new walls with odours of hate
and love cagily crumping
the shade between earth and sky
I do not question the moon
skirting the cherished wishes
on dreamy edges of winter
unforcing climax with sticky
fingers splintering sensations
or skittish little riddles
frosting the heart at fifty
I love light without ashes
of wood or fuming desires
in the morass of frustration
I sing psalms people understand
through lines on palms or relics
of private rains lunch
I live time shaking sun and moon
2
I don’t fear death
nor do I worry about
life-after-death
but I fear I know
what life has been and could be
without fortuity
of birth and continuance
of our failure to
undo what we do ourselves.
3
We do not know the weeds
that grow in bed with flowers
staring like weary cops
unmindful of birds at dusk
the more they know legends
the worse it becomes to live:
let’s clean the sky of tales
of covenants and prophets
and be at peace with earth’s
bushes and weeds and flowers
4
Moon-bleached ashes of ages
riot in the night
there is no smoke
my diffidence rises as snake
in dream meanders
the dragon’s tail
my teeth nibble at the garbage
near the mango tree
I stand like the tin
on rusted roots morning
flares up will to live
beyond breedy space
5
Strayed far from the nest
I’m fedup living with dust
for years fleeting shade
bereft
of melody
of spirit I sink to
the hades of utter loss
I can’t
recon hidden mysteries
I have lost the sea
for a mere cupful
void of patience and
peace now as I touch the breasts
of the field I crave
for a pure breath
native to
my being I search
sweet savours
of love
6
I seek the roots that shape
my desperate cries, my bones
that ache in bed I image
the snakes in forgotten heritage
I weave delight with Baha’i mind
and prayers in English before Kali
standing alone with psalms
or Tablet of Ahmad, perhaps
I cross-breed in soul
but, who hears or sees
the ancient hands that signed
the first poems for man?
I sound strange, and strange I am
rooting about among vehicles
for my antimony with names
7
The rain-soothed walls of Shivalay
shine in sun like the gravelled path
now slick with wet mud and cow-dung
obscure footmarks of Monday-worshippers:
I forget the sutras today and feel
the damp incense inside like I did
standing in the empty sentry-box
compromising with the rusted letterbox
not opened for years at the left turn
the mime of hope and worship and slow effacement
of illegible signatures on deity’s back
don’t help me flesh my verses or mitigate
pounding rains, rituals and repetitions
8
It’s too much to live
amid the lies made to keep
the wheel moving:
now knee deep it’s better
we seek shelter in the hush
of sky or the charred
ocean floor leaping
to still the cries of ghosts
that were children once
death is no wound nor
cracks inside any solace:
lies of living lock
the footprints in drifts
in wildness fossilise
word and connections
9
One may or may not justify
one’s romance with lethargy:
to understand what lies beyond
rainbow or under the tree shade
one must leave much for another
day or season, or mood or dream
and leisurely sketch happiness
with dapple of light and darkness moon rocks