Into the ocean

There are sinking boats
tailgating the sun over
the ocean
My hands are 
stuck 4 feet under the
ground
I would swim in dark waters
to find the other
side of the shadows
we have become
There is silver in everyone's
pockets
and the bare sky weeps
reading testaments of us...

The woods crowded
under my umbrella
Tears from the cities..
       falling

Poem

For Manik Sharma


When I was a kid
I had wondered
What made the kids
Now that I know
I don't feel any better

A casual poem

You stood there like an empty window and it was

too much to bear yes i saw you secretly

sweat a humid June poem   right there 

but i'll  stay mum   till i say hello

  and then? 

         and then?

 today in the city      everything is

                                                   skidding and wet

                    again

           

               (it is raining)

 and soon one grows sick of justifications

  and the logic  in particular   for ex.

   

    (who needs duckback shoes when you can stay in ..)

             

       clack  clack  clack

          
          you did and left

and now

i am left    alone      midnite

               making  gates

moving  in

              and out 

of you

A rant at Shankar Chowk

I ducked out of sight and ran across the road feeling sexy wearing
who-cares-what afterall if everything is well defined all we'll get is a restaurant
menu a well gilted a la carte lunch followed by everything that is true- Italian coffee
or a café au lait  each name holding the mystery with which carrots grow - amazing joys
of being buried result in imperishability   of all the things  Thank God!
we hindus burn the dead. It is not joy. It is 6pm at Shankar Chowk  it is time to
breathe we breathe. The clouds are the teeth for the sky engaged in chewing
the judgments  of our coal industries cars tempos vans eighteen people
trapped in a Shankar Chowk auto well arranged like petals in Japanese Buddhist
poetry falling timely one  by one it is not joy  it is a stampede across
the sun's chest by migrating birds The sun should get back at them when it's equator.

Up in smoke

i stood between my lives
lit a smoke with one
and put it out with the other,
We burn until we burn...

the kitchen window-
a mynah watching me
break morning eggs