those pots of roses
into which dida
added used leaves of tea
sometimes the summer
returns to me

those rays running breaking
my night's snuggled sleep
lost in dark hours now
sometimes the summer
returns to me

those empty straight roads
leading to quarters in cream
with charming green mangoes
or eleven trees of neem
sometimes the summer
returns to me

those stolen fish fries
in bowls too hot for my hand
or rasna and maggi-lined smiles
lost now in mealtimes so bland
sometimes the summer
returns to me

strand by strand
through your warm hand
runs a bunch of my hair
and the dreams I live to dare

listen to me

words come in millions
welding into chains of thought
that grow tighter around
a boxful of wishes
that were never to be found

a seeker of silence
once tiptoed into the noise
she had only thrice betrayed
her mind's scrubbed voice
that sounds accost sanity
that one trips over light
she learned on her way back
by the shadows of a calling night

watching your back
time tussled with your ties
to your listed priorities
then it bade heavy goodbyes

I was there all the while.

come build a fence
come rouse a rage
the home can wait
the regrets so late

there are no shores
just islands few

…and in those dreams
the inhabitants of limbo
touched the wisps of thought
as they formed and dissolved

the sounds of children merged
with raging sirens
as tokens of life
or reminders of impending ends

…now beyond those dreams
a voice calls back to reality
for the inhabitants of limbo
to be awakened now

dust may collect on daring dreams

and doors may hang heavy under dead locks

but you are the life that flows in shiny streams

beyond dear days and timely clocks

The mirror was where our eyes first met that morning. Half a sight of mine was enough to catch your conspiring gaze. The lines I was drawing to dress my eyes went awry as I saw you, languorous and longing, stepping out of bed to make your way to me. Your sleepy eyes took in all of me - the shining eyes, wet hair, suppressed glee and all things that only a lover can perceive. You hinted that undoing has a beauty of its own and I looked to see if the mirror agreed. My pleats followed one another into a silken heap and you then wrapped me in your arms...

The mirror was where our eyes met later that morning. Half a sight of mine was enough to catch your spent gaze. The lines I was drawing to dress my eyes...

a wavering will
is the hardest thing
shivers through shadows
and the self stands still

the bits of being bounced off
your futile hands
they now lie tumbled and troubled
on the staircase
you built to take you nowhere

A friend of many years left the city today to start his program at IMA. He is probably one of the very few from my batch who went the Army way. Calls for admiration, respect and cheers to the times together.

take that frame
right off the wall
the departing illusions
just asked me to stall

May I never hurt more than I can heal.

this journey
one among many
and many among some more
let's look for a shore
let's look for a shore

i am so vague
that i can hardly take
a collage for a mind
with no more glue to bind
the stray squares of thoughts
like random bits of paper they
fly by
waiting to be held together
firmly onto the grey sheets
to patch the spilling psyche
to cage the captive birds
to string the floating words

i can
face an ocean
but not that door
it opens into life
you know

i can
see that door
bit excess of ajar
little short of inviting
it bangs all night
against the walls of my mind
you know

i can
sense its dusty eyes
its warm musty breath
like a lover starved
awaiting my sorry steps
you know

i can
like a novice dancer
learn the steps to take
or so wonderfully fake
this stupid life-ly dance
you know

stories

pen running on paper
or lip wrestling lip
hands waving in the air
or a long lost grip