Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Baby

I didn't know, that you would be so red,
so strange looking.
so round and little and fat
with so much hair,
and so much plumpness
and such a squishy face.
i don't want to imagine what you will look like when you grow up,
i have terrible visions you know,
but for now i am content to stare at a picture of you
with your eyes squeezed shut
and eyebrows furrowed,
intent on shutting out the confusion around you
and concentrating hard on being asleep.
i hope you will love me as much as i already love you. 

Sunday, March 6, 2011

brown peacock dancing in my mug


as i blow into the tea to cool it, 
a depression for the body 
and a fluttering ripple
moving outward
pulsating rivulets and waves and depressions.

i will kiss the soles of your feet

with their lap-slap slippers
and the uneven
फत फत
on the half wet ground.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

have you ever noticed,
how water droplets
slip into each other?
sliding along a smooth surface
until they find one of their kind
and slide in
adding an arm or leg to the amoeba.
surreptitiously seeking
slipping
always moving towards
completion?


Wednesday, February 16, 2011

what can you say when you watch someone bare their heart?
all i want to say
i will always love you,
but i can't find the words to make it relevant. 

Monday, February 14, 2011

inundation

i did a project,
about the historical context of Noah's Ark.
about all these people,
who claim to have found the remains of it.
the battered skeleton of a grand story
a story that everyone knows
and people troop to these four wonderful places
and stare at strangely shaped, spaceship, mangled bits of wood
imagine a white bearded man with a cosy wife,
with a pair of giraffes nuzzling their necks.

and i dove down to a shipwreck once.
and almost choked, because i couldn't really understand how to breathe through a plastic tube
and i saw something beautiful
the sea is always beautiful, when you look at it through a clear pane of glass,
and there were fish
and there was moldy wood
and so many colours, that i was shocked
and it was an old fishing boat, he said
that had capsized some years ago.


Sunday, January 30, 2011

i'm entirely aware
that when i have nothing else to worry about,
i miss you.
i'm entirely aware that missing you
means nothing more than...

i couldn't think of anything.
that means as little or as much.
nothing can be placed at
the other end of the see saw
its not the same as anything
its my mind playing tricks on me,
its
having to much to do and not wanting to do any of it

but because i haven't written anything for a while
and because the things i love the most
are the ones i wrote for You,
I'd like to think, for a little while,
that i miss you. 

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Nonsense Verse II

well, here I am. 


how did you come here?
i flew on the black back of the poem bird.
i raced down the burst of lightning in the sky and
i slid into an electric blue, echoing cave
and i walked through the dark white and blue
past frozen souls and thought-skeletons
and i came out
into
Here.
what are you doing here?
i'm finding out
what Here means.
and what does it mean?
Here
simply means that once, you were not.
that is flippant.
flippant, like the wing of a grey dolphin
flapping and clapping in invisible chains.

Friday, January 14, 2011

is it wrong, to have a terrible thing dimmed
by ten second absolute terror
of how much more 
it could have meant to me?

feeling like a terrible person, because in my heart i know how i would have felt with the difference of a few letters. how the fear of something can shell-shock you into not realizing how sad something else really is.

until it hits you in the face. how insensitive you are
to anything but yourself. 
and how admitting that
where people will read it
is hypocritically purgatory.  
sympathy, empathy, 
everything, can be deconstructed into hypocrisy. 
and its better not
to say anything, just feel 
something inside. 

Monday, January 3, 2011

Sunday morning smell, after so many months.
warm sugar browned in ghee
packed into two large steel containers, 
still warm, solidifying into the steel curves
to be carted off to satsang. 
and if i wake up early enough, a little glass bowlful kept aside for me
to slip into the kitchen and nibble at with my fingers, 
oily sweetness and winter morning sunshine.