Garden

Blessings

An irish blessing

Sublimation

The dust in the hourglass falls down rhythmically,
While you and I negotiate on this slow-moving life,
Like the ancient master of absurdity had once wrote,
None comes, none goes, nothing happens- uneventful.

You and I have reached a point where we need to part,
You have miles to go to reach your true destination,
While I decide to stay behind hiding my hurt heart,
Nursing the wounds with a half-woven dream in words.

You and I lived together in a make-believe world,
You with your ready-made ideas of time-travelling,
While I went on weaving dreams of having a family,
All centred around your strong arms around mine.

For there is no going back, this absurd heart knows
For some solids shed no tears, those who sublimate.

Home

Nowadays, teaching means you have to raise your voice
Louder than the taking-off- planes or screeching trains;
Roaming around the campus looking at the strange trees,
Wondering at what strange names they must be having. 

It often means finding that perfect selfie under the trees,
Feeling at home in the canteen with a book in my hand,
Trying to remember what made you leave this place once,
While looking around the tomes in the neatly kept library.

It means singing that old monsoon raga to watch if it rains,
Where the eyes that focus on you are lost in hunger or love
Where the kids worship you like an amazon warrior of old,
All amidst the noises of the sea that beckons from nearby.

This coming home might not have been an accident at all, 
To have come back once again under the same ancient trees.

Love

Wherever I go, I see your face in the vast crowds,

In the face of strangers, on the walls, on the pages,

While I try my best to keep you away day and night

Keep your thoughts that come like chorus in a song.

You come back in the rain and in the bright sunshine,

In the ochre light of early dawn or the purple sunset,

Your voice that trails across the miles to bring a smile,

While you remain a memory that I try hard to erase.

It brings back a much forgotten era of bright sunshine,

When we were both young under the same supermoon,

When our voices that commingled could bring friends,

From far and wide just to listen to the merriment seen.

But now, this heart wants to build a strong fortress,

To keep you from making me a slave of your love.

the sun and her flowers

The writer that I am currently reading (and raving about) is Rupi Kaur. Recently, on a lazy afternoon, I was literally gobbling on her book "the sun and her flowers", when I saw her poetry slam at the Jaipur Literary festival.

She is very vivacious and the energy that flows from the book is quite contagious.She shared an anecdote on watching Atwood at a previous literary festival and this time it was her presenting her poems. I turned the pages of "the sun and her flowers" along with her and I found it a profoundly moving experience. Hope to lay hands on her next book, soon!