Saturday, March 23, 2013


She seemed as if drawn by Raphaelite hands
With brows full of Egyptian grace.
And I the fond fool that has tripped in her wake
With stale little lines for her sake.

But how else to now face the surge in my veins
If not in verse I express?

Had I been a painter, I sure would've snapped
And etched a whole series to her self.
Or with an adoration fate too had shown,
Would fondle and mould, with clay her new form,
As if a new deity was born.

Stunned by the quicksilver glint in her eyes,
I lengthen my dream amid short little sighs
And hope she'll enjoy these antics perchance---
She who is worship and worshipped at once.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

False Notes

I've longed for a morning of quiet such as this
When ears that are rattled by jangling of trains
Are calmed by the warbles of birds.

And now as I bask in the sunlight on steps,
With eyes full of trees blooming bright,
From corners of gaze leak shadows I've known
And act out in rooms, the scenes I've played
With costumes I knew not I had.

And even as I marshal my tools rather fast,
To build up my fence or cote, flat or fold
They leap over walls as masterless horse
And stride towards unforeseen fields.

Left without harness or halters that fit,
I'm stunned by the prospect of plays that'll come
And burn all my scripts up in flames.

The morning now shrieks with discordant hoots
As a blind owl gropes for its nest.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Meteors of Joy

She had looked rather neat, in bright tee and jeans
While waving and smiling goodbye.

And I just couldn't guess, the rapids that had hid
And gushed in her locks and bounced over unyielding rocks.
Nor could I measure the clouds she had probed
While she had flown from her cliffs.

Floored by the dimples that played on her cheeks,
I lost track of tempests her eyes had unleashed
When she had thundered her wheels along tracks
That bent to her unbending will.

But I who can master all forces in verse,
Have neither such gumption nor zeal,
As beautifying odes are shorter than heels
And wit always cheaper than gold.

Hence I'll write her in verse full of care
And list her with those other muses now gone
That twinkle in corners of mind full of clouds
And shoot supple meteors of joy.

Friday, March 8, 2013


Hyderabad blasts

Morning has flashed a new pile full of limbs
That gawk at with unnatural stare.

Often I've faced such images and more
That singe our eyes and leave us as mad,
In these our carnivorous days.
Topspun with fingers that tear through the seams,
I've sunk as if loadstone in pool full of mud
With no sign of divers in sight.

How to now drag our selves to those banks
That fade beyond cognizable ramparts of faith?

Tottering with feet that've lost their soles
I've stumbled on sharp little shingles that pierce
And tear up my nails to their bits.

Trudging along lanes where explosions lurk
I'm startled by faces of those who are blown
And mourn the more nameless that wait.

Punctuated now with funereal smoke,
We breathe our sighs among ash-smeared days
That ooze out with tears smelling blood.