Thursday, December 20, 2012

Sailing in the same Boat

Picture Courtesy: Nikhil Bangera


Hello dear grievers,
You problem receivers.
I keep hearing you say
to one another
at odd hours.
'We are sailing in the same boat!'

Maybe that does you good.
Makes the job easy.
But, for one second,
could you just pause
and consider
what all your sailing
has done to me!?

You sail, and you sail through.
But let me just inform you.
I am beginning to sink
in the same sea
With other mercilessly over-burdened
boats like me!


Saturday, December 15, 2012

Moonlight Song.

Picture Courtesy: Nikhil Bangera and Mrigendra Singh

Moonlight 
of the day. 
Show yourself to me. 
I need you now, 
to write my 
road-song. 
I have gone on, 
for a bit 
too long. 
I need you now,
to turn the pages. 
As I move away 
from bread and wages. 

Moonlight of the day, 
For me,
You're the only one. 
As there is too much else 
to be done by the Sun. 

Shine upon me, 
ever fragile. 
Dance me through 
ever mile. 

I stand here. 
I surrender. 
To you, the shadow
of the moon. 
Gliding past the 
clouds of noon. 

Moonlight 
of the day. 
For me, 
you're the one. 
Sun is shining upon the hay. 
Everyone is caught up 
with their bread concern. 
I want to taste the hunger 
and to you I turn. 

Moonlight 
of the day. 
You're the one 
For a fool such as I,
you're the only one. 
The bright shining sun, 
it has to time. 
To pay any heed.
It's so busy shining upon 
physical need. 
No time, 
for my poetry to read.

Moonlight, 
of the day. 
I lay my trust in you. 
For your elusive shadows
to see me through... 



Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Focus

Picture Courtesy: Nikhil Bangera


I always focus 
on the 
shapely petal
on the 
pretty wing 
on the 
reddest red. 

While 
buds bloom 
slowly 
acquiring 
light. 

While
crawlers crawl
slowly 
reaching 
flight. 

While 
brown blends 
slowly 
turning 
  bright.  
 




Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Sea-Salt and Perfume.

Picture Courtesy : Unknown


Did you finally meet her,
over a drink?
Charm her, 
make her smile
with the mischief 
of your wink?

Is she home with you
right now?
Her lashes 
making a pass
at your 
aptly placed brow? 

If she is, 
please do this. 

Please wash your hair
with the salt of the sea. 
For,
It smells of the perfume
that belongs to me. 

And it won't be such a 
delight.
When she gets a whiff of it 
tonight. 

Monday, November 5, 2012

The Prayer of a Twig

Picture Courtesy: Nikhil Bangera 
If you think I don't, 
Listen to me and you will see
I do know.
I do.
I am of 
no Worth
to You.
I am no muse
Yes, I am of no use. 

I no longer 
photosynthesise 
Yes, I do 
realize. 

Is that why
you left me to whither
in a barbed grave?

But, I pray to you
Have a conversation 
with that little cuckoo.

He looks at me each passing day 
thinking about how he may
take me away. 

From your wire and your wall 
Far away from this broken fall. 

How he would 
if he could 
remove me from this 
uncouth mesh
and make me the pillow 
on his baby's nest! 

 

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Dead Love

Picture Courtesy: Nikhil Bangera 

Every dance of my youth,
I tried for you, my darling! 
Every night of my life,
I cried for you, my darling!
Yes, you knew it too,
I would have died for you, my darling!
But you walked past and moved on ahead, 
I had no choice but to die next to you instead... 

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

A million flashes

Picture Courtesy: Nikhil Bangera 

Dreams, the potent kind
They don’t leave you
when you leave your bed.
They stay with you through the day ahead.
They push.
They bother.
They agitate.

And then, when you ignore them;
Suddenly you find
that instead of the solace of ignorance
you have before you,
A million flashes.

And then, when you try to focus instead
on the black backdrop
They gleam at you.
A million flashes
Of dreams.
Waiting for you
to just say “hello”!  

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Mushrooming Hope

Taken in Kerela, on the way to Edakkal caves
Picture Courtesy: Nikhil Bangera 

Mushrooms don't deserve fields.
They are not accustomed to the long wait for the rain
nor, the care of harvesting.

Mushrooms just spring up
without knowing
whether they were meant to be there
or not.
They have no desire for nourishment
or nurture.
Nobody really cares for mushrooms,
except for a keen photographer
or perhaps, a lousy poet.
Maybe someone who cannot afford grain
picks them up,
makes them into a concoction
and survives.

But Mushrooms
don't give a damn
about anyone needing them.

For, mushrooms just spring up.
Like hope.
Free, rare and wild.