One message and a thousand wasted tears.

Two pieces of broken hearts went their different ways five years ago.
Splinters from both entered my eye together all these years later

The tears were bound to flow when the memories surged ahead.
Washing my soul of all the efforts I had put in to steady my own broken heart

Weakening me for a moment, bringing up all the old doubts again
Why had I parted ways with my loved one. Will I regret it five years later?

Then I realised that both my friends have surrounded them with new people and lives
And that old pain of a lost soul mate surfaces now and then, only to subside

Time will heal, a decision will be made, and we’ll again be left with the same choices
To accept or not accept, and to accept with grace or resignation, faith or frustration.

To silence...

You entered my soul like a gust of wind
Determined to blow a fresh breath of life into me
I opened the window unto you,
To make space for something new to me

You became a part of my being, a friend
Who stuck by me when everyone else was too busy
I leaned on your shoulder
And I felt myself like a climber wrapping around you

Slowly, you became a permanent guest
One I could no longer turn away at will or wont
You became a wall in my house
Only to become the roof over my head and hearth

Then you spread your roots within my spirit
Wrenching it from its foundations, alienating me
From who I thought I used to be
I initially embraced you, then submitted, then succumbed

Until I became a prisoner of your domineering affections
I lost my freedom to think and speak or speak and think
I forgot I used to have a voice at all
And you wrapped me in you arms, like a shroud and buried me.

Unfinished canvas

So many paintings left unfinished
With blotches here and there
Some could have been a masterpiece
Yet, somewhere, the desire to paint
Has long departed.
Once in a while, the painter picks up his brush
Only to etch a stroke and lets go of it
Over time, a half-baked canvas remains
With little sense of it was began to convey
From time to time, the painter begins again
Swayed by a renewed urge
But the colours just don't correspond to thoughts
Is it because some hues are meant for the mind alone?
Too private even for the painter's own eyes?

Bhopal Again

Another date on the calendar, or is it just another date?

When 25 years ago, thousands of people dropped dead

Like flies swarming to those same dead bodies...

Today, they are but photographs and memories

Not lessons learnt and lessons that should have been learnt.

A toxic gas leaked they said, blinding, killing, maiming

Accidents happen. Deaths are inevitable.

But what of the generations of maimed we bring into this imperfect world?

Twenty-five years ago, the B&W photo of a child stunned by toxic fumes

Shocked living rooms across the world

Today the same child gazes out with those same haunting eyes

From the same B&W photo out of the same newspapers

It surprisingly fails to move me the way it did the first time

Something has snapped.

Is it the hope that things will change?

That the child’s life was not lost in vain?

It's all about numbers and facts.

So many dead, so many dying,

Chemicals with fancy names, fancier aims

Bleed people, day in and day out.

Poison water in a ghost town.

More children are born with the scar of a mistake made 25 years ago

More children will die, because that wrong was never righted

Because we have lost the will to fight for justice

Because we do not care any more about deaths, disease and despair

Because we have become numb to everything around us

Because we have to be worried about tomorrow's headlines & today's deadlines

Much deeper than the toxic wastes seeping into the ground

A cynicism has seeped into our collective existence.

We are all in a stupor, chasing a fading finish line

Where the only way to get is grab

Where the only progress is regressive

Where the only pleasure is pain

And where the only knowledge is ignorance.

Forgive us O unnamed child of Bhopal,

Who died in 1984 and lived forever after,

That we have failed you and so many others like you

That we have sacrificed your lives

In this race for some unnamed utopia that keeps us going.

Maybe there will be a time for redemption

Or maybe there is no Judgment Day

Till whatever the end, it's just another disaster

Just another anniversary

Just another date in just another yellowing calendar.

Mcleodganj

Hills, beautiful hills

Barren peaks in the distance

That give way to snow, which like a scoop of vanilla ice garnishes the hills

Peace in the air

Sombre monks in flaming attires

Flowing red robes everywhere bustling about in their dogged pursuit of peace

Blue skies

Fluttering prayer flags

That refuse to be weighed down by the hopes they ferry to the blue skies

Lotus petals

Dragons and heavy metal

Buddha sits on a lotus alongside Bon Jovi and Che looking out of earrings and badges

Tea, hot Tibetan butter tea

Steaming momos

That pave the path to salvation wrapped in gastric juices and needs of existence

Piety, prayer, devotion

Church, temple, monastery

Beckoning to the faithful, to lovers of art and curious explorers of the Self

Mountain trails

Gurgling streams

Long walks through both to lose yourself before a renewed discovery

Silent revolution

Austere penance

Living in a home that never will be home, keeping alive their past to empower their future

Liberty, sovereignty, self-determination

Web of words that keeps struggles alive

And give wings to dreams in distant places and times

Gathering hope,

Beaming them across mountains

To mobilise strength to save Tibet, Free Tibet and spread Peace

Love's labour lost

Flap flip flap

The bird has flown the nest.

On a bright, sunny day, when the heat decays everything it touches,

The bird has flown its nest after years of breathing, living, growing.

The egg had hatched on a cold night in March…Yes, there used to be cold nights in March not so long ago.

The tiny bird came out, wary of everything and everyone around.

It was happy to be alive and out of a cramped, limiting shell.

It learned to breathe on its own,

But did not know its nature was to fly. It ate what came its way

From the warm embraces on hot, humid afternoons to the loving gazes across the greens.

It fed on the long walks through eternity

On debates from God, to theatre to sex

It did not judge, did not grudge and did not budge.

It lived as it thought it should.

There were some who told it to learn to fly for it would have to fly some day.

It scoffed at their ignorance.

After all, not every bird flies, some

Soar and others

Glide and still others become

One with the breeze that threatens to destroy them

So our little bird was content in what it saw as the essence of its life.

There were fights with its conscience, some with the world,

There were long distances within itself, paces to be covered in so little time.

It learned to make the most of what it was given.

Gradually, the world became more important than its own conscience.

There were voices in its head.

And these voices were different from the voices that had questioned what people had always told it.

About flying, fighting and fearing.

It started learning new meaningless things such as

Fear – of parting and not being able to live after that

Pain – of separation and inability to balance between the voices within and those outside

Guilt – of not being able to fulfil expectations and not being able to accept limitations

Doubt – about itself and its abilities and its potential

Envy – of everything around that seemed happy as it thought it could never be

These feelings became a burden. Yet the long summer nights and the short winter days,

The hours spent away from the world discovering itself,

The effort put in to adjust, accommodate and understand kept it from falling apart.

But in secret, the bird taught itself to fly.

So that when the Moment came, its skills would not be found wanting.

And in secret, it kept waiting for the Moment.

It kept looking for the Moment,

Lived anticipating it

Preparing for it

So much so that when the Moment finally came, it did not realise when it flapped its wings and flew, glided and soared.

But from that distance, when the delirium of the wings it had taken died, it looked down on what was left behind.

In a split second, that cold night of March came back into view.

Along with it came the years it had spent dreaming, daring and Living in defiance of the Voices Outside.

It saw what it had once owned and had now lost.

It saw the essence of its being, and how far behind it had left its soul.

And in that split second, the Earth and the Heavens did not stay still.

The Earth kept spinning around the Sun and the Heavens kept rumbling

The bird forgot to flap its wings.

The memory of its past life caught up with its future and brought its present to the ground.

And in that moment, the bird lived and died its destiny.

Something that began in March 2003 and has ended so many times, only to rise like the Phoenix...but this time, the ashes have become cold

Electric moon

An electric moon casts its beams over a sleeping world.
Its soothing rays exude the confidence of a guiding light.
A little child wakes up to a nightmare,
Sees the shining beauty and goes back to sleep reassured.
Lovers find a spot under a shady tree whose branches keep their secret safe from the electric moon’s snooping gaze.
A thief treads cautiously, keen to avoid its glare
But fails to escape its roving eye.
He feels let down by the miserable replica of the queen of the night.
He picks up a stone and throws it with a curse at this enemy of darkness and his personal nemesis.
A watchman gives chase just as the electric moon whirrs and splinters.
The illusion fades behind the clouds of an angry man’s revenge.
The still night reigns again.
A moonless sky mourns the loss of its companion of a few minutes.

30.07.09

Inspired by a night on a terrace with a very dear friend. A power shutdown ensured that the world around turned to nature for respite from the heat. Fanned by a gentle breeze, spurred by a Halogen bulb flickering on a distant terrace, this night and this poem changed life in more ways than one. The optimist in me hopes and prays that it changed only for the better. May God bless you.

Choices

A word most often heard, most often ignored and most often blamed. Let our choices defend themselves.

We make our choices, we do what we want,
We overlook the barriers, forget that we can’t
Loved ones may be hurt by the decisions we take
Storms may brew because of the choices we make.
But remember this friend, this life is ours.
For joy or for sorrow, be aware of your powers.
Listen to your heart, you will be satisfied
At the end of the day, you’ll be glad you tried.

26/8/01

The Unspoken Word

Time flies
And as it flies, it takes along with it
Winged memories;
Of days spent in togetherness and joy,
Of words of wisdom
That you have imparted to me,
Of lessons taught,
And things you have made me see.
Of secrets shared,
Both moments of pleasure and pain.
Today, as I send you birthday wishes,
The gift of this day dawns on me.
At the same time, I realise,
“Sweet songs are those that tell of saddest thought”
And behind the smile and joyful greeting,
Tears stalk the distance.
Your silence leaves me uncomforted…
The unspoken word reigns!

12.09.00

Misunderstood

Again and again I stand accused of the same crime
Again and again I am judged by the same standards.
I try to explain my position
And am accused; of not compromising or compromising too much.
I move on, with Damocles’s curse hanging over my head;
A garland woven out of shreds of your heart
Weighing heavily around my neck
I bow to ease the pain.
You think it is a sign of shame.
You think I plead guilty to your charges.
I know the pain of losing a loved one’s trust for no justified reason
I know for this is not the first time.
Either way, it is a defeat for both of us
Either way, we are both scarred for life.

On the way to hyderabad — second sunrise of 2009

Ball of fire, can I hold you in my palm?

Red, round and brilliant —

Why don't you climb down from the horizon

Wade through the sea of fog

And step into my heart?