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Saturday 17 December 2011

ON COLOUR, HARD AND SOFT

Hard colour
is made for defining,
for contouring
categorization and theft
grab and run
stick-ups and waylaying;
pastel shades now
they are for corporate crime
they slip knot,
slide from layer to layer
and no one notices.

[from the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days]



Friday 16 December 2011

OCTOGENARIANISM



A line for every path walked,
wrinkle for every twist of fate,
colour-shade for layers of being
and navigations that intersected
absorbed and was consumed
by navigation,
and the specks
the scars
markers on a cartography
of living and dying;
it is not the trace
or embroidery-reverse
of the ashta loka dharmaya,
but how mind, heart and sinew,
fingertip and fist,
tender gaze and angry eye,
doubt and finality
touched, caressed, banged against
got hurt and cooled
in the play
of joy
and sorrow,
profit-loss,
fame and ill-fame
and praise and blame.
Look.
It’s history
and a retelling
of an ancient tale
told and retold.
Read it; it’s your story.

[from the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']

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Thursday 15 December 2011

ODE TO INCARCERATION

And of prisons it was thus decreed
some would be bar-made and some unbarred
some to separate the free from the incarcerated
and some with lines erased,
yes so erased
that ‘free’ comes with query mark
and imprisonment is the worst kept secret
in the metropolis. 
And of the former kind,
there are those who are bowled,
and those less picture-perfect.
The goldfish looks with compassion
and knows the futility of keeping notes
but we,
we eye one another with pity
and even empathy
keep notes;
we might as well collect mirrors
while we wait the clock-guard
to interrupt the monotony of delusion
if nothing else.

[from the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']

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Wednesday 14 December 2011

THREE MONTHS LATER

Like always,
she is present
and absent,
in and out of me,
i speak her words,
wonder if my face mimics 
manner and humour,
love and confusion,
and i remember
the intensity of giving
equalled by an intensity of refusal;
she was proud
and such a child
in her gifting 
and embrace,
mother and teacher,
but such a student too.

And I, 
I cannot remember
the kiri-suwanda,
that baby time
or her giving
for time-squeeze
and event-mix
arrived 
with the curse of awkwardness 
she left
so did I
each to a specific banishment
each in a specific abhinishkramanaya,
and our returns never coincided
our orbits chose to slip 
and miss.
I was not her eka-pun-sanda,
not all the time;
but i was, i am sure,
now and then,
and that's all that matters
in the matter of thanksgiving.


[written in memory of my mother, January 2010]
 


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Tuesday 13 December 2011

ODE TO WEATHERING

ODE TO WEATHERING

There is dust
a stupor rising
from being and becoming:
it is the brain-residue
of the after-rain
of overflowing days
dripping into a plastic container
through tiles that once leaked sunlight.
We clean up
the vomit of global warming
await the next retching
and worry about our children.

Monday 12 December 2011

THE DIMENSIONS OF INFINITY

To the fish in the net
a single drop of water,
to the incarcerated
a sliver of sky,
to the guitarist
whose hands were cut off
a pick,
and
lip-red
to the heart that said ‘no’
to a love that will not return.


Sunday 11 December 2011

UNCLOTHING

Thread by thread,
a slow dismantling,
removal of colour
wrecking of pattern
unscrambling motif
a miscarriage of line and space:
so many names for fragmenting.
Our disguises are many
and our unclothing unpredicted
but the mirror,
she knows
so it matters not
which hands rip apart
our garments
or why:
it is a has to be done thing
so says the Book of Love.


[From the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']


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