Left Blue

by brown and cream trains
red BEST buses
I travel in black and yellow autorickshaws
taxis
through the neon burning
red green orange fluorescent
pink
and think how much the withered darkness holds…
the fractured stars’ sob stories…
that disturb the golden sand
dreaming at night.

Equinox

They say,the Spring is here
nay,not true!
they talk of equal days,equal nights
and yet,disparity is all over the place

Japan

Everything is heading
japan the newspapers
are from japan written
in english i never read them
people have gone
missing from my window
the two trees at the end
of this turn look
like fools no
wind today no fruits
no birds they are
not in forests
electric poles grow with them

straight lines

an old man sits, singing at
the break of dawn,pulling
the sun with his hands
that take him places

His days have been spent
rolling wheels and the nights, rolling over
death hangs from the rooftop
pouting at the heads below

He looks up every night
like a bent tree waiting to grow
to the sky

Transmutation

A little miss,lost in her own world
her companions,minions at best
all at work,her commands playfully obeyed

something happens,the games stop
she runs back home,crying all the way
fright,anxiety,an acute pain

later that night
a realisation sets in
she has become a woman,no longer a child

The stakes have shifted

marigold

sitting atop a motionless train
a headless eagle
wavers to the wind
like a nymphet,
to a song sung by boxes
behind glass doors

a tunnel tapers like night
on a train moving away
the girl stands bare feet
with the end in her eyes

There Is Nothing Left

to say
to this endless grey
how many white wishes
lie unfulfilled
how many dark black lies
there is nothing left to say
it says
I am the hollowness
of the world
the sea of forgetting
the no escape
I am the house
of the lost.

Outlandish ambitions

If given a choice,what should one prefer?
Relentlessly angsty days,sleepless nights
over the apparent comfort
The known,tangible doesn't hurt anyone

But then,you weren't really living before
A monotonous garb of sorts
so,shed it for an unrevealed
Beginning

Total

Watching the shafts
exhaled by headlights
move through the dust
towards a circle
of old men and
the peepal   next to them : total clean wood
I got run over by a car
but for R. who later said, "Again.
It took a moment for the year to occur".
Afterwards I nodded
to him. This is the essence
of time. It does not
grow on a tree.

Tarred Roads

of umbrellas
white cars
swish water
back to water
and the umbrellas sail
black sea
of no colour
swooshing down the streets
like an ocean
splashing
into anything
it finds.

I Went

down into the streets
to get a haircut
everywhere people
rushed by
motorbikes cars rickshaws
they went by the shop
behind glass I saw
the pretty women
on their way to work
and when I had had
my haircut
my very short haircut
the wind fled round my head
I lifted up
into the blue skies
from my high chair
I breathed white clouds
people fled from my head
some shying to look at me
some happily amused
while one or two were clearly
shocked and threatening
I went home and took
a bath
I shampooed my hair
till it stood like a forest cool calm
silent
and then the world settled
in my head
and the day curled up to me
with a book in bed.

Poem

The wind in her hair
        is imparted to trees
leaning on to promenades, and
       me, sheltered by an ash
grey evening   canopy.
They swayed, and
    i   made a poem out of it.

The Evening’s

come to rest
in this room
my glass in its
pool of water
on this quiet brown table
under dim red light
has golden whisky
silent like the walls
listening to the slow change
the pictures come alive
the side-table
and the speakers
high in the corners
cough through static
some dead singer will croon
of love
of loss
and then the bar will bristle
the conversations start to flow
forks and spoons
clatter on plates
when a glass
falls to the floor
from someone’s hand
that couldn’t hold it anymore
and we’ll all find the swimming ceiling
the spinning sky of misery chasing fun
chasing misery
till it breaks free from the darkness
the cold torn stars
the dust moon
that claims us all.

Silent Holler

and tonight,she will quietly shed rivers

broken heart,tattered spirit

tomorrow will be a new beginning

'cause,ironically,even life doesn't endure no-hopers!

First snow

in corners,the trees titter
with orange faces on them
before the moonshine
encumbered with the night ahead.
the morning,insultingly
litters the sky with eyes
not softer than little white heaps
the giants are now found to be