Evening
Grief settles on me,
when the evening shadows
stop in the forest
and look back
at the forlorn trail,
as the dust sprawls
in the fading light.
Strained note
The notes are the same.
The music is the same.
The same riot of colours.
The same spreading fragrance.
Dew drops still
cling to the branches.
The breeze tiptoes
across the leaves.
Boughs lean over the lake
to see their reflection.
Yet, there is
another note,
the note of silence
suspended from your voice.
Silence
Windows are shut.
Walls are numb.
The sullen doors
look the other way.
All the sounds of the day
are buried under the floor.
The world is locked
in a somber silence.
The night is
on its last breath.
Just a drop of your voice
may breathe life in it.
Moonlight
In the forest
on a fullmoon night
when moonlight drizzles,
sequins jingle in the leaves.
In the forest
on a fullmoon night,
await and listen
under the sheesham tree.
Someone calls your name
in a sad, moist voice.
Since how many centuries,
has the voice of moonlight
been looking for you?
Limelight
Stars stay suspended
from the sky.
Sparks circle around
the pupils of my eyes.
Sticky spots of light
enshrined on my vision.
As I shut my eyes,
slivers of light
prick my eyelids.
Put me in the lap
of velvet darkness.
Put a patch
of dense darkness
on my open eyes,
lest I be blinded
by the boiling lava
of luminous light.
Bubble
Man is a bubble
on the surface of water:
It sinks.
It comes up.
It floats again.
Neither the ocean
can swallow it,
nor history break it.
On the waves of time
he is ever floating
like a water bubble.
The eternal man.
Stuck
Find a tool.
Find a way.
I don't know
what is stuck;
I don't know
what is jammed.
The night does not close,
the day does not open.
Find a tool.
Find a way.
.
Morning
Your arms lie tangled
like the jumbled lines
of a poem.
I'll open them.
I'll kiss your eyelids
still brimming with sleep.
I'll brush aside
the strand of hair
at prayer on your lips.
I'll place my lips
on your ears and call you:
Shona, O Shonal
When you open your eyes,
light will dawn
on distant lakes.
It will be morning.
Flame
In the still of the night
my body burns to touch yours
I raise my hands
to hold the flame of your curves.
My breathing snaps
like strands of thread.
My crying arms ache
in their futile search.
In the still of the night
I have thought often,
I would pour
my burning body on yours
and immerse this fire
in the fire of the soul.
Beauty
When you appear,
dressed in white
on the sea shore
on a fullmoon night,
the cross will fall
from Christ's hands.
The Buddha will blink
in His meditation.
Your presence will stun
even Him.
When you appear
all in white
on a fullmoon night.
Realisation
You are mine.
Among a swarm of eyes
ice cold and smouldering;
Your face caught in
a multitude of prying looks.
Involved, entangled,
scared, withdrawn and coy.
You are mine,
that is all I know.
Kiss
Just a kiss,
light and quick.
And then a long one.
Clusters of stars sink
in the blue of the horizon.
Planets stop in their orbits
rotating in the sky.
The long journey of time
comes to a final halt.
A decanted drop of dew
hovers on the lips of a bud.
A long kiss from your lips.
A close embrace of your arms.
This day
Covered in dirt and dust,
fatigued and frazzled.
Wrapped in noise,
short of breath.
Ruffled, scorched, faded,
Hurried and hassled.
Bumping against walls.
Before the night comes,
let this day collapse,
and meet its end.
On some cold seashore.
When night comes,
it will rake
my wounds again.
Mask
In the naked sun,
I buy and sell
and whip the slaves.
I laugh aloud
as I auction myself
to please my master.
All day long
I make bargains.
I compromise.
But in the solitude
of the night,
I hide my face
and keep crying.
I am many in one.
Many diverse faces,
hidden in my own.
Self
Shining and jingling
these coins are struck
with the faces
of a king or queen.
Their status
on the flip side.
These coins,
legal tender,
are much in demand.
Hold on for dear life,
to the face of yourself.
If that is erased,
you would be discarded
like a counterfeit coin.
Moment
of the steely sky,
there hangs a sphere of fire.
It takes long spells
to melt down,
a single drop of molten fire.
When the drop falls,
an echo resounds in space.
Torn from Time
another moment.
Fiery and molten,
falls free!
Funeral
A dead body lies
on a white bed.
Pallbearers have left
not bothering to bury it.
When they return
to own the body
and bury it,
then only
will I rest in peace.
Mischief
Stand on my sho
ulders
and with your mischievous lips,
kiss the moon's chin.
The mischievous moon
has come down crawling,
to be close to us tonight.
Autumn Moon
Yellow leaves
drop on my lawn.
It is autumn.
From my roof top
I watch the moon,
now yellow and pale.
Will it fall
on my lawn
like the peepul leaf?
Noon
It is a desolate noon
of the screaming sun.
A fire-tongued demon
licks the sky.
On the withered tree,
the lone kite
balances its wings.
Its dry eyes survey
the mirthless space
Where to? For whom?
For whom?
It is a desolate noon
of the screaming sun.
Balloon
The sun is a balloon
resting on the pointed
peak of the mountain.
Like a ball balanced
on a juggler's finger.
If you blow,
it will fall into the sea.
If you prick it,
it will burst.
Another burning day
would be gone in a whiff.