The Winds are Whispering.

The winds are whispering.
I hope they will whisper my words.
Words of love and poetry,
Promises of a lifetime.

I hope they will whisper
The truth.

I hope they will carry my words beyond the horizon,
Into that distant land where she belongs.
Beyond the rivers and the mountains
Into the far west.
And silently
They will whisper my words into her soul.

It rained for the first time.

The rain comes every year.
So does the summer and the winter.
But I don’t know why every time it rains
It reminds me of my childhood,
Of my parents, my brothers,
Our tiny little cats..
Of That dusty little apartment above the garage.
It reminds me of a time when life was holy,
When we had each other.

To you the rain is us,
To them its the change.
To me it’s a passage to the past
And to some ,
Tears from
Another heaven.

Memories of a Spring long gone.

I like this time of the year when everyone’s away somewhere.
I like to see those newly sprout leaves of spring through my window. I like to hear the cuckoo sing in the morning. I like to hear it in the evening.
I like the blue sky and the cool breeze. I like it here.
Even amidst all this concrete crap, I still like it.
I like to stare at that lonesome tree standing amidst all the concrete crap. I like to stare at it for a long, long time until my solitude comforts me.
There’s a sense of calmness everywhere and I like it.
 
I like it here around this time. There’s a sense of comradeship everywhere, in the streets and in every dark alley of my aged hometown.


I know you hate it here. But you would have loved it.
You would have loved it here around this time, when everyone’s away somewhere, doing something.
You would have loved to look at those newly sprout leaves of spring.
Even amidst this concrete jungle you would have smelled the innocence of your childhood, those dusty roads and misty mornings.
You would have heard the bird of dawn and dusk singing your own melodies.
There’s a sense of belonging everywhere and you would have felt it after all these years.
You would have loved to be here by my side.

And just like old times,
I would have written poetry for you.

Who are you?

 It's funny when I watch you from a distance.
I like watching you.
You look so beautiful.
But that's not why I like watching you.
When you sit there all by yourself I see you.
You never look around.
You are all by yourself
Probably wandering in your own thoughts.
You seem so perfect.
Your solitude comforts me
And I watch you with my two eyes
Like I watch the stars in that serene night sky
Like I watch that blue bird from my window
But they never look back at me.

But you did. Yes.
Your eyes.
I looked at them.
Those brown hazel eyes. They looked at me.
And you smiled.
I could not smile.
I felt
Like a cold stone.
Those eyes.
That look. I couldn't move.
You made me a stone.
Who are you?
Medusa?

No, you are too beautiful.

I guess I will never know.

The Court of Love.

Everything is fair in war and love
So why do we need the white dove?
Here the Satan played the Jury,
And the Lover was hanged by the order of the Lord.
A criminal he was in the court of love.
And since then the lover remained a fiction
With a cosmic contradiction,
That not everything is fair in the court of love.

Existence. (Then a boy would think..)

Traffic Signal: Red 

On a day when the city weeps monotonously, if you ever look out of the window of your car, you will find a thousand and one reasons to smile. You will see a bright-eyed, half clothed, emaciated boy in a chop stall- the common picture of impoverished India and a black pregnant starved dog- scared of the human existence around him. They will make a story. You will find that half starved boy who has no guarantee for his next dough feeding the dog from his own chop stall, that failed to attract even the photographers of ‘not-so- Incredible India’, for free. The dog and the boy have learned to coexist in a city where their existence is only recognized before ‘elections’. You will find once again that your city has a heart. And there is hope for the fallen few. There is hope for you. There is hope for me. And there is hope for us.

Traffic Signal: Green

Everything is in motion. The image of the boy and the dog fades away. They made you happy for a while and then? It’s all the same again. Red or Green, it’s all the same over and over again. Nothing changes, if you don’t change. If the dog and the boy can coexist in their world with almost nothing, why can’t you and I with everything?

The Midnight Hue.

The midnight hue

Stuck me like a glue,

In its forbidden-forsaken beauty

Like a smiling cutie.

And that’s when I knew,

The midnight hue

Was all

You.