
As a brother with sisters and brothers
Everyone felt happy and shared sweets

Then, without a death or a reincarnation
I took another birth after those forty years
I chose the same date to birth,
Control+Alt+Delete, the keys functioned

Then, I was born out of the house
Without a mom and a dad
Without a brother or a sister
Without joy or even a cry
Kalesh Kurup Nov 2019
[For this title, allow me to borrow from Kundera,
“Life is elsewhere” for many, here]

I have an app that shares latest news
All stories are about the numbers
Number of terrorists killed by Military
Number of bombs hurled by Terrorists
All fighting from life elsewhere and for life elsewhere
Military that came from elsewhere countries
Terrorists that came from elsewhere countries
They together made 'life elsewhere', for the locals

For the 4-year-old little girl
World is her 2-bedroom apartment
And views from the small peephole windows
She cannot stand in the balcony
For rockets launched by Terrorists aims only destruction
She cannot go down to the play ground
For Military encounters in streets do not sight a 4-year-old
Life must be elsewhere for her
In time and space, alike

A large number that surrendered
Many who came from faraway lands
Men and women came as men and women
Some turned slaves and some families
With kids borne in nowhere lands
They all came hoping for the life elsewhere
Now their hopes dashed, they will again wait
For life elsewhere, if not in jails

Hope is in the air,
Some say it is the best moment for peace
Let there be peace for life here and elsewhere
Kalesh Kurup Feb 2016
‘Living on the edge’ is pass
It’s all of ‘fear of the unknown’
And the ‘pressure to perform’; every time
To live, you have to go beyond the fear
To live, you have to go beyond mere motions
To live, you have to fall free, like a feather

Between the light blue sky above
And the deep blue ocean below
Blistering through the binge of clouds
First, a heavy frightful fall
Eventually ensued to a tranquil of timbre
And a weightlessness of body and soul
That Free Fall, swept away, all my blues

The string of connect I had with the Chute
Was once again the umbilical cord of life
The Free Fall, a journey through the tunnel of life
The Free Fall faced me up with lose and desperation
Inhibitions, stereotypes and false pretentions
And everything close to worries and hurries

The Free Fall, fails you to fear again
The Free Fall, fails you to fail again
The Free Fall, lets you FREE…
Kalesh Kurup Dec 2015
"Go Slow", I told my life in January
"I want to take this journey at your pace"
"I want to build those bridges again"
"I want to complete you as I would always want"

"Hello!” I heard a call from the near far.  
Was it really a response from the healing heart of February?!
"I hold the right to set your pace"
"I hold the right to bless you sleeps"
“I hold the right to curse you sleeplessness"
“I decide the right for you in everything"

Until the obscene April summer turned up,
It was not life; but the Cyclone’s desire to fell everything en route.
I learned; there might be things to cherish
But would not want to own again

Rains in Kerala carry the rhythms of life
I once again made those paper boats
At my pace, as the 10 year old,
And as July demanded
Life grew deeper within, in that rhythm of rains
Nursing the one who nursed me for long
I learned, there are only cycles in life,
There is only movement in life

The flight took off, despite the pedantic reasons thrown over the tarmac
In that morgue of frozen mummies, I felt the futility of expectations
My Wings of fantasies halted, on top of the panoramic Great Wall
In the arc lights of award night, I enjoyed the pleasure of losing
Walking alone the Washington streets, I found the walks of life...

November comes concealing a lot; it conceive sorrows
It grows a detached attachment within and around you
November reinforces the relativity in everything
Life, love, respect, trust and confidence

I like the reds in December, it's flamboyance
I like the irony of "hope" brought in by this very end!
There are only cycles in life, no gains or losses
There is only movement in life, some forward
And some stuck in the maze and not knowing which way.
Kalesh Kurup Dec 2016
I again got stuck in the bridge today
In the Upper Plateau bridge-
The bridge  across  the lagoon.
Stuck, with no breathing space to manoeuvre
All three lanes facing forward, chock a block
Cars of all sizes and costs strewn around

It's always like that, faced ahead on the wheel
Neither space to turn left to see anything right;
Nor to the right, for anything left...
When on the steering wheel
You are responsible, not just for your actions;
But the whole world around.
For the car in the front, back and the
Sides, who cannot move until you move.
Slowly you realise, 'it was never a
Bridge across for ever"

There has been this urge,
Many a time, to break out and run, though
You are stuck in the bridge, no room to
Often it's like a circle eating itself;
Beginning losing the end and vice versa!

But then comes the thoughts of the school fees, the maintenance, the rent and the upkeep
You are stuck on the bridge, mate
Stay put, until the snarls open its own

All rights reserved (c) A K Kalesh Kumar 2016
Concept of left without anything  right and right where nothing left is borrowed from a friend.
Kalesh Kurup Sep 2017
“Sir, this mole seems to be growing and spreading”
Suhail stopped the scissor and comb, and said
“It’s a bit grown than last month and even then, I noticed it spreading”

Suhail is my hair stylist for the last about six years
I have seen him growing from a Hair Analyst to Specialist to Senior Hair Specialist
There is something more than the generous tip that connects us
May be my willingness to abide by his experiments with my hair
Or reciprocation of loyalty that bound us every month

Surprised, I asked him, “What mole are you talking about?”
“Don’t you know the black mole on the back side of your left ear” puzzled Suhail
“You go and check with Madam, may be its my feeling only”

“How would madam know about it Suhail, she doesn’t cut my hair!”
“Arre Sir, you too!” Suhail had a vicious smile on his face
“Come on tell me” I prodded him with the same viciousness
We got into wayward pastime …

“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When you lay down on her lap in those afternoons
And she combs your hair with her fingers
And when you fall into that muddle of sleepiness and excitement
Her eyes would lock it”

“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When she comes from the back as on paws of a cat
Hugs and hold you tight with her hands
And press her face on your shoulder
Her eyes would lock it”

“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When those drenched lips move away from your lips
And the craving teeth leave a hickey on that earlobe,
Her eyes would lock it”

Suhail finished the haircut and I left tipping him as usual
The drive back home searched through the labyrinths of memories
Of caressing fingers, tight hugs and hickeys
Why didn’t she mention that mole, ever?

“Honey, you never told about that Mole,
Come on, let me see and let’s go to a Dermatologist quickly
We can’t take these things lightly; the doctor may even suggest a biopsy
Biopsy is fully covered in your mediclaim, isn’t it?”
“Arre” is a Hindi language term meaning “Hey”
Kalesh Kurup Jan 2016
After good twenty two years
I lay suspended, almost a S shape
In that easy chair, back home in Kerala
The cloth that holds, reminds
The swings I had in the cradle
With each move; people, events and situations
Came alive as if in a motion picture,
In that space within my heart

The contours of that easy chair
Rested myself into an eternal ease
Sitting there with my cup of coffee
I felt my life jumping on to my lap, in indulgence!
My life giggled, cried, laughed loudly
Sang occasional lullabies, kissed me deeply, and at times
Darted right into my heart
Filling all voids, in that space within…

My life held a mirror straight on to my face
Took me through the life I sailed
Pains, pleasures, pauses and prices I paid
Fights, flights and the final freeze, I chose
That easy chair on which I sat
Brought me close to my Self

In that trance, I asked
"Where were you all these while, my life?"
"You never find any time to sit for me to come to you" my life said
I realized, I was sitting, all the while, in innate forms,  
But not as a listener to my own life.
That easy chair back home
Showed me what and how, I were
That easy chair back home
Made me live again...
Kerala state in India has a typical design for wooden foldable chairs which has at the centre, a swinging cloth that allows you to take a curved shape while sitting. And the wooden stretchable hands allows you to place your legs up. Legs and head up and the back curved, you get to swing a bit and move a bit sideways, as you are suspended. One can get the same weightless, suspended feeling in Kerala's traditional cradles as well...
Kalesh Kurup Jan 2016
The big, black cat crossed my path again today
As always, slowly walking across the road;
He turned back, around the corner and looked at me
As if to say, I own my path!

The big, black cat crossed my path again today
On this Friday, the Thirteenth
After bumping into the widow housekeeper mopping the floor
And sighting a crow that flew from right to the left;

As the big, black cat crossed my path again today
Shall I ask you; once again,
To wear that artless indifference and the quirky smile
And tell me “What do you ‘get’ from that?”

As earlier when the big, black cat crossed my path
Would you answer, “Come on;
The ******* cat is just going somewhere”
Then, with abandon, say “the journey must continue"
Kalesh Kurup Mar 2017
"There is something in you"

"Do not tell me it's the state of my mind that
Crave for meaningful commitments
Do not tell me, our doors are mutually exclusive,
That cannot open to same pathway"

I am in the make and modes of that solitary *****
Who does not know what is the gift of the given moment.
Who does not know whether the next breath is life or not having it anymore.

I am the ***** living life on the edges when not in the fringes!
With desultory realms of engagements,
Let me avoid that growing sarcastic curve on your face
When "my passions are flimsy"; why define the adulations any lower!

So my 'distant untouched enigma';
Do not be dismayed at this callous, rantings of mine;
I have done with many  futile 'serious' talkathons...
Ignore me as a silly, frivolous thought
Flew in and darted away in an afternoon siesta
© 2017. all rights reserved with author
Kalesh Kurup Sep 2016
Yesterday some files got stolen
Felt a numbness for long
As if some part of life got erased
No one said its coming, Alzheimer's; not a virus
Ironically, the latest to lose was,
The one on, 'Mitigating Risks'

A 'Stolen Report' was filed
The format wanted a lot of details
What, when, where and how
Penning them down was a struggle
After all, the life lost was beyond
"Time" and "Space", for Alzheimer

Life said "I can't bear this tension,
Pray hard to get those stolen things back"
Some random thoughts, some arguments,
Some evidence, some case law
Some reminders, some proofs, some records
"God, be kind enough to get me those- random thoughts back"

Yesterday I got robbed of:
My unblemished, false pride of never losing
My faith in "big brother" to watch me, over
My pseudo faculties of intuitions
My blind faiths in miracles, and
My impulses to get worked up

Yesterday, as I retired,
Rewinding the day and that dusk
My soul murmured to me
"5 o' clock will come anyway
Relish, those robbed by the stolen files.

(all rights with author)
Kalesh Kurup Jan 2016
There is a little space within our heart
Like a small screen for images from a projector to fall
An incessant cinema at play; the modern one, of course!
Swiftly edited imagery convey much
Than a long winding start to end boring script

Faces, Places, Situations, Emotions, everything
Become an image, some you remember;
And some, you do not forget;
Then, some, you cannot forget
Is memory made of remembering the unforgotten?

The Mathemagician taught:
Align names with “time or space” to remember a person
Took my own name; said ‘Kal’ is ‘time’ and ‘esh’, ‘God’
Remember Kalesh as “God of Time”
During lunch, he asked me “What’s your Name?”

To remember, you need a reason
A cheque to arrive every month;
A date to keep; a scar in the mirror;
Some ******; some mystery around the moves;
But, as the reason weakens, remembrance fades

To retain you in that Space within the heart, I have…
Those midnights in my lap, with your eyes gazed at “Tom and Jerry”;
Those tasting sessions, I rated awesome-
Every dish you made in that “Barbie Kitchen set”;
The endless times, losing the fist fights, as you had “Boost for energy”
My shameless switch overs of “positions” for your annual debates;

Not to forget; not, to remember...
Kalesh Kurup Dec 2016
Go to five more unknown lands
Collect a talisman from everywhere
Then climb the steps to the quietest place
You will find your cherished wish there
Fully blossomed; Strobilanthes,  the wonder
That blooms once every 12 years

In that quietest corner of the climb
When you find me- your treasure
Never come close to me,
For closer to the desire, I am different
Let me be the third talisman with the unfold magic
And, "thy shall not beret my indifference"

"But why you call me indifferent
Didn't you see the Gazette, off late?"
Life in her wide eyes darted through me...
"A decree was issued that you cannot
Feel Indifference unless I admit to it
Find your talisman- may be I am your unknown land"

Innate travel through time and mind zones;
Bereft of the sleep and the dreams, me-
Forgetting to remember me-self;
How can I remember to forget you?!
Don't put words into my mouth
You are the fifth talisman of an unknown land

December tells me "dart further and farther"
To unknown lands for talisman's blessings
" Get over the fence you made in these years
The fence cannot keep out, anyone willing
The fence cannot keep in, anyone wanting
The line you have drawn was in water...

So, here comes me, in search of the talisman
Off the fences, for you to invite and venture.
An year full of drum beat journey behind
In search of the quietest place of tranquil  
Thank you December, the wind you blew,
I keep these in my heart and mind for ever

Turning inward for a new year of inner peace...

(All copy rights with the Author)
Kalesh Kurup Jan 2016
Are we not brought up, in stories?
Stories of hero worship, dark fearful nights
Soft tender tears, hot red lips
Fairy Mothers, frightful demons
Realms where magic and realism
Locked us up for a perpetual inter-play

Growing up and ‘living’ a story
Is all about the Story teller
Fearful ‘Dracula’ who entered my teeny nights
Was made up this unpredictable predator
By the cousin Story teller, than
Bram Stoker, as I learned later

Much after ‘Leslie and Richard’
Went their own ways
I stayed with the Soul mate;
“Bridge across Forever”
It was the story that I lived in,
Faith blinded, in the Story teller!

Teller can make you up and pull you down
A hero today is villain tomorrow
Abandoned fury; Bereft emotions
Erratic desires; Impromptu positions
Mix and shake them well
Teller can rapt a discerning listener

Teller can also cast a spell with the story
With made-up faces and un-made-up minds
Hewing a profile with vicarious feelings
With deceitful facts and illusory events
Teller webs a story, you ‘live in’
‘Make believe’; but beautiful!

Then one day, listener grows out of the story
Magic fades and sanity sets in
Tears turn phony, Lies lay bare
“The Gift was kept by my parents”
Said the Kid, “not by Santa Clause”.
Let that ‘wake up’ not hurt forever

Stories are told by Story teller
Characters seldom given to testify
A beginning and end carefully crafted
A long route that can have ‘twists in the tale’
I am learning to listen to stories as ‘Stories’
Not life in essence, every time.
With due  regards to listed and unlisted great stories and met and un-met story tellers; I have grown up with...
Kalesh Kurup Nov 2016
My November comes conceiving sorrows
Despite layers over layers, the **** shows
Pregnant sorrows are like still borne children
And still borne children, the fiction of the unaware
Always stuck in that muddle of grief,
Not begun; yet not leaving

Out here, November Nights gain an hour
And, my sleeplessness too
Y'day night I woke up in three tunnels of time
As if, passing through some corridors and trapped
Somewhere; for a long time

I feel an envious abandon to
All those trees that felled their leaves
Through the trees and felled leaves
November gives me a cold lonely road
To tread, more backwards than ahead...

Mired lines mar the November vision
Can insinuations offer 'clarity on Intentions?'  
Fall fells a lot, below the bare branches
Awaits a lot of leaves, crushed hopes and dreams
I lay bare, awaiting this November to turn over

@ all rights with Author
Kalesh Kurup May 2016
Got your wire asking me to meet;
The wire that travelled rounds to reach me
Weeks or even months to reach me
After all that while you waited me going
From where I have now traversed abound

Years didn't know what months held within
Months didn't listen to day's throbbing
But we boarded the same space and time
It wasn't crowded with any ‘other ones’
Why didn't you meet me then, me around?
Why didn't you meet me there, me waiting?

Silly or serious, the moments we digressed
You turned your back and switched me off
Making up, I sat by the side, hands feeling
I knew you were pretending asleep;
Then slowly gone to an indifferent self
Why didn't you meet me there, by your side?

Remember all those questions I asked?
Of compulsions and convictions of yore
When you wore an eerie silence as answer
Looking away saying I don't want to respond
I had waited for you there, for long
Why didn't you meet me there with the answers?

Remember all those things you have hidden
Things that changed my takes on life
On trust, respect, love and sorts
You slept over them and woke up afresh
I stood there unslept; carrying scars ever after
Why didn't you sight me so, there?

We were walking along and away,
Not knowing the long pauses we took
Two souls trapped in the same maze
Crossing and nodding days after days
But more as strangers; on a courtesy call
I wish you stopped and met me there.

Now that I have been on this travail for long
With miles to go for that unknown destiny
And a lost way back in labyrinths of mind
Meetings won't be of hearts anymore;
Would set us only on old routes we loathe
So wait no more on your wire...
Kalesh Kurup Aug 2017
That journey from Morgue was hardly an hour and a half
But my travail took me through thirty years,
Holding his cradle tight, lest to wake him up from that eternal sleep

As he was laid in that ambulance all dressed up for his final journey,
He looked the smart, tall "Chettan ", unlike the child I tended a month back
Forlorn in some early childhood shores, courtesy the Alzheimer's

A bump ahead on the road shook the ambulance and me from my thoughts
In a reflex, my hands went to hold him from falling from the cradle
An eerie chill went through my spine, he was ice cold- the body was in Morgue for long

Water soaks through his new shirt, ice melts in the outside heat
“Chettan” who stood so tall for you to always looked up to…
Who came with abundance in his back pack every Friday

With his Murphy radio playing melodies deep in to the nights
With his cloak work precisions for breakfast to dinner times
With his grins and growls that moved the moods of “Chechi ”

Have you ever tried to feel a body from the morgue?
An ice cold, motion less, sensor less body
That moment and the eerie chill is a revelation
Death is so penetratingly cold
That you wish you don’t have senses to feel it anymore

Ambulance halted at the large assemblage of mourners
I stepped out, a furious movie flash back playing in that ‘space within my heart’
He laid there- ice cold; waiting to be escorted, to the pyre;
With that space within his heart gone to a void, unwittingly

- all rights reserved
“Chettan” in Malayalam is used to address an elder male. In this case an elder brother in law

  “Chechi” in Malayalam is used to address an elder female. In this case an elder sister
Kalesh Kurup Oct 2017
You may say I remembered you only when I got free off my chores
May be, you are also right, I did not wish you blissful mornings in all years, me making a life
May be, you are also right, I reached out to you, but for a common friend and an incident
But as I did, it was not remembering, but not forgetting you all these years
You cannot, not love the Premise of Love, my love!

Albeit the bitter fights we fought
In the confines of our bedroom and the courtroom
Was it parting two ways with the  lightness of freeing from the heaviness of those six long years?
And when I wrote to you in just a few days that I want you back as you are my first and the best
You cannot, not love the Premise of Love, my love!

As I walked into your new abode, I knew I was sinning
It was my weakness that I could not take you along before you tied the knot
Even in that dark, cold ambience I could feel his eyes piercing my soul
Wasn’t it for love; to win you back that sinfully I shared the niceties of our togetherness
Hence, you cannot, not love the Premise of Love, my love!

It may be the humming of your favorite song or that poetry of longing
May be inundated snaps I took on the beach or the pathways
A late night re run of the movie we watched together
Or that free fall from ten thousand feet on the chutes
Memories do not fade, hence; you cannot, not love the Premise of Love, my love!

— The End —