REMAINS, TRACES, MEMORIES - last week at college

static images above a shimmering flame,
moist kerchiefs and scribbled names,
monotone of noise encroaches in --
i'm not good with plastic grins.

synthetic eyes and squandered lines,
inquisitive fingers, but - "I am fine"
twenty days and the encroaching bend --
photographs, phone bills and emotions penned

remain as scraps, hungry for the flame --
dry kerchiefs, and forgotten names.

attired looks for the bored eye --
bruised knees, and the want to learn to fly,
is over now -- a petulant whim;
years after -- "that guy...is that him?"

reluctant strolls and images cascade --
memories, of the haziest shade
shake up the images under the shimmering flame --
torn kerchiefs, and once well known names.

So, goodbye dear friends, i bid you well --
invigorating smiles to conceal the swell --
may they make worlds shine and linger on --
for newer eyes to replace eyes that are gone.

backbenched laughs and illegible hands,
will tomorrow seem alien and distant lands?
but the smoke will remain to keep memories of the flame,
burnt kerchiefs and stubbed out names.

TWENTY NINE – CARD GAME WITH FRIENDS

Why, in the shades of black and white,

Red, appears lucrative to every eye?

Fanned expressions and the roving –

Eyes, catch momentary glimpses and

Nostalgia arrests concentration.

The fingers loosen, the mind drifts

To memories of bespectacled faces;

And a beautiful, deceptive eyelash,

Serenades into the nostalgic airs.

The song seems familiar, yet subtle –

The eyelash quivers in an approval,

Probably, balmy evenings are canny –

Hesitant eyelids give way, and meet.

I knew she was hiding – as usual.

My sad eyes gave that knowing smile,

She reciprocated with her eyelash.

‘Where were you’, demands the silence.

Guess, I was always here – by your side.

Clocks tick by inconsequentially..

Voices subside, the hearts close in.

Amidst clouds of smoke and colours

The afternoon rolls by with aplomb.

A few grey streaks have been in vain –

You still inspire the artist’s hand…

The brush seems alien to the bankers

Red, white, black and denominations

Engross me more than the warm green,

The shielded eyelash, which is, to me –

Floxynossynihiliphilification.

LIFE’S LITTLE INSTRUCTION BOOK

Rise.

Turn around.

Take death in your palms.

In the shield of darkness, hide the petals of a lotus.

Tear down the veins with the introvert’s rage.

See the battlefield below the moonstruck earth.

Wipe away the shards from the eyes.

Burn the oceans with the fire in your heart.

Let the waves be your unicorn.

Besides,

You are not alone.

LUNATIC DIARIES OF …

I

In these confines, the smell of insomnia is strong,

The unshaven walls sport an incongruous expression;

Even the doors and windows have their eyebrows stitched…

The furniture grunts relentlessly.

II

….and then when home seems alien,

The eyes zoom into a pallete of green.

No thirst for the throat,

No inquisitive voice –

The hand involuntarily soars into the blue.

I have mastered the language of the birds,

And man’s gestures and words seem illegible.

The lizard’s glare, the movement of the red ant,

The whiff in the air, are no mystery to me;

At midnight as the aged owl looks on,

The devil’s disciple gets in the ring….

III

Eyes fill up with anxiety as I am spotted.

In closed rooms, solitude or aimless loiter

Is all they have rationed for this even lesser mortal.

Chains have been spared out of pity;

I am deserted – an untouchable amidst

Father’s apprehension and mother’s silence.

Somnambulation is not a peaceful experience.

IV

Like an illegitimate offspring,

Here lie my words –

On the bed – below the table – unruffled…

Time has clawed his nails into it.

An unknown beast devours it, before my helpless eyes.

But I can still hear it weep –

And then – the huen cry – a beheaded spirit –

-- the stench of the morgue –

And this nightmare remains my solitary guardian angel.

WHILE THE NIGHT STOPS….

The red tuft rises on the grass,

The wind is making up his mind,

The firefly is itching for news..

A flame is all that we must find.

Radical changes are to occur

The voices uphold my stand –

The flame will soon begin to flicker,

And the spark will be lit in another land.

The rooster prophesizes in the dark,

The grass murmurs a new name

We’ve got to keep the eyelids still,

We’ve got to see the colours of the flame….

SO LONG..FAREWELL…..

Cool, peaceful logic and sense

The inflamed fangs lurk in the throng,

And then the sting that for once,

Dispels the right from the wrong.

Monumentous tides like a frothy flame

Disobeying the laws and the decree,

The senses shiver, the mind jolts,

And the soul tries, but fails to break free.

Blinded by the cloud of fire,

The thunder culminates from the pain..

The vertical lives are dismantled,

The fire alarms announce the rain.

And then, we met like an illusion,

There was no love, but the heart skipped a beat.

Charred in the fiery rain,

We parted ways with ambivalent feet.

FEAR

“Darkness is a mild manifestation of fear. I have lived in fear and got to know it so well, that, a black cat’s purr, the spider on the cobweb, a dark shadow, donot perturb me. They are, on the other hand my friends.

Streaks of light on summer mornings, have tried luring me out into the other world. But I find solace here. In the dark, when silence is echoed onto the giant pillars by the trillion thoughts that scream into my mind, I rarely bat an eyelid. Thoughts rushing in and out collide, confer and pacify me – I have nothing to fear.

Silence, that exists as a positive entity and not just a mere negation of unwanted sounds comforts me. It imparts two, three or even more senses to the inanimate objects that surround me. I am, never alone. I have nothing to fear.

The mirror is my best friend. The mahogany bed passes the tired look; the iron chest smiles on like the aged gladiator with paternal pride; the curtains hold still to hold back even the gentlest of breezes in their sinews. Their veins dilate, the timbre glow narrates this tremendous course of events that occur in stillness.

Silence, so holy and delicate, that even Death would knock twice before he wishes to enter and ruin the fragile equilibrium that exists. He would probably leave us alone. (the male personification was unnecessary but…..I have nothing to fear.)

I have wanted to keep things like this. The gradual trickle of sand, that single drop onto the tinkling crystal would in turn set in motion an entire cacophony, orchestrating themselves to a fever pitch and then, climaxing in an agonizing crescendo. But, I have nothing to fear in darkness, I have nothing to fear in silence.

It was broken by his silky voice….”