poetry

He, You, I

We were unwilling acquaintances
of separate worlds and separate minds
He, six foot tall and ready for revolution
I, five feet tall, with a dream.

Then, there was you 
With your talk of change, transparency and a revolution we could all be part of
Camp to your politics of division and unity,
we were all called and all of us said yes,
all at the same time.

I still remember days of smouldering heat and burning grass as we lay on a ground we knew not to touch
They called us rebels. We called ourselves changers of a system we knew we could not change.
But then I slipped away amidst the haze as the screams got louder, the hate more bitter
I kept saying that wasn’t me. I did not want to become what you already were. 
Perhaps, I already was.

Hypocrisy is a comical word. They all call you that 
He, six foot tall and ready to defend you till the death of his own dignity
I, five feet tall, with an idea.

But then, we are all hypocrites, you know.

(more…)

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Town girl aspirations

I once promised myself

Himalayan narratives in poem and paint

Remnants of a life lived vicariously

Through story and art

Experiences imagined

Through stained windowpanes of my ranting mind

But tonight, I am empty

Of exotic love and great addiction,

A life only made of mundane battles

And ordinary war.

Didn’t you ever wish you were interesting?

(more…)

Breaking hearts

Your heart will break

If you allow it to.

The songs you sing

Are only sad

If you want them to.

I could tell you I love you,

You could hear that I hate you.

It’s all relative.

Your heart will break

If you want it to. (more…)

Again

So I decided to come here

and face the music that

once loved me. And somewhere

tonight, as the fireworks burst

and the stars came up, I saw your

eyes and looked into them again

and as the music played,

you were mine and I became

yours, all over again. (more…)

Growing Up

I told you long ago
That I had grown up
Altered for the better
Casually crushing
Your hopes for sympathy
Forgiveness
Needless chatter
Comfortable silence
I said
It was never love
Child’s play
A rocky distraction
Of youthful lust
And clandestine mistakes
Today
I remember you
As I tell my story
To another one of you
Charming
Caught in a haze
Of blinding allure
Distracted as ever
Perhaps
I have not grown up at all (more…)

New poetry on the Tuck Magazine

I am happy to announce that I have two new poems, ‘Sometimes I Forget To Think‘ and ‘Mountain Speech‘ published on the Tuck Magazine,a political lit, music and arts  journal based from Canada.

The link to the poems is http://tuckmagazine.com/2016/11/16/poetry-613/

So go right over and check them out! 🙂

 

Narratives of the Lake

I enjoy solitary walks on the side of the murky
lake with its gluttonous fish and their unthinking feeders.
It’s therapeutic, I tell myself.

The grey-green grass, dew kissed leaves and dark marshy footpath-
They’re all part of the poet’s parcel.
I’m supposed to love these kinds of places.

Some days, I pay the men with the horses exorbitant amounts
so I’d have a pony to pretend was mine.
The ones I got were always ordinary,
ordinary as the dull grey pigeons that shit all over the city
buildings in New Delhi.

In Shillong, the lake is more alive
but the fish have dull eyes as they gather beneath
the bridge, fighting for their bread crumbs
and corn chips.
The water reeks of death
like someone was murdered and drowned
as naive fish watched and waited.

Do lakes and death walk hand in hand?

Ride

Death is a white man with alabaster skin,
pretty blonde hair,
un-calloused hands
and eyes grey as a monsoon sky.

I met him just last week
In a dream where old friends became strangers
and god was nowhere to be found.

Death was a man
and there was no fire, no streets paved in gold,
nothing waiting for me-
just a polite gentleman with a black Cadillac
ready to take me on my last ride.

He opened the door to the back and led me in,
whispering secrets I could not comprehend and
answering the questions that were running amuck in my mind.
Then he closed my coffin shut and all I knew was darkness.
There I lay,
as I felt the car move at blinding speeds on a curved road
much like the ones back home.

I wondered why my last ride was so miserable,
But then I heard him say it was for the best.
It was better for me to feel and not see
The life I passed by.
So that when we reached,
my heart would be free
to turn to dust and
return to nothingness.
For suddenly I remembered all the people I loved
And all ones I hated
And in that moment, I did not care anymore.
I became free.
Free to approach annihilation.
Free to die.

You see,
Love is strange. But, death is stranger. (more…)

The chores I hate

I hate sweeping floors and mise en place
and to do for people, things
I know they can do themselves.

That is why, I create lists upon lists
of the chores I hate,
knowing that I will find solace
only in a few moments
of unguarded poetry.

But then, one day
my father told me
my poems were no longer poetic
and my words, no longer enough.

So I decided that day,
I’d stop writing
if writing was to be a chore. (more…)