How can one run out of
the sun, moon, and the rain?
The poet assures himself,
sitting by the quay
drenched in mud and paper
beginning to trash his voice
(in split-syllables of cry).
Just then he sights
a stripling playing flute
to the passing flamingos
in broken silences
of the vehement tide.
He pounces on the artist
staging a relentless ballet of fingers
in staid, stainless afternoon
over his clumsy shadow.
"What inspires you to play
against the writhe of Boiling May?
Her memories! Where are they?
Stranded on the roads that have drifted
her away?"
And explains the thirsty urchin
in half-notes of composite smiles –
about her memories resident
in the bounties of his fist,
of bridges built to jump
from one finger to another,
of a fragrance hidden behind
the minarets of his collar –
Occurring and recurring
like melody in a tome,
bringing him her chuckles
through carriages of love.
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 22, 2010
A portrait.
I draw you in the moss-devoured
face of the lake.
Can you see my fingers
reaching out for your eye-lashes?
In the neon clouds of slate
Twitch- your eye-lids
falling like stars on my palms;
Drowning all the sky
that water once contained.
face of the lake.
Can you see my fingers
reaching out for your eye-lashes?
In the neon clouds of slate
Twitch- your eye-lids
falling like stars on my palms;
Drowning all the sky
that water once contained.
Feb 20, 2010
Evening
Brightly lit like a bride
walking tip-toe
over waning shadows
Silently in her drape
that falls over the sky.
walking tip-toe
over waning shadows
Silently in her drape
that falls over the sky.
A Verse
Words grow like cotton-balls,
In the Springfield of your hair
words, with no hands and feet
Crawling on my back
like rivers on the map
Drawing you in my pale memory
as i recall the last moon i saw.
Words, scatter as i bring them on
like dust of the forest fire
words that sweetly glance
the way infants look at,
every passing balloon
Leading me to the roads you take,
as i greet my journey tonight.
In the Springfield of your hair
words, with no hands and feet
Crawling on my back
like rivers on the map
Drawing you in my pale memory
as i recall the last moon i saw.
Words, scatter as i bring them on
like dust of the forest fire
words that sweetly glance
the way infants look at,
every passing balloon
Leading me to the roads you take,
as i greet my journey tonight.
Feb 11, 2010
what's up?
shadows fall upon road,
sherlock picks up the phone
vessels scathe,
slayed is the house
spouse, your maverick spouse!
bus-wheels screech
clock-towers preach
one o one at night to five
and hounds..
circle city parks
like cops on chloroform
in the societal trash
of plastic toys and plastic cash
streets weep, sweepers merry
wild goose, wilder berry
forests hide in clouds of smoke
smoke, smoke-0-choke
and buildings..
with long nose
like a queen riding
on haughty toes
wearing botox in her slim wrist
caging dreams in her fist
dreams cooked in,
fast-food oil
brought to you by
the delivery boy
sherlock picks up the phone
vessels scathe,
slayed is the house
spouse, your maverick spouse!
bus-wheels screech
clock-towers preach
one o one at night to five
and hounds..
circle city parks
like cops on chloroform
in the societal trash
of plastic toys and plastic cash
streets weep, sweepers merry
wild goose, wilder berry
forests hide in clouds of smoke
smoke, smoke-0-choke
and buildings..
with long nose
like a queen riding
on haughty toes
wearing botox in her slim wrist
caging dreams in her fist
dreams cooked in,
fast-food oil
brought to you by
the delivery boy
incantation
in the hour-glass of life,
time slips by,
like river from the edge of the hill
like hill from the edge of the sky
with shiny silvery eye
Noiseless like hymns and echoes of a broken bridge,
noiseless, just you and me
in the chest of a giddy night
in the night of a giddy tide
purple our incantation be
time slips by,
like river from the edge of the hill
like hill from the edge of the sky
with shiny silvery eye
Noiseless like hymns and echoes of a broken bridge,
noiseless, just you and me
in the chest of a giddy night
in the night of a giddy tide
purple our incantation be
Feb 6, 2010
the soft thoughts of you,
in the sun-burnt mind of me
wind, breeze, zephyr,
wind, breeze, zephyr
sometimes a fragrance,
in the blue fields of sky
moist and mercurial
moist and mercurial
like the talking rubies
in the cradle of your nape
words and pearls
words and pearls
exuded from the chestnut
of your cherry-bright heart
in the sun-burnt mind of me
wind, breeze, zephyr,
wind, breeze, zephyr
sometimes a fragrance,
in the blue fields of sky
moist and mercurial
moist and mercurial
like the talking rubies
in the cradle of your nape
words and pearls
words and pearls
exuded from the chestnut
of your cherry-bright heart
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 1, 2010
on the loop
The lines that follow are fleeting bubbles of a recollected cognition.
1. A new year is a new year even in the absence of merriment and pompous welcome
2. Tears are cowardly bastards that refuse to show up when summoned
3. Metal is good, the videos are not.
4. the desire of building a tree-house has steeped in course of multiple trips undertaken in the recent past
5. Dogs compulsively isolate themselves in their exiting moments. By this logic they become more profound than those on two-legs
6. writing letter is as necessary and beneficial as sky gazing on a full moon night
7. Facebook ensures you don't turn into a dim turd.
8. Love exposure is good for most part of the film
9. I have lost the stomach for binge-booze
10. John Lenon is a dude but Jim Morrison is an enigma
11. Southpark is not wrongfully hyped and eric cartman has a cute arse
12. A 17 rupee bus ticket to mahabalipuram kicks the butt of an average auto-ride worth 70 bucks for a one way rise
13. Bonne and clyde are coolest couple that have been around
14. Shoplifting is a foolproof mood-enhancer
15. Lucid dreams are irresistible
16. Dumb callers should be quarantined all together
17. A bloated fish possesses secret of the universe
18. fantasies are the only existential truth
19. crackers allow guilt-less binging
20. i have stopped missing people altogether and stop responding to those who claim to miss
21. Golu, the campus dog is not my foster-kid because I'm wheatish and he's white
22. Big words turn a writer into monopolist, fundamentalist too
23. blowing nose while bathing is a bad idea when you share room with three more who;re now forced to wake up at the same time
24. i cannot sustain fear of politics for the sheer unavailability of this philia
25. i should write more than a jabber of grammar-humiliating lines.
26. People think I'm nimble, i let them be
27. sleeping on an operational laptop is pure bliss.
28. Auroville, is haven for bohemians to paint themselves in colours and threads
29. jeanette winterson is the mommy of magic-realism
30. all this is crass
1. A new year is a new year even in the absence of merriment and pompous welcome
2. Tears are cowardly bastards that refuse to show up when summoned
3. Metal is good, the videos are not.
4. the desire of building a tree-house has steeped in course of multiple trips undertaken in the recent past
5. Dogs compulsively isolate themselves in their exiting moments. By this logic they become more profound than those on two-legs
6. writing letter is as necessary and beneficial as sky gazing on a full moon night
7. Facebook ensures you don't turn into a dim turd.
8. Love exposure is good for most part of the film
9. I have lost the stomach for binge-booze
10. John Lenon is a dude but Jim Morrison is an enigma
11. Southpark is not wrongfully hyped and eric cartman has a cute arse
12. A 17 rupee bus ticket to mahabalipuram kicks the butt of an average auto-ride worth 70 bucks for a one way rise
13. Bonne and clyde are coolest couple that have been around
14. Shoplifting is a foolproof mood-enhancer
15. Lucid dreams are irresistible
16. Dumb callers should be quarantined all together
17. A bloated fish possesses secret of the universe
18. fantasies are the only existential truth
19. crackers allow guilt-less binging
20. i have stopped missing people altogether and stop responding to those who claim to miss
21. Golu, the campus dog is not my foster-kid because I'm wheatish and he's white
22. Big words turn a writer into monopolist, fundamentalist too
23. blowing nose while bathing is a bad idea when you share room with three more who;re now forced to wake up at the same time
24. i cannot sustain fear of politics for the sheer unavailability of this philia
25. i should write more than a jabber of grammar-humiliating lines.
26. People think I'm nimble, i let them be
27. sleeping on an operational laptop is pure bliss.
28. Auroville, is haven for bohemians to paint themselves in colours and threads
29. jeanette winterson is the mommy of magic-realism
30. all this is crass
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 20, 2009
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
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
Dec 16, 2009
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 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
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
Dec 15, 2009
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.
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.
Nov 30, 2009
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.
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.
Nov 26, 2009
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.
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.
Nov 19, 2009
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.
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.
Nov 12, 2009
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
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
Nov 9, 2009
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?
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?
Nov 8, 2009
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?
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?
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