Monday, 30 June 2008

Prime Time

Breaking news
Is what we want to see.
Dramatic reconstruction of
Events for my children to understand
What went wrong or,
What went on
Behind closed doors
In the middle of the night.

Re-arrange the events
Tell a good story
Get everyone on screen.
That one, there, he looks suspicious
Hiding behind a policeman
Staring at the camera
I believe he has something to say.
Something he knows.

Show me every picture of a bloodstain
In every corner, dark ones too
Don’t leave out anything.
Tell us everything.

It’s not very often
That my entire family sits together
To watch the TV.


I see through you
Falling off the page
Never thought I’ll care
For someone who was
Caught in the words
He never thought he will utter.

Through you, I see
What happened before.
And in your face,
I try to trace
The stories I’ve heard
Others repeat again and again.

I see you through
When it all falls away
Nothing to do but
To let the steam rise
As I strain my tea
And watch you become
The evening news.

Jamun Seller

Purple fingers
Is the first thing
Anyone will notice
About you
Next are your yellow eyes
They’ve seen many transactions
Carried out between you and
Hordes of hungry and scratchy children
Lucky with two rupees
Then there is your small basket
Balanced atop your trusty cycle
Filled with Jamuns
Almost hidden, but,
Peeking through
Waiting to be devoured
With a little masala.

Its funny how,
They’re the first thing
We want from you but,
They’re the last things we see.

Me & Myself

This is how it is
Sitting at the corner of the table
Coming undone
In strands of skin
Wishing you could prove Freud wrong.

Today I ran into my former
He never listens
Wears a face I don’t like
Blinks often and never smiles.

Tell, my lonely friend
Are we lost for a reason?

Monday, 16 June 2008

While You Were Gone

Through the nets I see,
Life wade in water.
The uneven sea is perfect
For football and curses
Till we drown,
But we wait for the rain.

Patience drives you crazy like
Something unrequited, when
All you want is what
You need but will never get.

But you, on the outside
Breaking into a run or stuck
In slow motion like you sometimes are.
Seeing red, glasses crashing with
Poetry and your love for plans
Wish I could turn into you
Or take you far.

And you never say,
But the hints in your
Eyes, maybe silent complaints
This is why I have no stories
To tell, for I bring
You this from my room.

Friday, 13 June 2008


...maybe trying to get away from yourself is slightly different because usually people are kidding themselves when they say that…what they really want to do in such times is get away from where they are or from others…the worst thing about being lonely is that there are so many things one has to come to terms with…so many things that you have to tell yourself…things that you can choose to ignore more often that not…this process can be very cathartic if you are want to be…its killing me because I am not…wow…I actually sound almost sure of what I’m saying…could have made it sound more suave than usual. But this is how it is in my head these days…can’t find a better song…I’m already wishing for winter…clarity is the need of the hour…I hate it when I’m uninspired.

While the Smoke Settles

Light a cigarette
Pseudo intellectual
Try to look like someone
And I,
Have no place to hide.
Just a rogue in the balcony
Outer space
Trouble on my mind.

In my room
The things I used to love
The letters she never meant to write
But she did.
And I did too.

In my eyes
The things I’ve saved,
Laughing, blinking

And you
Nod once
Look up when it rains
Drops hit your face
Make you beautiful.
The love we made
Is the weather
No shelter can shade.
I see clouds gather
And you
Wish I’d walk.


Let it come like a road
Winding alongside white lines
Changing lanes
Turning yellow
Out of the dark, into
New stories of what you find
When you’re alone.

Let it come like a smile,
Bad with timing and
Right on cue.
When you do the same in
A crowded room
When you’re sure we share
This secret.

Or let it come like the rain
Without a reason and arms outstretched.
Making pictures that rid the haunt
Of crimes and mistakes, washing away
The things that make us hide.
Within the tedious action
When you part your lips and
Bat your eyes.


And from the dark – ‘murder’!
Cried she when the streets, they bled.
In the moonlight, beautiful, and she ran
Her fingers through the shimmering red.

You should have heard the haunting sound
Of laughter proceeding plans insane
When Sweeney smiled with a glint in his eye
‘At last! My arm is complete again!’

I won’t rest till every throat is dry
But oh my friends, patience…patience
All those who’ve wronged shall be tried
Served and tasted cold, sweet vengeance.

Judges may preach but there are lessons to teach
To this city full of filth that hides many things.
Every drop of tear on my hands will be
My reason to find joy in the hurt I bring.