A reply to my teacher’s invitation to a securer life

That touch is like a soft breeze

That breathes at the end of winter;

That hand is cool like evening

After a hot day sun.

I’d bathe in it if I were fish

Or even a duckling may be,

But a bird as I am, I need the sky,

The pond is too small for me.

But I’ll dip at times to wet my eyes

When the sun is too hot for me

And I’ll touch your warmth

And feel the breeze when winter’s stormy.

Breach

 Time will be spent
         will be spent
In threading up a broken chain
To fill a void left long ago.

Time will be left
         will be left
        Only for remorse.
But the pieces will remain scattered
As before.

Words will be spent
           will be spent
In telling what was what
But nothing will be told.

Words will be left
           will be left
           Just as of old.
And the length will fail to restore
Their intent.

Breath will be spent
           will be spent
Like drops from a leaking hole
Drenching the clear and dry beyond.

Breath will be left
           will be left
           As a shadow.
The scattered beads will destroy what
Could have been built.

Incognito

There is no vision, only blinding light.

It’s not after all

A mechanical matter

Of cognitive development;

Not the change of a squeal

To a deep drawl;

Not the celebration of one’s eighteenth birthday;

Not the switching on of a lamp …

Passive fingers catch what light

Drops now and then –

Then the window is shut.

The sun spreads its wings wide,

And the window opens –

The earth receives the sun,

The groove the breeze,

The ocean the flood.

It’s not one of those diurnal courses

Counting which we grow …

The pigeon flew by the spell,

Spun crazy fancies, weaved

Dreams of hilarity and tears,

As by the magic wand.

Fell.

Now the magician has gone.

There is no vision, only blinding light.

In the room there’s scope

For shuffles and reshuffles of furniture,

Entries and departure –

There’s space for everyone.

The moment of perfection

Has passed,

For action dramatic too

Should have its share;

Only the sight of blood nauseates;

Truth and beauty are different,

So is heroism –

Why kill?

Perhaps it’s a game.

Sport is on the chart, shoot.

More blood will be cooked,

It’s the hit and try method,

Not a splash of water on the fire of youth.

There’s heat in the veins,

Balls too;

One will surely hit the spot.

Let there be blinding light,

Let perfection be passed,

Let the window open wide,

Let the cooing pigeons fly.

Waiting

Every minute was a

Grain of the hourglass

Blankly staring,

Lonely, glaring,

White streak of prickly pain.

Were there only sixty?

I must’ve lost

My ground somewhere

That when the glass was turned,

I missed a count

And counted on

And on and on and on.

To Winter

I pity you:

So black,

Downcast,

Pale as if

All your blood has been drawn,

Drawn or sucked

By a cruel beauty;

Beauty of a white storm,

Leaving you stark,

Empty,

Broken hearted.

Poor Winter,

Why do you come?

When you are bereft

Of love,

Of warm emotion;

So cold,

So hollow …

There’s the wind

Blowing in your blank mind,

Inciting evil.

Why do you come to us?

We meek,

Vulnerable,

Feeling humans.

We need each other

To warm us up

In defence.

That brings us close,

Makes lovers of us –

Perhaps,

That’s why you come!

Ombre

I am a poor germ of humanity

Well defined in negations –

Not indulging in virile comfort,

Not playing goosy goosy gander,

Nor can one find me in a bar

Darting fluid spheres into orbits

Round a hallowed dumb beauty,

Not fancying virtual images either.

On watching a bird hatch her eggs

Flitting about all day you are

In great earnest;

Fear grips you,

Fond Mother,

At the sight of curious men;

Yet patiently you toil,

To bring into this world of pain,

The new ones. They are

Far more helpless,

You know.

Perhaps Nature

Is cruel to you

(Some may think)

For making you so considerate.

Here you are tonight,

Blind, but undeterred

In purpose.

What makes you so

Persistent, when you know

They’d leave you

As soon as they grow?

Instinctive love

Has been subdued

By Woman,

But Nature has full play

In such harmless creatures as you.

Ecstasy

Sometimes in my dreams

I suffocate myself

In the pressure of

Your clasp, and then

Lie limp, as if

You have picked me up.

In my dreams do I

Sometimes scream, sometimes cry,

And then wet my pillow

A while.

This wakes me up

Every morning at five.

Sometimes when alone

I close my eyes,

I look in the mirror of my lid,

You stand there gazing

Down at me, for I’m small –

Four years ago I dared not look up,

But now I have no colour

Rising to my cheeks,

Only the lips burn for something,

You know.

This keeps me still

For a long long time.

Sometimes I put soft music

To my ear,

And put off the lights,

Then I can be in space,

Where everything disappears

And you appear like a

Shining star which

I want to hold;

Like I used to when

I was a little girl.

And I open up like a flower

To receive you.

Sometimes I lie on the grass,

And let the sun

Wet me;

It seems very close nearby,

As if you have touched me.

A thrill runs down my spine.

And I throw up my hands

To touch you;

I forget where I am,

I forget the truth,

I forget the sun,

I think it’s only you.

On the fence

I can sit and count

The clock's tic-toc

And plant a kiss

In every second,

Lick you up like

The cow does the calf,

Or munch the grass,

Or swish the fly

But I have clothes to wash

        and plates to clean

        clear the table and

        sweep the floor ...

And I have shoes to wear

          and my hair to comb

          press the clothes

          and wear them on ...

For I have to make a move

         walk miles before

         I make sense to the world

         outside my door.

Or shall I count

The clock's tic-toc,

Sprawl my limbs,

Or make love,

Or just run my fingers

Through your hair,

And close my eyes

And wave off care?

ANCHOR

It mattered.

Like continents matter to ships, 

Pealing, groaning, whispering masses mattered.

But like a lighthouse amidst dark oceans

When you appeared and lit my way

I sailed straight and sure.

Today they still are continents of noise,

But them I ignore;

My anchor is you,

An island strong and true.

Give me a Rose

Daughter of Anuradha Bhattacharyya pointing to a Rose Plant

I shall give you a surprise

One day, my love…

When the sky is not downcast

And the fields aren’t swaying in fright,

When my search for the best

Prize in the world is over

And the way ahead is clear,

I shall have a glimpse of the finest

And the purest of affections,

When the long sought treasure

Of the jealous dragon is retrieved

And the fiercest beast in man

Is slashed to death,

I shall find the heart in me

To collect my dues

And claim my latitudes,

When all is painted in bright hues

And my returns are pleasurable,

Then, my dear, then I shall,

And never forget me until then,

I shall present you the perfect surprise.

What if the blue sky never appears

And the fields fear the incessant storm?

What if the prize of the day is won

By another

And the foggy days trouble us,

Where shapeless and imperfect nature pursues,

While the beast safeguards the dragon’s snare?

Would you scale the toughest peaks

And be granted your dues,

Figuring what makes a perfect picture

Exactly?

Then, failing all the promises, then

What will surprise you?

What will you do?

When the grey sky groans

And the rough ways torment

I shall carry on with the only thing

That gives peace

And perseverance

And I shall take the brush in my own hands

To challenge the colour of ruin,

Restoring the loss of a dream

With perfect love.

Then,

Not forgetting me for a single moment,

Strengthening your heart

With my love’s strength,

Capturing your dreams,

You travel as distant as you wish,

While I wait holding the perfect treasure

Right here,

With a gift more nearer

More comforting than any other,

A token of the purest affection

One could gather;

I ask you now

Not to wait for another day

But awake before the need of the hour 

 And give me a rose.

Invasion

Little chirping voices

Tap-e-rap at my window,

Breaking the sacraments

I had gathered round my room

And 
Plunder the vacuum.