In this beautiful world, I have no desire to die,

I wish to live in the midst of men.

In this sunlight, in the flowering forests

In the heart of all living things may I find a place

Incessant is the play of life across the earth

With its perennial waves of union and separation, laughter and tears.

Weaving songs from the sorrow and happiness of man

I wish I might build an immortal realm.

Or failing this, I hope I can claim a seat

Amongst you for as long as I live

Composing songs like flowers that blossom ever afresh

For you to gather in the morning and noon.

Accept these flowers with a smile, and then alas!

Cast them aside as they fade and die.

Rabindranath Tagore

Thursday, March 26, 2015


For you and me, the numbers are important. We spent most of our days counting and performing the basic acts of arithmetic. Neither your joy nor your sorrows reach me except as vague waves of depression that may be carried into the next age as well.

It has happened more than a single time that the numbers showed how between the cup and the lip, a victory was lost and a dream was crushed into nothingness.

This mad heart still loves to make vague calculations that makes it easy to swallow the hurt and the pain of the past and the present that never lets it be. This dream might appear after a century or never but the days are full of expectations and the nights full of longing.

Whatever time may bring, the days are spent in tying a few words together that appear without embellishments but form a perfect crown of flowers for my king. These are seen by many as calculations meant to trap or attract but this heart knows well that they are calculations to write away a foolish love.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015


Not that I have not put henna on my hands before;
I have done so though not on our wedding day; 
Been married for ages, celebrated every anniversary,
The day we met, the day we spoke, our songs.

We have walked countless times around the fire
We have uttered so many different sacred chants
Of holding a bond so close just by keeping it safe
Deeply tied to the sense of our sacred silences.

We have celebrated in rhymes, absences felt,
The emotions that run wild and the colours
We have sang of the days we wandered
Listlessly, aimlessly and perfectly in silence.

But when I put mehndi on these hands of mine,
You smell them, as if it’s our first time together.

Monday, March 23, 2015

My River Green

The river flows, the first memory in mind,
A huge sheet of green glass; not blue hue,
Like they do in usual children’s watercolours,
A shade of muddy green with trees around. 

It’s Onam, the spring is here, day bright,
We run to the songs from the snakeboats;
We forget our food and rush to the middle
Much to the angst of our seething mother.

Again, we run to watch the fast snakeboats
Rushing to the beat of the peppy boatsong,
The sun shining against our tired eyes,
Then playing in the water for hours long.

A taste of childhood, onasadyas from home,
So long, so far, from the present lone time.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Capsula Mundi

When I breathe my last, cry no tears for me
Cremate me and scatter me in River Green;
Save me from those crowded churchyards
Where you can hardly stand and pray for me.

If by that time, there are burial pods here,
I’d love to come back as a white chempaka,
Like the one near the verdant campus gate,
Whose flowers we picked and smelt daily.

Give away my stacks of favourite books,
The majority of unread ones, if any good,
Discard all my unfinished writing attempts
You can read no sense when hardly I can.

When your time comes join me as a favourite,
To leave a green forest tribe named after us. 

Saturday, March 21, 2015


When the snows fall and the cold bites hard
When the winds are rough in dark wintry nights,
He walks in the moors calling out her name,
One who loved him like the rocks underneath;

When her father brought him home one day
He was just a wild-haired gypsy child; sullen,
He loved her and rose up in life just to gain her,
While her own brother brought him up low.

He loved her more than his own dark self;
She chose not him but a wealthy gentleman;
He came back and drove her to madness
And lies buried next to her and her mate.

Many have heard them together laugh and sing
In dark wintry nights, gathering snowflakes.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Vantage Point

It feels like God who watches from the clouds,
To look at distant mountains and tall towers,
The blue and violet of the spectrum scattered;  
Which stand so blue in the summer drizzle.

We have fitted together two broken halves,
Watching the sunrises and sunsets together,
With limbs, run and coil against each other
Strengths and foibles of two separate lives.

We have picked up a few purple clovers,
To divine what the future has in store for us,
Colours that run amok in twilight dreams,
Of a full spectrum scattered in an afterglow.

When a pale sun sets along its blue horizon,
May it have love that’s like halves fitted again.

Friday, March 06, 2015

Garden of Eden

Hold my hand and let’s walk in the garden
Look around for the four-leafed clovers;
Walk around till we find the mystique
Of a clover much-searched for and found.

One leaf for faith, hope, love and good luck,
Good luck, the most needed of them all,
From morning till night, we could pluck
And learn from the leaves of a four-leaf,

When the magic of the purple riot falls off life,
In a sunless garden where the flowers are dead,
A four-leaf clover might bring in a warm smile
Memories of bright sunshine and summer rain;

An Eve in the Garden of Eden plucked a clover
To know if Adam is her one true faithful lover.