raking in snowed time

The Mill, 1964, by Andrew Wyeth 

snow has embraced time
in a mill in the countryside
thin strands of ice fall on my head
foiling my plans to write on the frosted glass
let nature facilitate more plans
how else would the the mill workers sustain?
a state of helplessness would be their undoing-
an aspect no would like to see

"I do not wish watching you juggling the wheelbarrow-
not while you are a shadow of a long lost ghost.
who sent that anonymous note, I not know"

instrumental wash up

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau 

I will not play for a few trinkets
you may pull your cap and turn your back
I will not curl my toes
and bend backwards for a few coins

I carry that umbrella to lift up my spirits
yet my instrument nests under it
how can I neglect the fact that
I can still conjure up a few tricks

"that deep sigh-
what does it convey?
some arrested thoughts in the midst of nothing"

imperfect getaway

La Jument, off the coast of Brittany, photograph by Jean Guichard

in the dead water
I see a calm 
one need not worry about the impact of the storm

when the moon illuminates scenes of havoc
my words haunt me in my pool of thoughts
I wish to be remote

but it is just a random moment
one of those which recedes with water
I need to collect it and price it

I do not wish for scenes to litter my marked area
the green blue ocean may differ with me
now that it is topped with foam

"when your lifeless body finally washes ashore,
I would have gone into hiding"

a few stones removed now and there

New York at Night, Vivienne Gucwa

in the cobbled pathway
shadows whisper to me
about your presence
I can't see you in the scarlet night
nor do I see in the day light
but when the sky walks behind me
I feel your caress
a light warm touch of something unknown

spare me a bit, save my sanity
I expect you to come soon
It might seem strange to some
that I await for you
unknown unseen 
to be struck by you

an unlikely pair
one flesh and blood
other no one knows what
there is always a first, isn't there?

"uneven gait is sometimes the destiny
and it is also the periphery vision"

iced desires

The Ice Cutters, 1911, Natalia Goncharova

give us a pair of ice cutters
we will fix and pave a way
we are sure an angel will come from the moon

the snow cover on the trees waves at us
we do not believe in lies
angel cannot snatch away our dreams

we need a clay box to store the ice
it will be used to preserve our simple desires
those have fallen apart by the road side

"that sled carries the weight of our aspirations 
while our brother watches detachedly"

reflections

your lens has perfectly captured the seagulls-
one that is feeding from my hands,
I want to fly away with him 
from this cruel world
I need a cloak to hide

excaping from that prison was a stroke of luck
but I have no cash by goods to survive
no longer can I skirt that-
one that has become an issue with the world
the clouds hide the sun

I wish for venus to rise from the ocean-
I promise I will hold her as my beloved

a letter for you

I can handle border issues
you think I depend on you
unknowingly you depend on me
my insight did not warn me of this plight
this fire within me forces me to confront you head on
but you are on the road again
what crisis drives you away trouncing everything in its wake

my wings will help me fly away
but what about my promises I made to you?
words may have died between us for now
but you know I will stick around as always
I sense that you are lost now
and you know I will find you
as I have always done and always will
thanks to the world beyond

"what I and you have does not have a name
it does not have to
who wants to learn a new spelling inventing a new word?"

let him grab the world

Autumn on the River, 1889, John Singer Sargent 

there is no blackboard
however he writes on the blackened wall
suffering is his undoing to open up
he wants to escape the cycle
he wishes to disappear from that gathering
it might lessen the gap between him 
and his choice to create nothing
the long habits of his brothers compels him to stay
but he wants to give up his own habit
it is not a virtue for him to enforce suffering on oneself

"what would regard do, if one has no desire to go on?
flights of fancy will only take as afar, not just ascetism
one might just choose to float away like her
with no destination in sight neither in mind nor heart"

bridging the past with the future

befuddled she lay there
pain was only a breath away
it was a race to live
his silky voice kept holding her
if not for him
she would have fallen into that marsh
her mouth all cottony
she felt him pour the whiskey on her broken leg
some part of her mind was razor sharp
his lanky form hovered near her
willing her to live
wiling her to live
before he slipped into murky water below
not to be found

ten years later she sits transfixed,
her glass dropping from her hand,
a small puddle forming on her side-
reminds her of her fuddled experience
she keeps staring at that letter remembering,
thinking, "no one can isolate me now.
he has found me again. saved my life yet again."

"et cetera is not life. it is what she is now."

a tattoo can say a thousand words

on an impulse
I get myself tattooed
a precise creation of some symbols
the rhythm of the tattoo artist
can only be felt by me
whisperings in the region within my head
resonate with the needle
I desire invisible ink
at the back of my neck
he does his work
with infinite care
while I create a distance in my mind

out of the two fists
one emits designs,
before I can even say
"what hit me?"

erosion

in the inky depth of that pool
I feel safe from immeasurable flames
I yearn for your breath
that breath you stole from me
in the guise of sleep in the waking hours.
oh, it is just a dream-
why did I allow it to erode me?
I pull the sheet closer still,
forgetting myth from truth.
I put on a mask again
throw a clay pebble into that imaginary pool
no one will allow bend the rules-
except you. except you.

that breath I need to keep in hiding-
leave it on the doormat on your way out

"time just moves on with its own pace,
unwavering about the aftermath-
uncaring about what to come."

doggy tales

my world is inside the binds
it is expected when one has a drunkard owner
I was born outside
thunder brought me in
I want to know
what prophet said that I have to care for a sleepy person
but yes I hold all the trumps
when my owner moves in circles
he is on edge not I
life outside of that fence may be full of adventure
but within the walls I am the master

when he will finally be sober
and mends that fence
I will jump out and seen no more

"yes, you see, I can jump that fence
but I choose not to do it now
because the leaves and weeds keep me enthralled"

erase that wall

image by crilleb50

what secret do the clocks hide-
last I looked they blinked at me
such clever gesture on their part
I want to look at the stars 
but I look down hiding my face
where will I nest in my twilight years
time does not let me know
hour hand of one of the clocks has swept away the cobwebs

I am now a basket case
my flesh ripe for picking
think what you may
I cannot leave the cliches to chance
don't let it be said
I saw all and never conquered

"the weeds will die under my walking stick
I would be left here, my bio carved in stone"

nirvana

photo by Mark Haley 

a lone tree in the sharp hillside-
where clouds spill all over it.
that exact spot where the ghosts gathered.
do they worship the tree
or jump off the edges to be alive again?
that stone-laid path is of no use to the dead-
unbidden weeds swarm all over
helping the red hot ghosts to walk silently.
I wish for the patches in the sky to be covered,
taking pictures with my cell phone.
believe me, there were ghosts
but none in the photos
if seeing is believing, then I am a liar

"that image of Buddha in the clouds compelled me-
the story which has holes has to be told,
someday someone will be enlightened"

crystal ball

The Moth and the Lamp, Cesar Santos 

why are you peering inside
what secret stories you seek to find
I cradle the glass ball
my wings are folded
my shoes undone
this enclosed space is my exile
my tiredness will soon make me into a pile
how I ended up here
I do not have a clue
I do know I have this itch to dance
it is like a rash one continues to scratch
now I want the wall to withdraw its claws
I will rejuvenate in no time

I could have stayed home
munched on apples
with milk and bread
but that was not to be

"I am destined for bigger things-
that french window is my silent partner"

sway that bay

that map is such a vibrant spread
but with a short, vacuous smile
I wish for a sassy, sumptuous feast of words
no manipulative nature will slather out vision
vivaciousness may be lost in violet trappings 
do get me some interesting currency
I wish to buy a country or two
interesting adventures beckon me
although that map is stuck in a place
but my mind wanders everywhere

"there is no single master of the world,
but who pulls the invisible strings?"

reading the menu in the clouds outside

I see magic in this train ride
a dimension lost for the present jet set generation
not so long ago
the intrigue of a simple menu was our center
it was an avenue of change from mundane life outside
in that crisp table cloth
stains had to answer for themselves
it sounds so strange to say it
but we played by the bell

in that kettle I can still taste the tea in one such journey
the blue marks reminds me of blossoming forget me not
his benign smile takes me down memory lane

tabled forever in my mind
the intrigue has been used to soothe me

"if only life was laid out in a small tray with few complications"

atop that tree, I sway to the wind

artwork by Jeanie Tomanek 

let me sway on top for some more time
I feel the freedom of our feathery friends
look at the bird so close to me
I think it wants to chat
in that wet heat
I feel the inky wind on my hair
in the leafless branches I see tiny shoots
it sparks new hope that life will never be lost in the mist
nature has well oiled itself to last forever
I will gather scarlet flowers to make another anklet
that elephant will break my fall from dropping into a hole

"in the grey of our lives,
we will always find red and maybe some yellow too.
I want it all in each and every hue"

cries inside the mind

photo by Steven Kelly 

enough explanations she heard from us
now she is going south
she will take the train,
feeling the gusting wind on her face
no, we cannot help her pick up the pieces
she needs to do it alone,
to stop the cries inside her head
filters do not work in there
be as bitter as one wishes to be
although we got no reason for that
she needs to tame the fierce emotions
to keep out the despair

"pieces of torn pages with her notes
will no longer hold her
she needs the solitary person within her to hold her hand
she needs her, only her to heal. 
to heal"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This came out of deep pain. Women are not respected in my country. Every day in Delhi or Mumbai or Bangalore, someone is gang raped. Yes, you read that right. Gang raped. Yet she survives. Because there is no other option. Our laws are very lax. Most rapist go scot free. The irony is, this is my country and I cannot leave it....

I have not used strong brutalized words here. Already there is enough brutality....

shaking it out, I dance to life

painting by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

I must illuminate the circle of life 
not just an incentive for concrete deeds
I cannot wallow in self pity
let me scatter my thoughts on the pavement
I will weave some fantastic tapestry of thoughts
my pounding heart will not stop short at anything
stark emotions do not strain to break free
unbroken spirit do help one hitch
when I can dance to anything
please do not race into time
I don't expect a farewell 
finality of ending is not I seek
all are seeking my downfall
I will not let that happen
one who believes in me
will not let me fall

"a huge gathering may prevail
but I will do what is right"