an unsighted leap
from the caverns
of land and sea
to the chills of a city
conceited skin-deep
and what lies in between
are trenches,
alternatively replaced by
thick and thin memories
a hybrid lemonade
a glassful of hybrid lemonade

a rain

the sky spreads open like an umbrella
to the star that predicts
a season of uncertainty
to the tree,
that awaits golden zephyr
to the bees
that have no place to nest
to the soil
that witnesses a cremation day after day
to the wind
that's lost in transit
to the toys
that fancy other eyes
to the autumn
that carries burnt maple leaves
to a heart
glistened in soulless memories

finally

Chennai,

A city that reads before it speaks

A sea that treats fish-breeder and eater equally

A rain that wets all but quenches none

a road that's safe even for a beautiful blind dame

a bus that greets politely to the beggar

a language that befuddles you but seldom belittles you

a dish that can be tasted only on sweaty fingers

a beach that storms you with aspirations

a jasmine that makes you sneeze until you wear it

a sky that undergoes frequent mood-swings

a crow that replaces pigeon in tamil films

a book that is categorically artsy

a dance that is performed till you retire

a raga that one learns in mother's womb

a drink that filters you from the mediocre

a film that is whistled more than its watched

a cosmetic-shop that only stocks fairness creams

a vehicle that is designed to rob you of your money

a tree that births weighty coconuts but seldom tires

a temple that has more shrines than devotees

a map that makes you lose your sense of direction,
particularly north.

a fallen leaf

a fallen leaf,
sicken yellow.
singing prose and lulling rose
asleep on earth's torso
worry-less, penny-less
hanging indifferently to breeze
like wax on the candle
like bubble on the soap
dying tomorrow, dying now

Coffee and me

At the street
as the wind rustles
the banana leafs
a motion complimenting
tyre and wheels
he puts me out of gear
served in an earthen ware
to the road that leads
and road that bleeds
to the moments of rush
people sipping hush hush
while the world leaps forward
i lean back,
reminiscing with my bean bag

At work:
Amidst the cloud of sounds
a chuckle or a frown
he kick-starts my refuge
to the oblivious deluge
of matters that never matter
and words that aimlessly flatter
of curses that never cease
from mouths that pretend to be at ease
while the world brainstorms
i switch off,
to the music that enhances
the sound of sips

On the bed:
as the bats takeover
tumble and hover
proclaiming another end
to the daily fend
he opens my eyes
and heavies my vice
to brew words that mean
and stir focus to the screen
as the world sleeps
in the world of darkness
i colour my dream
to the brink of dawn
i colour it cream.

Adyar Footbridge: a descriptive

A sentinel of human speed, this bridge never sleeps as he bears the burden of his daily pedestrians and their baggage, both physical and mental.

The kind of company he keeps has a lot to do with his shabbiness; from paupers to rag-pickers and hobos who hovel in the stairway that leads up to his torso.

Wallowing in dollops of fresh breeze, he bears the distinct musk of wet-wrought iron and sports a grubby look. An occasional growth of lichens on his skin adds to his texture. It seems he only bathes when it rains.

Things always look stunning from his perspective The sun retires in a golden haze; soon, the bohemian birds of twilight race against the tinted machines in a neon world, painting a reverie that can bewilder the hoi polloi who trudge across his expanse; the silken moonlight falls upon the trees; the echoes of the husky engine throb in his metallic chest.

He is aging rapidly. He wobbles with every step, and every roll; withering away into a diaspora of rust. A lonely sentinel, he stands in the midst of two crowded roads.

A little tribute to ECR*

there is innocuous charm in running away. so what's if it's a half-day get-away for an academic assignment. The sweaty bus-rides of chennai have become my latest fancy. The thrill of getting to the destination in the most absurdest of ways. It calls for handsome cliches but the irony lies in their actuality; wind in your hair resulting into exorbitant goosebumps that succeed.

It is an interesting feeling to be leered by locals while forming their queer assumptions about you, ranging from being a foreign national to a local hippie(how i revel in these). Their juvenile giggles and in your face stares. My encounters have so far been ingratiating in multiple ways. Whoever defined communication in the diaspora of language needs to be sleep-shaken.

I board buses riding on my instincts but often aided by locals who swell with pride in helping a pseudo distressed traveler. The bus-conductors ensure you don't sneak into privy slumbers through jarring Tamil videos that trail in your memory like fancy-dress ghosts. The village women do it subtler ways which means an overdose of jasmine injected in to your laryngitis and the passage beyond. I seek unimaginable comfort in the male fraternity that dare not ogle at you in a women-dominated vehicle(whoever talked of Tamil nadu being a matriarchal society)

In such good-willed environs one can't help dropping his guards. All the reasons that make my solo-trips a refreshing piece of memory every individual time. Today after my trip to crocodile bank which is some 42 km away from chennai, I felt enormously well-suited for roads. The roads that guarantee a bounty of experiences. The ones that lap you after adopting thousands before you. The roads that defy the purpose of gigantic buildings and redefine living all together.

* East Coast Road connecting Chennai all the way to Cuddalore.

If one believes in the correlation between epidermis-blisters and guitar skills, i deserve to be inhabited in the hall of fame of rock n roll. In the past 72 hours i have developed sores akin to shoe bites. Now my fingers and toe-nails look like brother and sister born to same parents, unlike previous lengthy differences between the two.

it's true, sheltering yourself in someone's music composition in inexorably easy than building your own. It's only when you do music, you feel feverishly intimate with it. Yes, i experienced laughter spasm when my teacher spelled out "fingering-exercises" for me. Only to be shadowed by exultation of dancing notes on the fingers.

blackhole

a canyon of sorrow
your eyes,
in the abyss of nicotine
floating across,
the ocean of milky-way
bereft of emotions,
but full of life
humming but noiseless
as you draw,
the curtains of your gaze
a gaze that consoles
my previous sores

the storm of afterstorm

The skies are clear, the sun peeps through the ambush of perspiring clouds. The tree stands still in the resilience of its docile shadow. Has the morning arrived?

The toads bid goodbye in their thankless croaks, to and fro in their naked embankments. Some aspirational ones choose to stay back. Is the show not over yet?

The frozen windows exchange melancholic glances. Longing for familiar squark, in the glistened memory of raindrops. Any chance of recurrence?

coffee seeds brew and spill in the (now) black mugs of derision. Its nebular fragrance makes a quiet exit. Any takers here?

The road is thick, vociferous like an industrialist. walking hastily with a heavy briefcase and a squished umbrella. no looking back?

The heart of the lake is gelid, in fond remembrance of zephyr. Indifferent to thirsty cows, who flock over his meaty chest. a wistful wait, perhaps?

The storm harks back to the desert of quietude, in an unnoticed foggy departure. borrowing boats from it's past. gone already?

on a rainy day

the maverick wind brushed my lips,
like goblet of ice devouring the shore
the moment froze, in the rivulets of reverie
drifting me to an anonymous lure

the snarling storm held me by its fit
and i trembled till i forgot to tremble
before trespassing into the lanes of fear,
in my pursuit of relentless ramble

while the sands that bred cactus upon
dejecting the naked prospects of sun
thumped my back and left me alone
is this how battles are won?

skylark

who am i to you?
thickets of sun,
moist by cool wind
in the heart of a crammed shore
with two curious eyes
and two deranged toes

yet you smell familiar,
petals of antique,
where lichens grow
greens that feed maggots and more
a caravan of sights
i couldn't love you more

-mahabalipuram, November 1st

tales from the animal farm

in herds we die,
battling fate
of a destitute
cry and more cry
sniffing blood
in the cage-hound

in herds we die,
by callous hands
that bow before man
seeking charity
to buy expensive knives,
slitting us pin-drop

in herds we die
gradually sometimes
eating fleas,
that come to visit
saving us from disgrace
of throwing up every meal

in herds we die
snorting faeces'
of brotherly love
as we huddle
to exchange sorrows
and sometimes sleep

in herds we die,
weeping in one corner
at the corpse,
of our comrade
cursing him who jabs
pain through sterilized needles

in herds we die,
jostling for space
in our wrongful notions
of mankind
they-who built us shelter
and forgot to build us home


in herds we die
at night and dawn
because life behind bars
drags like toothache
forever,
in dingy thoughts
of escape.

- a bunch of dogs

semiotics of solitude

why do rivers meet
did you ever think?
o wanderer of infinite space
travel beyond the horizon
the claws of humanity
savage only the meek
open your eyes and seek

"the hoarse of their voice
disturb me most
through the daily ritual
of their uncanny vice.
they growl and tether
and feast upon me"

and you hark back
to dooms in ache?
pronouncing victory for them
dumbfounded in extravagant tears
employing mercy-plea
oh is this how solitude is defined
in your vocabulary?

wandermusk

a musk so raw,
a fume so rich
like gravel of sand
clutched in peasant's vow

nothing spectacular,
no heavenly blow
whirling familiarity
that is yet to be known

a musk so raw,
a sense so bright
like nebula of dust
hugging hurriedly the moon

reminisces of bygone
an epic? a legend?
devoured by saints
in the tricks of modern men

a musk so raw,
a sight so rare
like wet geraniums
in the wings of unicorn

look how it escapes the naked eye
like ashes settled on the quay
heeded by none, in the hourglass of time
yet a musk sets in, forever in the mind.

un name

It all began from christening. A name, a superlative, an alibi!?. Trekking all the way up to the canyons of knowledge in search of that befitting syllable. A Shakespearean character is too mighty for him while a song can barely capture his essence. A poem is subject to varied interpretations for him who's sparkling clear in his otherwise construction of conundrums.

days ran in frenzy,fudging anagrams to arrive at a tailor-made sobriquet.
puzzled, riddled, quizzical, were all the words she could decipher. The wrecks of previous attempts were too impressionable to stray and the phonetics of victory were no where in near sight.

The popular voices reckon that journey defeats the destination, in her case it was words that had cast a spell. The hours of play stretched up to dawn-break.The verbatim gradually translated into a bond that evaded vocabulary, in dumbfounded ruminations.

Her struggle is not confined to christening him anymore and words evade her like never before.

home-away diwali

I revel in the solitary trenches of my burrow on the festive night.in thick contentment, i animated my teeny-gesture of lighting lamps in the room (and walking 4 km-s hunting for silly diya's). The radiance which apart from glorifying the i-don't care-mess, induced a sense of calm. while there was pompous display of lights and sounds in the make-belief celebration of a home-away Diwali, i stumbled upon the association between family and festival. A new definition, a new symbiosis, i maneuvered.

Yes it is rife to say that festival is synonymous to family, like it or not. After talking to half-a-dozen of relatives, i felt a strange gush of affection towards them. Good to know that the idea of society persists in the black corridors of my solitude. The entire experience of being away on one of the crucial celebratory days, was undeniably unique.

tripped on Mj's videos just for the heck of doing something different today. Shared sweets with my pooches, bought some tit-bits for friendly-people(note the word usage please!), called up grand-parents(even though i went mute after 180 seconds).Noticed a long, marble-finish candle standing like a recluse and felt happy(diwali).

ode to cuckoo

spun in mahogany,
she greets me,
in her friendly scents
and uncanny snouts
like a long-lost companion
-she, a maverick,an errand

whistles
and pooches
and coochie-coo's
her only language i know

fanning my sweat
with her own grime
and ants that
thrive on her tail
she jumps on to me
in her petite frail

i look at her
with an eye of sympathy
for she's often
dejected as stray
but to me she's beautiful
like a butterfly may

we learn

the mist of his gait,
pierces the hallway
hallway; that is
sullen and sore
in its mundane bowels
of false answers
to fake questions
of battling yawns
and twitching moans

he walks like dust
on the flesh of absurdity
seen, heard, felt by none
like carcasses of
ash,forlorn
at the chimney dorm


the mist of his gait
in sepia of solitude
the fading footsteps
that occasionally gate-crash
run,run,run
he soliloquies
no, sings
a rhapsody,
birthing an identity.
(perhaps!)

chimes

the chime of your eyes
run through my nerves
noiseless,
filling empty vessels
through silent glances

the chime of your eyes
exhibit tales and toys
lost,
in the the embers of
grizzly adulthood

the chime of your eyes
perfumes desire
soiled
in purple lilacs
and purple rosemary

the chime of your eyes
sing every night
soporific
in pillowing dreams
of valleys and woods

the chime of your eyes
becomes sunlight every now,
blinding
infernos and black-holes
of lesser societies

the chime of your eyes
vocal and vibrant
disquiet
even when you turn back
and walk backwards

the harmonious hushes
in the metallic glimpses
hear would you ever?
the chime of your eyes
through my very own pair