Sitting around the patchy tree stumps at Sagar’s Cafeteria,
Campus was not solitaria*.
Listening to songs saved on our tiny phones, decade ago,
We devoured the sound of silence and the fields of athenrye
We lit mary jane and made merry singing along to ***** Gun
in broad daylight without the purview of uni cam puns.
Who cared if it was just a five-minute break from Hemangadutta
Or Sheeba’s hungry call for relief,
we made it seem wakeable in the dewy morns.
Sagar’s had the tastiest samosa, chicken puff
and Tiger biscuits so cheap we could fudge it in the lassi whuff.
Days and months went by hovering around Sagar than classes.
We never saved pennies, we spent bills on choora
from our pocket monies for bura.
EFLU= English and Foreign languages university; my campus.
A dash of nostalgia.
Lullabies of thunder and gore
On a wet night's tremors at my mother's coastal shore
I heard the hum of your pitch dark delight,
Roaring with wraith o'er the lagoon
Raging tides and wreaths lo-where shroom.
That's when I heard you bouncing off the shadows.
Another folly night in the jungles of board and milky turns of rocks, I saw you whistle past the bamboo blades.
But it was on the terrace of my paternal home that I saw the insignificantly significant red fireflies on a pitch dark night embraced in palms,
I felt your touch by mangroves and pines.
You come again to lull me to slumber
Thundering bolts refrain from shallow rompers.
Take me with your silent coos and moos.
Light my dirge and moan for moons.
Let's overthrow the albatross and harrow the silvesteros.
Send my greetings to the land of doon.
I am en route, already my beau
In the bottom of the world, where the eye can’t trace,
There is a world. Far from worlds of all kinds, there’s a maze.
It’s slopped down and valleyed to the edge of the earth. From earth it rises
and flashes like an army of ants. Mutinying army ants in hermit clothes praises.
Little huts made of clay. Ants clay-model rants they philosophize the earth. Planet of hearth.
mutineers of hard work, far from working life and politics. Licks the Saturdays to Sunday dirge.
Your sorrow will be gone morrow,
Your silence will be force of horror.
We will help you seek your justice.
All you need to do is now is close your eyes and wait for precipice.
It will bear the name of your Victor. Traitors and victory echoless.
You can rise again, stitch the rashes for Phoenix,
Fluttering to the dewy meadow of blue above. Rise above the sky this time.
Close your eyes and fly this time. Never another time to rise, close and soar but this time.
I thought I’d learned all I had to
Turns out there’s a thing called getting better at what you do.
I thought I’d seen all them follies of life hitherto
Turns out there’s a thing called getting greater than what we were.
I thought I’d swept all them sins right out
Turns out there’s a thing called getting cleaner than what you are.
I thought I’d wept all them regrets inside-out
Turns out there’s a thing called getting calmer than what I was.
I thought I’d kept all them promises I made to my beau
Turns out there’s a thing called getting quieter than what I could’ve.
Corners of your room,
Knows me more than you.
Because that’s where I was lost
When you talked about leaving.
Bushes beyond the wall,
Knows the promise more than us.
Because that’s where we first lit passion
When we took a walk the first night.
Mushy park benches after rain,
Knows us more than the campus.
Because that’s where we kissed
When we first felt love beyond lust.
Veiny edges of my wrist,
Knows you more than me.
Because that’s where I tried writing
When your name started fading.
My handwriting was so ugly,
I practiced it day and night
I wanted to become a doctor y’see.
A doctor with a fine hand.
My handwriting became so good,
I became a Writer instead.
Why didn’t you keep your promise?
Why didn’t you think of me once?
By the doors
Why didn’t you come back?
Was it my command to leave?
Couldn’t you look back once?
Where the hell were you?
Now I am dead.