High

They told us- India looks this way
And Europe looks like that- but
How does one decide their shapes?
Does one stand atop high buildings-
And draw what they see below them?
I’m standing on the seventeenth floor-
And the shape of this city isn't clear to me.
The tall cross and clock stare at me,
While there are higher buildings to stand on.

Tell me- you were always the smarter one
If I stand there- will it be visible to me?
Or should I jump down- onto the unyielding floor
Till the unrelenting wretch of a Time passes me by?
Till blurs of several colours become heads-
And bodies and souls- and then blur again.
You were tall. Could you from your
Mighty height make out the shapes of towns
Is that why you were good with roads
Even when you let me guide you? Could you
Also make out people from that high?
Is that why you left me- were my bays too deep?
Or were the lands too soft and uneven?

Tell me-just this much. How high do I
Have to be- to just distinguish you- just you
In this ocean of blurred bokeh- with my
Fogged out eyes spewing brine? And will you
If you ever see me coming, with your height-
Towards you with outstretched arms,
Take me back again? Or would you be lost again?

I guess I am just high.

Meaninglessly

Your birthday came and went.
I couldn't wish you- after our skies
Split into two, mine was full of rain-
And unrelenting mists that reduced vision
To touch- Touch to a frosty sensation.
I could never know what your skies were like.
I still breathe- in that misty masquerade
And trudge along- meaninglessly
Just to maybe catch a glimpse of you somewhere.
So why remember you today?
Why would you feature in the endless conversations
That I have with my shadows- growing and diminshing
In the faint starlight- in the rare event
When it does not rain- I look for your skies
But my own starlight-seldom seen- Blinds me
Consequently, I see not you, but a blur
Of shapes and silhouettes- or maybe it is because
The rain initiates inside, and seeps little by little
Through my eyes- Briny, trudging along-
Meaninglessly.

I am packing your present- that I could not
Give you for two years- In the grotesque mismanagement
Of Fate- if I chance upon meeting you-
And I remember to breathe- I will give it to you.
I will bequeath myself to you- if I can find myself.
And somewhere in those torrential rains
I'll set out- To join our skies and sew them together again.
I'll trudge along- meaninglessly.
Walking short paths and long- just as
The lines in this pretentious psalm.
Do not worry though- I will not speak.
I lost my voice in the darkness years ago.
The eyes communicate- when they do not rain
Meaninglessly. 

I Will Not Love Him

I gently bent to kiss him-
He pushed me away, told me
To not be a sentimental fool.
I wade into nostalgic waters-
And the upstream drift saps
All my energy- sans hope, I see
Trophies and report cards, a tiny bicycle
And a plethora of broken sticks
That I broke on his back.

I look at him- his eyes glued to his
Computer- a faint glow of youth?
Or perhaps the light of the computer
Reflected in them- and slowly I
Curl up- To hold on-
To all the fleeting shadows
That go ahead as soon as I
Jump to grasp them.

Another woman will come-
She will replace me- or will she
I cry silent tears, and then
I cleanse my own thoughts- I
Must let go- that is natural.
But is natural right?
I don't know.

Little by little, I promise myself
I will not love him.

In My Head

There is something in my head.
Mother and Father look at me.
I don't look at them- something
In my head tells me to play. I run-
And I fall- they run after me-
I taste blood and tears- the voice
Tells me to scream- and I screech
Mother and Father look at me.
I love them- they are worried-
I want to tell them of the voices
In my head- I start to choke
And in a puddle of my tears-
And a cloud of their worries, I pass
Into a dreamless sleep- I wake up
Did I say dreamless? I start to draw-
Filling the little white paper with
Shapes and colours- was it that easy?

I heard Father shouting tomorrow-
Yesterday- I laugh. I sit silently
Father comes and kisses me- I kiss him
Back with my lips with food all around-
He smiles, he says "You're special."
The voices in my head are calm.
I'm normal. I'm not special.
Mother and Father look at me.
I don't look at them- something
In my head tells me to play. I run-

Necklace

Wear thine necklaces, not with strung pearls or beads
Nor with sharp jewels- or glassy cut diamonds.
Wear them with feathers, so that at least when it is time for
The pearls- the jewels- the feathers to fall out
You still have the string intact - for the string
Is what you want to keep around your neck.
But do not flow in thine thought- and make the string strong
To support all your heavy jewels- that slowly
It transforms into a noose.

Mudo

Let's preserve our words, tonight.

For another day- when the rains
Are more harsh, and the warmth
Is slowly fading from my palms.
When the dark clouds gorge on the sky
And your little heart trembles
With the prophecy of the tempest.
When the air that we breathe-
Comes in sporadic pulses- little by little
And then a wind- that threatens to choke
Blow our existence away, forever
Into the blinding sharpness of the palm feathers.

For that day, mi amora.
Let us fall into silences
And only hear our breaths
Amalgamate-intertwine-
Like our fingers, our souls, our lives.

Laila and Majnoon

Yes- they will stone me today
But will you come like Laila
Of the fables- and save me from
Their wrath- Or is it better this way
That another mad Majnoon embraces
Death the same way-just so that people
Can call a little heap of stones a monument?

And I promise you- whoever you are
When you lie atop me to protect me from
Their serpentine whips- My hands will
Not for once let them touch your back.
And for the lack of a weapon, Laila- I will
Snatch swords from their hands by the blade
And if not that- I'll spit on them till they drown.

And whenever that new dawn brightens their doors-
I promise I'll be the gulmohar, dropping orange-hued
Flowers on your grave- and flesh to flesh- bone to bone
Spirit to spirit, I shall meet you in your heavenly abode.
And there I'll write you songs and ballads of our love
Which they will sing too- but devoid. Of feelings-
Of pain, of passion, of nuances, of hope, of love.
Of Laila and Majnoon- albeit they'll chant the names.