Monday, May 25, 2009

Report from Page 3

We scoop up all the knives and forks
And slicing up with wolfish ease
Place them as the grandest dish,
In this feast of gentle folk
Where with questions ‘how’ and ‘why’
We know how good or bad one is
And shoot with surest poison pitch
Names of all those still unhurt.
Today was quite a hefty meal;
A shameful case of one who had
Sold his heart for dollars’ sake.
We chopped and chew and ate with zest,
Leaving not one bone to rest.
I wash up hand and face and then
Wipe off all the trace of stain.

Yet the glass on wall does ooze
Blood and robbing all my peace
Conjures up some unseen feast
Where my bits of carcass lie.

Trembling every night in dream
I drink hard and vainly scream.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Mr. Biswas Comes Back Home

Moving straight in darkling lane
Faced with windows
Locked up all,
I search in vain
In regular pain
A kindly face to peep and look
And light up darkened roads with smile
So that I in vacant rooms
Leaving halls of guilty glass
Cook me up some fragrant dish
And dine with dreams of what could be.

I check the mail and take my bills
And drag me up the stairs which burst
Into shouts of “why so late”
And tell me what to buy from store
On my way back from the work.
Sagging into worn-out couch
I gulp it all with glass of juice
While the doors are slammed and shut.

Cringing cold in calmest bed
I fly and plunge in open sea.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

A day of rarest mundane peace

Away from all the noise and fuss
Where no wounding question cuts
It floats along the gentle breeze,
Fragrant with that charming mood
When all things work as just they should –
A day of rarest mundane peace!

Which flows through heart in crystal streams
As like golden springtime dreams
That fill my heart with restful joy.

So in hope with words I try
To catch the day that’s passing by
So that I can when I may
Breathe again the peaceful day
Which in days of clouded sky
Will glow like gilded butterfly.