Tell me Now.

Sometimes we talk like strangers
Other times we just don’t talk
We don’t ask too many questions
But sometimes when we are lonely
We talk like best friends
We talk like two young lovers
Too shy to confess our love
Like it exists.
And that’s when we quote poetry
About love and life.
The seasons change
And we go on
In our charades
Afraid to love
Afraid to fall.
Again.

I Wish.

I wish you a happy day
The beauty of rain, sun and misty hay.
I wish you a blue sky
And puddles of cranberry pie.
I wish you the white doves
And a pair of vermilion gloves.
I wish you the wishing star fairy
So you may be a little less weary.

But every night in the silent rhyme
Like a playful poet of mime,
I wish you all my forgotten love
And every little thing I have.

A Pencil Sketch.

His  first pencil sketch resembled the perfect disorder of various shades of black and white, intended to portray a scenic imagery the ones you find in Ruskin Bond books, having the entire package of a hut in the backdrop of chevron hills, flaunting a sunset, the familiar picture, the first any kid learns, before the dark reality and polluted gutters of the neon lit urban jungle infiltrates the white pages of the memory, leaving behind a notion of being cheated in the sweet delicacies of  youth, for to paint a grey world in shades of black and white has always challenged great artists, let alone that little boy with a puritan spirit.

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.