Age crept up on him in stealth,
careful not to tread upon a dry twig
in the garden of his memories,
careful not to disturb
the butterflies, the bees,
the tiny hummingbirds and koels,
which, drunk on nectars,
in happy abandon,
sang their songs all day long.

His ears, once, were keen,
picking up every note, every tone
every trill, however shrill.
and he swayed to the music
and sashayed on occasion
as he walked through his garden
humming their songs
and caressing those flowers.

And now that the tumult of youth
had left subdued
and speed gave way to grace,
he could now detect
that his breathing was louder
than all that music,
that he heard it above all else
like a loud metronome
which only he could hear.

He'd now lie awake often,
listening to the night rain
come roaring down in fury
and leaving soon after
and then the raindrops from the roof
drumming merrily upon the puddles
and he'd also listen, above it all,
to the sound of his own breath
beating a slow rhythm.

Then, just like that,
came a day when,
all on a sudden,
the sun froze in mid air.
and so too, the butterflies
and the hummingbirds.
the flowers wilted and drooped
and silence fell upon the garden
with a terrible crash.
and above that crescendo,
he heard his own rasping breath.

he heard nothing more.

Fly away my dear li'l butterfly
on those golden gossamer wings
May you set aglow every peak high!

Don't look back dear, don't you even try
to scan my sad face for tear's springs
Fly away my dear li'l butterfly

I won't let you see my tear-filled eye,
the deep anguish that farewell brings.
May you set aglow every peak high!

Now, dear child, let's wave a goodbye;
Go, ride every wave, break all strings
Fly away, my dear li'l butterfly

May every kid you touch also fly
with you, wonder, sprout their own wings
May you set aglow every peak high!

Your goal's set, your aim is the sky
Yon horizon's where glory springs
Fly away my dear li'l butterfly
May you set aglow every peak high!

When the sky burst,
sending down a hail
of cold glass marbles
pummeling the hard earth,
we were in the curio shop, my love
caressing a dusty watch,
holding an alabaster vase,
once dear to some soul departed.
we were struck by wonder then,
at the fusillade.
do you remember?

When shafts of light
pierced the tall canopies
creating dancing shadows
'pon the forest floor
and showing us
here a mushroom,
there a pinecone
we were just inside
the tiny wooden temple
but not really praying
we were struck by wonder then
at the silence, my love.
I know you remember.

When the rain stopped
and the little island
was drenched in sunlight,
we were spread out
almost exhausted
on the silver sands
looking straight up at
our own sky
wanting each other again
but that lone pesky parakeet
screeched in protest
we laughed at the interruption,
didn't we, my love?

We had to force our way
to the gurgling stream
and dip our feet in the
Ice cold waters,
sit down on the smooth rocks.
we were in company then
but the baboons
didn't really mind it
when we held each other
and kissed.
We were mildly surprised then
that they let us be,
weren't we, my love?


Here we are again
sipping tea together
blowing into the cup slightly
and breathing in
the aroma of the brew
in a daily ritual
that's shorn of all ceremony.
I am wrinkled now; so are you.
not that it matters,
either to you or to me,
as we sit here together
sipping silently.
And we smile suddenly
at a moment shared
but never really spoken of.

Friends! Remember my camel,
that loafer with a permanent grin?
he's been a-chewing a-ruing, ruminating,
upon the yonder and beyond a-pondering

His reins hang loose, his saddle's dusty
his bit is chewn his blanket's musty
his coat's crusted with the scars of Time
he's forlorn for no real reason or rhyme
he's footloose as ever, he just has to wander
in search of all the oases of the yonder

You should see his gait as he kicks up the clods
when he plods, he plods and plods and plods
and when he saunters, it's quite a canter
he and I, we argue, disagree and banter
I think I'm his master but he thinks otherwise
I wish i could rein him in but i know it's unwise
and so i let him have his wayward ways,
together we tread this crazy maze.


(Just last week I tightened his saddle
and he took me to a land
all-green-and-no-sand
where it rained and sploshed
and we both got sloshed...
when the clouds parted and clear was the sky
he was much younger and so was I
he sprang in the air like a kid newborn
there was spring in the air, I too was airborne
the grass was washed, so was the moss
gone from his hair was all the dross
he stopped grunting, he sang instead,
full of Malayalam thoughts in his head
we went to gaze at elephants
(loved their finery but not their chained legs)
we heard drums in their elements
well into the nights we pranced
in ******* raptures we tranced
and woke up  lazy by mid-afternoons
with heads so hazy and postpartum blues)

He and I, we've had many a fight
o'er who's the one wrong and who's right
he's been calling every oasis a mirage
I say none of them's a camouflage
he's adamant that it's all an illusion
that I'm tripping and under a delusion
I say I hear him bleat like a goat,
I touch his rain-washed mangy coat
I see him, like a ship, heave and sway
I smell him from quite a mile away
yet I ask myself if all this is not Maya,
if even mirages weren't of realms higher.

hold still, my love!
let me freeze in time
that elusive essence
of all that you are!

let me pan from head to toe
all those fleeting memories
that envelope you like a halo!
--that heady mix of honey and cinnamon
as you say into the phone “hello!”
--that dainty dimple
and the happy curl of your ruby lips.

is it my breath that sways
those curls framing your cheeks?

for years have we shared,
for ages have we walked
the long road together,
stopping, but for mere moments,
to fight our little fights
and talk our little talks,
to press our hands together
and smile
at things small and beautiful,
at some rare memory.

hold still, don’t breathe!
don’t sway
those delicious mountains and valleys
where often our rivulets
joined in a torrent of frenzy!

where in the labyrinth
of time and space
did we first meet?
do you remember?

you are my memory
and I am yours.
but memories are ephemeral
and fleeting and deceptive.

so let me freeze them in time
before you and I
fade away.

click!

I have so many things to tell you
In a thousand silent words
When I finally meet you
And the coffee in its cup goes cold...

Even if I only just stroked
Your fragile delicate hand
I'd be holding you entirely
In a tight unending hug.

Oh would I gaze into your liquid eyes
Trying, in vain, to fathom them!
Would I breathe deep enough
Of your aromatic breath
And listen to those curls
Hum a happy song as they
Caress, coyly, your dimpled face!

I ask myself again and again
If we ever have met.
And I'm sure we have
Time and again
Not merely sipped from
Many a cup of coffee gone cold
But from Life itself.
Across so many light years.
Across galaxies and millennia.
And we had gone our separate ways
Until, at this very moment.
When we forget the coffee
In its cup gone cold.

In the beginning was a trill.
that didn't quite belong
to the silence enshrouding the night.

then another, as if in reply.
then a tweet, a trill, a tweet again.
a chirp this time, replied with another,
as the chorus grew.
(Arise oh Lion among men!
Perform your Divine duties!
The eastern sky has begun to blossom,
O great son of Kausalya!)

a  pair of ears,
a  pair of eyes,
then the rest of him
was born again
in the darkness

and he knew he was both
the prince and the ten-headed one
and many others besides,
witnessing his very own fantasy,
his fear, his shame,
his throbbing lust,
seemingly anachronistic
in the gray morning.
and suddenly remembering
yesterday's sums
and its remainders,
it's untotalled accounts.

he now knew
the always new harmony
of trills and tweets
from a million eons.
he'd been witness
to so much birdsong,
to countless metamorphoses;
some noisy, most silent,
like gray turning pink-orange-golden
like friend-turning-foe
dimple-turning-wrinkle...

for one more time,
he was here and now again
before fading
into the twilight haze
of a stolen snooze.

Into the crusty inkwell
of my tears,
I ****** my quill.
I probe, I scrape.
Almost frantic,
again and again,
as it comes up dry.

The quill is blunt,
its tip is in tatters.

I hear the loud ugly scratch
as it furrows the paper
in futility.
I draw a blank.

It looks like I'm done.
My words die unwritten.
My thoughts are stillborn.

Oh why can't i cry anymore?

Often
I keep quiet
I purse my lips
Even allow myself to grimace
From the effort to resist
The temptation to name
The thought that wells in me
Despite myself.

I wear this silence
Like a shroud
Because the unnamed
Is magical, mysterious.
Because to name would be
Violent sacrilege
To voice,
Wanton transgression.

Under the shroud
I boil bubble froth
In terrible unrest
Like a druid's cauldron
And yet I refrain
I hold back
I don't want to break
The torment
Of imminent release

But I'm as human as you are
Because sometimes
Despite myself
I let go
I burst
I sing and cry
I join the celestial chorus
Warbling chirping tweeting
And my voice
Adds ink and pink
To my sky

fare thee well
oh my good ol' hawai chappal!
thy sole is free now
to roam worlds unknown
unfettered at last from feet
and straps and strings unseen...
don't let your gait slacken
in fear of some fearsome vulcan
do'nt baulk at the spectre
of, in his cauldron, giving up your sulphur
for you may yet be reborn
in an avatar as yet unknown.
a glove, a doll or an eraser
a ******, a cap or something baser.
for you, i shed a silent tear
so loyally did you serve me, my dear!

Every time i chase
a  thought or emotion
in its carefree fantastic flight
and try to clothe  it
with motley syllables
and myriad words
I'm not quite a poet,
No sir, not quite!
And so i cry a bit
because i know
I'm catching a butterfly
and crushing her delicate wings
and like a ******,
laughing in joy
at her anxious agony
as she flutters and dies,
petrified in the sticky amber
of my words.

If only i could sing instead,
like the cuckoo outside my window!
he never ever chases them,
he just lets them soar
on the wings of his notes
far into the inky silent night.
And those thoughts and emotions
start singing sweet songs
of love and angst and pain,
of lust and loss and longing
of betrayal and separation.

And lying in bed sleepless,
I listen.
And I cry.

Hi there, I say
to the dusty weary stranger
At the ramshackle shanty
Perched upon a precipice.
As he sips tea
Steam rises silently from the cup
He looks up
And he says Hi
Letting out some steam

Where from, I ask
Guessing he was from down south
He slurps lazily
And replies in one miserly word.
And I see I was way off the mark
My eyebrows knit in knotty defeat
My instincts have blunted
I grunt at myself

Where to, I ask
He gropes around in his shirt pocket
A cigarette appears, slightly crumpled
He lights up, squinting his eyes
The smoke is acrid
I smell it's long-forgotten male scent
He drags, the tip glows bright
He opens his mouth in a stylized 'O'
Blows rings in a fibonacci sequence
I suddenly crave tobacco
But I wait
He hasn't replied...

On the far hill I see
A tiny car
Careening off the road
Tumbling in slow motion
Ricocheting here and there
Disappearing
In a golden flash
And a plume of smoke
He drags on the *** again
Lets out a plume of smoke
And points at the far hill
And its winding road
And the plume of smoke
Rising wispily skyward

I crave a smoke all the more
I say to no one:
Play it again, Sam
Play it once, for old time's sake.
He starts whistling
A long-forgotten song
He gets up to go,
Starts trudging down the road
I pick up my satchel
And start climbing.
Ahead of me on the snaky road
There's nobody.

Woman, Oh woman!
I've tried and tried
to peel you tenderly
layer by layer
hoping to see all your glory
but I know it's futile
you'd just evanesce
into thin air
and all I'd get would be a whiff
of your lingering fragrance.

Woman,  I've tried and tried
to rain on you
with gentle sun showers
hoping to rouse you from languor.
I've touched you, tasted you
I've tried to hug you
for eternities that burst like water bubbles
I've tried sharp logic
to see what's inside of you
but all I'd get would be
some finely chopped confusion
some teary eyes
and some of your juices

Woman, oh woman!
I've tried and tried
I've eyed you, I've weighed you
I've measured you, sized you
I've sketched you, shot you
painted you over and over
in black, in white, in all shades of grey
and in a seven million hues too.
I've finally even thrown words,
wet gooey words,
onto my potter's wheel
coaxing them with clumsy hands
to mould your voluptuousness
your curves, your smile,
your love, your strength,
your fiery impatience
your very core essence--
but all I'd get would be
a limp blob
of pathetic poetry.

I've tried and tried
unraveling, deciphering you;
a mere likeness, a semblance
is all I'd get of you
but no, it still wouldn't be you.

The earth here is red my friend
Because if you dig it up
You'll find the congealed blood
That was spilt in so many silly battles
Over ownership and honour and faith
And that blooms today as roses
And hibiscus and a thousand other flowers

The earth here is red my friend
Because it's already clotted
And waiting for more to be interred
While they wail and mourn yet again
As vendetta spawns vendetta
And ****** cockfights fuel the thirst
For more blood, more gore

The earth here is red my friend
Because her lust for blood is insatiable
And yet look how she clothes herself
In a luxurious glimmering verdant silk
Hums one of her sweet birdsongs
And smiles at you, innocently
Beckoning you like a coquette.

Yesterday wept bitterly
at the threshold
when I left her,
gently prising my fingers free
of her clutching hands.

Will I see you again, she asked.
Maybe, I mumbled
and I stepped out
into the twilight.

Tomorrow stood there
waiting like a bride
shy, tremulous
drawing little rings in the sand
with her toes.

I hurried towards her.
I was aware of the sand
slippingawayfromundermyfeet
like the last grains
hurtling down the neck
of a ruthless hourglass.

Come to me, my love, I whispered
as I grabbed her hungrily.

How lonely were you
in that solitary grave
atop the hill
where
the wind whistled
now and then
tousling the dry blades of grass
and moulding the rusty boulders
into eerie shapes
where
the vague echoes
from the valley
and from the hills beyond
merged into
the silence,
the stillness

After that life of love
of tumult and adulation
I bet you'd come
to love this solitude
this quiet place
to rest in peace
while the wind erased
your name from
the headstone...

Until they brought the rest,
shovelling every now and then
and chanting from the book
and then throwing
clumps of sod
disturbing you
with their muffled sobs
which the wind brought back
a century later to me, now.

When the night bled,
little streams of silver light
trickled down my hair and beard
and despite my inferiority
I glowed an ethereal glow.

When I roamed the Earth
my gait heavy with guilt,
my head glowed
like a bobbing ball
through the dark labyrinths
of sleeping groves.

A swarm of termites
followed me all the way
to the grotto of silence
by the lotus lake
where I sat
lost
still
silent.

And they salved me
and covered my wounds
cocooning me within their mound
that smelt of the Earth and my tears
and I sat there
lost
still
silent.
for eons.

Until that morning
when a monstrous twang
pierced my heart
and brought
the Sarus crane down
writhing in agony
while his mate wailed.
and I cursed the hunter
to his own eternal hell
of regret.

When the crane died
words were born
in metre and rhyme
and I emerged
from my earthen mound
of silence,
singing.

In pain,
in empathy,
I found my voice again.

With a sudden,mighty, silent roar,
the rain ravaged the earth
in a carnal frenzy
that gushed forth in torrents.

Soaked to their bones,
the streetlights stood mute,
their blood draining
in little yellow streams
that snaked their way
into the river.

And the river?

The river, she lay splayed
in lascivious languor,
her body shuddering
at the sudden onslaught
in the dead of the night
until the rain, spent,
slid silently away
like a thief.

I couldn't touch you
Even if I wanted to.
Under that curved glass lid
Maybe you were just asleep
Breathing a steady relaxed breath
After weeks of heaving and rasping
Maybe those were droplets from your nostrils
Not signs of refrigeration.
That red flag draped over you,
Cold, dead, not fluttering at all,
Seemed incongruous and pointless
Because those comrades gathered outside
Were whisking ennui away with flat jokes...

Did anyone really mourn for you brother?
Except the woman silently sobbing
In your dark bed?
Or your son and daughter
Reflecting on your sunny smile?

Or me, maybe?

it’s morning
groggy-eyed, zombie-like,
stubbled, disheveled,
he rises.

Outside is the gleam of dew,
the scent of fresh bloom,
the chatter of birds and squirrels.
Not for him, though,
the brilliant hues of early dawn,
the bustle and cheer of the day just born.

Tarry he cant, mustn’t
shouldn’t, oughtn’t
for he has work to do.

And so he scurries about,
not much unlike a rat-at-night.
scratching the stubble out,
shocking the slumber out,
with a splash of rusty water
and scented alcohol

glassy-eyed on the clammy-cold seat,
with the daily in hand,
he lets in garbage as he lets it out.
(let’s see: “six killed, talks fail,
girl *****, man robbed,
chain snatched, stocks down, jobs lost…)

but no, tarry he cant, mustn’t,
shouldn’t, oughtn’t.
for he has work to do.

Not for him
to reminisce and wonder
at bright-eyed kids straining at their yokes
to remember that kind teacher
who patted his cheek
and held him to her smock
smelling strangely of
freshly ironed starch.

Nor must he think
of  progress cards and golden stars
and hobbies learnt at leisure,
of cycling in the rain,
and endless hours spent
under the mango trees
waiting for heaven’s manna,
of books devoured, adventures vicariously lived
in strange English lands
where they breakfasted on
bread and poached eggs and bacon.

Nay, tarry he cant, mustnt,
shouldn’t, oughtn’t..
for hasn’t he got work to do?

‘ Tis his lot to weave
his own web of chaos
as the road turns a
tangled mess of trails
darting here and braking there
in feverish, frenetic fits
of stopping and going
and spewing
clouds of carbon and venom
and especial epithets

no, no, tarry he cant, mustn’t,
shouldn’t, oughtn’t,
for he has work to do.

So what if he didn’t see
--just ahead of him on the bike,
the baby’s pink,delicate,
fingers as she clutched
her mamma tight?
--the shriveled, outstretched,
hand that cried for a morsel of mercy
since even the cataracted eye
was drained of hope?
--the strange aromas of
fresh coffee, incense, cigarettes
and some open sewer?
--the signals that said “relax,
you’ve 68,67,66” seconds to go?

Not for him to tarry—he cant,
he mustn’t, shouldn’t, oughtn’t, god forbid!
He has work to do!

Quotations to send
calls to attend, meetings to sit in,
sipping soulless coffee,
nitpicking.
accounts to tally,
targets to meet;
better still, exceed,
‘in’ trays to empty,
‘out’ trays to fill,
reports to make,
power points to present,
all before lunch
and, strangely, until after
until, outside the prison,
life has , once again, ebbed away.
one more sun has died,
or so cries the muezzin,
some distant bells pealing
in doleful agreement.
oh where has the day gone?

Stray thoughts appear
like lights switched on-
thoughts of children, wife,
neighbour
thoughts that convince
that here, indeed, is a person
with kith and kin and others to love.
But no, they must perish—the thoughts—
he must instead focus on the task at hand.

of  first weaving through
the now dark chaos
of blinding headlights
and urgent horns, darting bikes,
neon fireflies
and reaching ‘home’ where
the ***** is busy cooking
and the cubs scampering…
“hi dad ”says the kid
as he mindlessly waves
his soul numbed by
the monotony of the day just gone
and the tv that’s ever on—
and already on the report for the morrow

can he afford to tarry awhile?
to hug, hold, talk?
to share with him
a childhood anecdote?
horrors! he cant, he mustn’t,
absolutely shouldn’t oughtn’t!
for he has work to do!

And so the bedroom light’s on
until long after she’s embraced
by slumber, deep slumber—
her eyes closed
in childlike innocence.
can he watch the slow rhythm of her *****?
the languid curves?
the cozy bed
with its promise of warmth?
on the screen , scowling,
is the clutter of data
that must be processed
into bite-sized bits of
decipherable hieroglyphics—
now, not later!

Its so dark, so  still,
even the stray dog has stopped
howling its pitiful howl
one more cigarette
burnt at the altar of work
one more hour burnt at the stake
he simply cant tarry,
mustn’t, shouldn’t, oughtn’t…
he has work to do.

It’s morning.

moonlit silver night
like a spider
weaving
this fine web of silence
around me

trapping in it
tiny pearls of dew
forlorn calls of lonely koels
suppressed sighs of yearning
tormenting thoughts pacing about
sobs buried in drenched pillows
pleasure escaping in moans
as nails titillate

dark inky night
doggedly weaving
to the cricket's staccato rhythm
this fine web of silence
around me

trapping in it
remembrances
of things past and forgotten
of humiliation and angst
of jubilation and smiles
of tenderness and love

Every time I try
to curl up in this cosy silence
the raucous cockerel
rips it to shreds
letting in golden streams.

Inside our silken cocoon
it's always two in the morning
dark and throbbing silence within,
chaos  without.

And I'm always hungry,
my whole being
forever snuggling caressing,
snaking, searching, seeking
soft mounts and peaks...
Ah your hair your hair!
jasmine -scented serpents
all over my face and chest
writhing in ecstasy!

I breathe you in
and let you out
in delicate rings
that float away
in vanishing wisps

Someday soon
will we, my dearest,
shed this cocoon
and seek the light together
for flowers and nectar?

Talk to me, my love!
say something, anything!
The silence that enshrouds me
is an icky sticky thing.
It's woven its silken strands
tighter and tighter around me.
And inside this cocoon,
I struggle and wiggle,
wanting to hear your voice.
I hum your favourite songs
but can you hear them?
Every breath is a sigh,
every moment a longing...
My ears perk up at every muffled noise--
is that your voice?
Hurry, my love,
say something, anything!
For it wont be long
before the silken strands break
and my soul flutters far
to destinations unknown...

My cat, one day,
Discovered the mirror.
He jumped onto a table
And looked into it, sideways
And saw another reality
And was fascinated
And enchanted
And he just wouldn't let go
And again and again
Went after it.
The other cat was enchanted too
And he kept pawing at my cat
And meowing a similar meow
And he wouldn't let go either.
Though I tried telling him
That it was futile,
That his reality was different.
But my cat seemed not to agree.
Did he see something that I didn't?
He pawed at it every day
And kept pawing and meowing
Until, one day, he made it there.
Or so it seems.
For he's not here now
And neither is my dad
Nor my grandma, my little sister
And so many others
And many things, besides.
And little wisps of memories even.
They all seem to have succeeded
Like my cat.

mute, dumb, the fan whirrs
sweeping first left, then right,
all around the waiting room,
seeing all, doing nothing,
from its perch on the wall.

chairs, mostly full
with faces furrowed deep
by worry, sorrow, fear.
in one, yesterday’s newspaper,
half- unread, like yesterday’s bride.

just beyond, the triage--
with the presiding nurse
in pristine white, oozing
professional empathy
and tight-fitting oomph.

anxious eyes peering
through the slit curtain
into the emergency room…
was that my dad crying in pain
or the guy with the broken leg?

inside that curtained cubicle
men in masks
squeezing life out
like one does a near-empty
tube of toothpaste.

silent, violent, sobs
from the son and daughter.
was that their uncle
who lends them his shoulder?
maybe, just maybe, the doc was wrong?

from that perch up on the wall,
the fan keeps whirring,
seeing all, doing nothing
sweeping first left, then right
is that fan god?

Wisps of an unfulfilled dream
Floated around in the air
Pale, gossamer, fading, formless
Like a word in its womb.

He drew a laboured breath in
But his heaving chest
Couldn't expel enough
To move the wisps away.

Tired eyes closed their lids,
Fast wearying of it all
And opened once again
Checking if they'd gone.

No, they hadn't ;indeed no
For they were playing it too,
The waiting game
To see who'd go first.

One more rasping breath
Drawn in long and laboured.
Then a grunting wheeze
And still the wisps lingered.

And so the game went on
Long into the cold night 'ntil
there was left no more,
Not a wisp, not a breath.


Anilkumar Parat

Scything the blazing sky
in slow deliberate circles,
he casts a gloomy shadow
like a silent looming spectre
upon the teeming hordes below
running helter skelter
in mortal fright.

He swoops down at will
picking his prey at random,
leaving the rest
who wail and lament,
if only for a few moments,
before resuming their habit
of scratching the earth
for a few worms or grain.

I love the hourglass,
Its voluptuousness, its curves.
The way it reminds me
Of love handles oh so soft
And the hours of lascivious indulgence
Of sighs of passions
And fleeting moments of exquisite delight.

And I hate it
For its inexorability, its adamance.
Not one grain of it
Can be lured to pause, to linger
As it hurtles on
To join the growing heap below
In unseemly hurry to yell at me
That my Time's up.

But beyond love and hate
Truth lies.
And beyond pleasure and pain
Death lives.
When Time stops,
Eternity begins.
Or doesn't it?

inside this swirling amniotic fluid
i bob around
like words in a pool of thought
waiting for the moment of release.

outside is tumult
and the chaotic murmur of
muffled voices--some loving,
others harsh and threatening.

fostered by this lifeline
and fettered by it,
i feel cocooned here
and in equal measure, smothered.

i kick around in glee and anger,
not quite sure what is what
but as each moment passes,
my restlessness grows with me.

nurturing me with selfless love,
protecting me from the unknown,
is this nourishing womb of attachment,
this prison of my dreams...

what lies out there i know not
nor even what destiny has decreed
but what i do know for certain
is that i want to break free!

Wash your hands.
Pick a couple of situations.
Peel away old memories.
Cut in half; what, no seeds?
Then cut first this way
And then that.
Don’t cry, my love, its just
Some bad chemistry!
Take some hot, acrid thoughts.
Core them; throw the seeds away.
Chop chop and chop.
Take a few sprigs of happiness
Finely slice them, diagonally.
In the hot wok of life,
Toss in a smile, couple of fights,
Some heartburn, some sweat,
Stir fry.
Come, my love, let’s eat!

When the river was young,
he'd often sit on its banks of sugar sand
smoking a cigarette
lazily watching
the slow, languid, eddied
swirls that Time made
as it made its way,
rather clumsily.

Sometimes from the far bend
a tree branch would come afloating
like a bad memory,
twisting and turning in the current
with some silly bird trying to balance
and figure it out from all angles

Random voices from the far shore
cicadas chirping in the lazy afternoon
from the thick undergrowths
overhanging the flowing waters
an occasional splash by some bored fish
a silent bubble bursting
cackling waterfowls
And yet he would hear his own breath,
joining in...

The waters were slightly warm then
and gentle
and caressing
when he went for a dip
and a few strokes took him
to the little islet in the middle
and aimlessly back again
to break out in little goosebumps
from the cool breeze on his wet skin.

The river's old now
muddied, wrinkled and scarred
no more voices from the far banks
no waterfowls cackling
not even lazy cicadas
only his own breathing
heavy with the sighs
of longing.
of loss.

Half hidden
under his motheaten blanket
the moon
pockmarked and sullen
distilled the night
over and over again.
All around,
a brooding silence.

Only his still growled
like distant thunder.
And from  time to time
his fire crackled.
All else was still.

Then
slowly
little droplets
started falling
clear as drops of tear
And i raised my head skyward
and pushed my tongue out

Heavy and heady drops.
The ***** stung,
tasting vaguely
of suppressed sobs
of unrequited love
juvenile fantasies
****** dreams.
And a hint of birdsong.

I guess the rogue
had wrung the neck of
my songbird
and tossed him into the still too.
Because now
only a lone insane rooster
crows repeatedly
as darkness fades.

Stop it oh Ringmaster,
Stop it you fool!
Can't you see it's pointless
To crack that whip any more?
Your stupid beast has fled in terror
Back to his cage,  trembling.
Where once he used to pace
In majestic pride ,
He now cowers in a corner
Afraid,  very afraid.
He's not half the miserable beast
He's already been.
For he seems to hear
A whip deadlier,  a whip unseen.
Every now and then he shakes
In mortal fear of his new fear!
His new Ringmaster is mightier
And way too nastier
'Coz he cracks a whip
That's frozen time, stopped everything
From meaning anything.
Neither night nor day nor love nor lust
Has any more to it now.
Look how he's forgotten
To urinate to defecate to fornicate.
The meat you threw yesterday
Lies untouched in his cage.
Is it that he's hungry no more
Or has he forgotten he's hungry?
Look how he trembles at every footfall
Of even the scurrying rats!
Of every whiff of air even,
Of even his cagemate!
No. He won't dance anymore
Not to your tune,  not to anybody's!
His time's up,  his show done.
He's figured out he's only a sucker
Running from fear to fear
Whip him hard but he won't budge
You don't scare him no more.
This new whip,  unseen but lethal
Is now his new master and Lord.

Moonless inky sky
Somewhere a lonely dog howls
Batwings flutter by


Moonless inky sky
Treetop silhouettes swaying
Lonely koel calls


Moonless inky sky
Dark clouds wrestle and rumble
Lightning blinds the eye