When Seasons Change.

The cautious soul hibernated in the very depths of winter
It was the bitter coldness that prevailed within
Solitude and solitude alone brought sanity.

But it was Springtime again
And the winds whispered her memory
In the trees, in the empty corridors and streets.

For when seasons change,
So does the heart.

The Cold and Them.

A tooth fairy pickled the coldness outside
A grasshopper died in the greens
A little bird once stopped flying to the north
A red nose humbled the creed.

The girls were all dancing
Dancing to be warm
The girls were all dancing to be free.

Little did they know that the
Winter was within
The winter outside was glee.

If I was You.

If I was you, and you were me
Would they let us be?

If I was you, and you were me
What would they see?

Would they blow our brains out
Or would they chain our hearts
Before we figure it out?


If I was you, and you were me
Who would love more?

Once Upon a Time in Calcutta

Once upon a time I lived in Calcutta
Where the joy evaded the lonely souls
Where the roads took an endless toll
Of mass defecation
Where they cleaned up the trees
Burned a cuckoo’s nest
Where the poor helped the poor
In hot summer afternoons
Feeding water into their empty stomachs
Where the winter deluded you of the ghastly chill
Where sometimes joy spread around like a cancer
Amidst a romantic dream.

Once upon a time I lived in Calcutta
Where they told me about Marx and a dream
Where they hoped beyond the urban pledge
Of incredible India
Beyond the Potemkin villages of wonder
Beyond the gory capital city that disrespected love.

Then, I lived in Calcutta
Foraging the lonely streets
Looking for us
Wondering what you were doing
About those little naked children by the tea-stall
Who wanted to live.

Once upon a time I lived in Calcutta
Before the sprite dust invaded my eye
Leading me to the dark side of the moon.

When we prechead hope through the long nights

Never cry for the passer by,
Never weep for the creep.
Never dance with fear,
Love with a tear,
Never say no to life.

So
Let it be forgotten,
As a flower is forgotten.
Forgotten as a fire that was once singing gold.
Forgotten forever and ever, as time, our kind friend,
He will make us old.
If anyone asks say it was forgotten:
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall,
In a long forgotten snow.
 :)
(The second stanza is the poem 'let it be forgotten' by Sara Teasdale)

The Bugs Of June

So the bugs of June fly into the night seeking a halogen light.
They flock around it, all of them, fluttering their tiny wings, as if drawn by some gypsy magic.
They collide with each other and fall like some bizarre dead flowers, but they fly up again, time and again without fail, with no regard to their little lives.

They aren’t scared of being found.

They dope on that light amidst the silent night, as if they are scared of the darkness.
They are perhaps scared of getting lost.

I wonder how they fared millions of years ago when there was no halogen light through the long nights, when there was no fire, no electricity.

Did they seek for the moon in those scary dark nights?
Just like we do often? 

About a New Life (Lie)

Rain drenched streets, flightless moths, tall trees,
Unfamiliar faces
Autumn’s familiar smell
Sleepless nights and hot cups of tea.
And time goes by.
The memory lingers on for a while
Of brick lanes and crowded streets
And then it’s all the same..

Getting used to it.
Getting used to it.

Dreaming on, wondering is this it?
Is this the end?
Growing up?
Running for glory?
Money and fame
Sugarcoated smartness.

And time goes by.
Getting used to it.


Your memory lingers on for a while, and then it’s all the same..
Getting used to it.
Getting used to it.