The Letter Among the Leaves

Tomorrow, maybe when I
Bend down and look under these
Crunchy brown leaves, that have witnessed
Autumns too many- maybe, tomorrow
I won't find that letter, yellowed with age
That was traced by your hand- that the wind
Blew one night away as I sat on my sill-
And read it for the umpteenth time
Saw how your d's started from the top and
Ended at the little round- which was incidentally
Never round. I would stretch my hand out to reach
And you would tell me how stupid I was to hold on
To something so material, so superficial, and I-
Just like the little grey clouds floating by on a cold
November morning, would disintegrate and cry.
And you would- that night- make relentless love to me
All would be forgotten in the spring of ecstacy-
Until we pant back and roll away from each other in the heat.
I would softly turn my head towards you and watch you drift away-
While I would sit in anticipation of another autumn-
And the monsoons would be ruthless.
The letter among the leaves must have gotten wet.

Another year. 

Sheen of that steel spoon

That dry taste- the orange through

The brown and yellow- swallow

And bile rises again.

To another year.

Wires

Through the barbed wires, on the fence-

I saw a corpse hanging last night.

Mouth open, uttering possibly

The loudest of unheard screams.

He wanted to escape, they said.

I retreat and draw more barbed wires

Around me- I want escape-I don't speak-

But I don't want pain- Death, I may want

Only that it should be painless.

And that day, long back when she came

And stepped over my wires- and we made love

And we had our daughter- I could not

See the wires from behind her silhouette.

And at times, when they tell me that

They are letting one go, I push my wires farther

I tell them about my life- about my little daughter

And the wires don't bite me anymore.

The Curtain of Silk

It rained a lot last night
and this water that has flowed
into the gutter
might have been the tears
that filled my eyes, unshed
that then the dark sky cried
at how things have now changed
between the two of us
I hid from it my eyes
It must have caused death
The rain falling - a drop
the last one sliding from the roof
It broke my heart in two
as it smashed itself into tiny droplets
on the pavement

I do not know what's left
It must have been my fault
but I am sure it is not
the rain that ran into
the bowels of the earth
That last raindrop
falling on the ground
The snow-globe that shattered
that had falling snow in it
and figure-skaters small -
It must have been my fault

And it must have been
when I bent down
to remove the lint from your skirt
and saw the burrs from the grass
attached to its silk
that this curtain fell
of silence, between us
smooth as silk
rough as parchment

I must pause now
for I cannot see anymore

On Dying

Do not talk of Death-
He listens with wary ears
And in wallowing wisps
Waving away, he walks
Slyly he makes you
One of his dear own.

While the distressed songstresses
Of the graveyard, sing but in
Selfsame violent chirps,
Yet the heart longs, silently.

Talk of Death- in the expect'
Of a new escape? Ah but
What of the hens and cocks
Who witness you leave the cage?