Still

The charred pieces lay amidst the grey-black ash,
As the darkness engulfs even the smallest of embers
And as I dust my piano, closed for a year,
The yellowed ivory feels foreign to my skin.

Foreign, as your touch on the small of my back
When we made frigid love in cold environs
And I sit in front of my piano, telling myself
That I can play, as the music escapes me.

Little by little, I feel the warm embalming of tears
Leave my eyes, and heal the diseased keys.
I close my piano then, only for the vision of a new sun
That'll leave, as the day is gone, and I'll set another
Page of my written symphonies to fire.

Night after night.
I'll remember you, still.

Strive to Hide

In the faint glow of the moonlight

That entered through the cracked panes

Of her KJ Marg abode, she saw a golden

Square sachet open that night- and she

Cried in agony as the bed squeaked under

Both of their weight. And when the phallus

Had retreated into its leathery loneliness-

She quietly looked at the chipped ceiling

While hearing his deep snores by her side.

In the faint glow of the moonlight 

That entered through the cracked panes

Of her KJ Marg abode, he was glad that

That her screams muffled his inner voices

The bed squeaked, after he directed the 

Condom packet away from himself, lest

Anybody saw the tear tracks down his face.

And once, a little too soon, he was done, 

In his dreams, he silently met his dead bride.

In the faint glow of the moonlight 

That entered through the cracked panes

Of her KJ Marg abode, she saw the two 

Writhing in deep sombre lust- And she saw the 

Golden glow of the sachet on the wall, smiled

And counted the cash again as she walked away 

To scuffle to another room, another person

Until someone rang a bell, and the Vulture

Swooped with a smile, the entire night.

In the faint glow of the moonlight

That entered through the cracked panes

Of her KJ Marg abode, alas, a lot was dark still.

And in the darkness, and the golden hues

Off packs of condoms and in the dizzying fog

Of cigarettes, alcohol and misunderstanding, 

People walked past, heads buried with shame

Deep wrinkles of disgust and desire,

Everything that they strive to hide.

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?