Another leaf falls

Another leaf is ready to fall from the tree. After having nurtured and fed the tree throughout its life, it is now letting go. Letting go because that is the nature of things. Letting go not because it cannot hold on any more. But because it has served its purpose. Does that sound very selfish - to be removed when one has served its purpose - or does it sound natural.

Anyway, we must not leave the leaf yet. It has dried off, and its veins stand out, ready to snap. It has turned a half-alive yellow and then a parched, dead, brown, as if the green blood has been drained out, meticulously, drop by drop. It curls inside, at its tip, warped by age. It hangs loosely with its head down, with the surrender apparent in its careless fluttering in the wind.

Then it comes, a stong gush of wind. The twig snaps, the leaf is carried up. It tumbles and flips and dances the dance of the free. Then as suddenly as the wind came alive, it dies. The leaf floats. It knows the ending fall has come, and it takes the fall with grace. Swishing through the blue sky and grey air, it falls in this rain-washed city of concrete and bricks.

It falls on a road of heartless black tar. A road of industry and of people who inhabit the world. A world, which must move on this road. And so it does. A flash, a roar, a swift flow of metal gushes past in the careless abandon of wanton youth. And what was once a leaf, a giver of life, is now crumpled dust.

Dust that will rise with the wind, and settle on new earth. Then she will make her magic once more, and what once was life, will be life again.

And so what passes with age, will come back with age again. As will February, next year and then the year after that. Only it will be a different leaf that will fall, anew. Till the end of time. Till the end of leaves.

Tinke ki tarah

Ruswan raton main jab
tum bina sapno ke so jao,
Umadti bheed main jab
khud ko akela khada pao;
Aur jab tum manzil ki talaash main kho jaoge,
Tinke ki tarah,
mujhe apne saath behta paoge.
Tinke ki tarah,
mujhe apne saath behta paoge.

Koi dosti ka haath agar
tumhara haath na thaam le,
Beraham zindagi jab
tumhare saath sakthi se kaam le;
Aur jab tum apne dard par aur ro bhi nahi paoge,
Tinke ki tarah,
mujhe apne saath behta paoge.
Tinke ki tarah,
mujhe apne saath behta paoge.

Jao aazaad panchi
udkar apna aasmaan choomon,
Tumhara savera, tumhara suraj,
apni duniya main azaad ghoomon;
Aur agar dost chaho, to mujhe peeche chalta paoge,
Tinke ki tarah,
jab bhi behti zindagi main saath chahoge.
Tinke ki tarah,
jab bhi behti zindagi main saath chahoge.

Inspired by the magical Bridge over troubled water, by Simon and Garfunkel.

Monologues with the wall

Twice I have tried now. Thirty minutes of crafting alien worlds. But nothing compares to the one I inhabit. Fantasy refuses to take shape, in order to clothe my naked truth in elegant garbs. So I meekly surrender to the inevitable. This does not, will not, must not make sense. Why should it? Too sure of myself. Too sure. Too much faith in the beauty of the magic, which surrounds me. When I am so sure of something that I joke about the unsure bits, then I am laughed on. Energy to believe is drawn from the purity of the beliefs themselves. Corrupt that and I am left with nothing. Give it all I have. Give till I have no more to claim as my own. Perhaps. I was not born a saint, and I have not signed the pact with the devil. Yet, I suffer the sound of my own voice. Unceasingly. Day and night, for endless eons. Distances and intervals fade away. Gnaw inside my heart and eat on my conscience. Madness has its benefits. It numbs me to mockery. Tell me. Do I have the right to any questions? No body read me the Miranda before giving me a brain. There is a world out there, and here is my hand. So? So indeed. I like to delude myself about things. About choices the heart is destined to make. Words are coming to my head in a jumble of coherence. I am fighting with reason to keep this as incoherent as I can. I am tired of listening. Tired of wanting. Trying to love myself. It is too much to ask. Again, again, again! Again? But what of the part, which crumpled in a heap of lifeless ash. True, ash does not burn. The cold winds of the next storm will blow the ash away and leave me fresh. To burn some more. After all there is always someone who needs the light more. A dark worthier than mine. Losing bits of me every time. Eroding me with falling rain. Dissolving me into nothingness.

This is me.

Bread and biscuits. Blank walls. Warmth from a machine. Hugh Jackman. Ashley Judd. Yes, exactly like you. Trust in the vaguest of the vague. An undying will to live. Fleeting sleep. Backed up against the wall. Promises. Searching for calm. The hangover. Must I? Can't give up now. Why not? No tears. That's strange. Resign. Flow. There are no boundaries, no limits. There is only the pure. Inside. Outside. Envelope me back to into my delusions. Wrap me up in falling rain. Dissolving me into nothingness.

This is me.

Tangy

Love, they say, is an act
of faith and that too blind
Oblivious, to my lack of tact
I set out with an open mind.

Poetry and prose scattered
on blue pages of my washed out blog
As though nothing else mattered
Except the comment space you hog.

Come hither, beckoned the monsoonal call
Jump in the puddle and splash me with mud
Let the number of clicks and links not matter at all
Litter, all over my page, your well-chewed cud.

As the world screamed, work!, in capital mails
A small `heylo' sneaked in and sat
A smiley hugged, winked and embarked on tales
Vexing my answers with questions pat.

O moi valentine, so I say today
My tangy, imli-sauteed-papri-chaat
Let my tummy complain from now till May
I'll eat you with all my heart.

Imli is the hindi word for Tamarind. Papri Chaat is an Indian fast food. See here for more.

Snippets

A grain of sand melts and cools into glass. A chunk of coal melts and cools into a diamond. Metamorphosis.

Ever wonder what will happen if I melt and cool again - I'll die and live again? Unlikely.

Pieces of her mind lie scattered around. It shattered right here, in my hand. Can you sum the parts again?

Words come and mend broken sentences, oozing into cracks left by careless age. A story forms.

Abstract lines blur at the tip of a paintbrush. A highlight off an earring? Scintillating.

This is not me, you know. Perhaps you don't. A gentle smile. Never mind.

A conundrum in sixteen parts. Why six and why teen? Parts of a puzzle no body is solving.

Ever watched your answers change? Slowly. A rainbow is circular. It is also made of water and air.

Like me. Like me? Lightly sauteed or grilled?

Nay. A conscience deciding by majority vote. Fillers. Appetizers. Ha!

Still searching, are we? A twinkle. Of a star. In an eye.

This does not make sense. It is not differentiable, nor is it continuous.

It is flat. Like my singing. With singularities. Points of non-existence.

We all burst upon this dimension. All? Surely not everybody!

Integral and impressionist. Reductionist and Pre-post-modernist.

Tag, you are it! Catch me if you can. In your dreams!

Pasta curry. Oh, delicious! How hungry are you? Very!

Insatiable. Curiosity. Lust. Anger. Thinking. Fear.

It's all grey. Hesitating. As long as the sky does not fall on our heads!

What's that behind you? Your cat! Ever tried helping yourself.

Don't expect any allies. Ex? Whose? Yours or mine? Mind. Games.

Wanna swing? A doll. This is crazy.

Curvy cubes. Straight bends. Impossible love.

Crude sophistication. Cruel benevolence. More. More. More.

Yes. No.

I.

Impressions

The sky melted into the sea far, far away. He sat there, on that rough outcrop of rock on the west face of the cliff. The fading sunlight bathed the cliffs in a rogue orange.

So defiant. So far. So very far. It is so beautiful. Beauty? Do I get to enjoy such things?

The sky melted into the sea far, far away. He walked, ran, and then walked again, on the beach. The wet sand shimmered, scattering the dying sun in a thousand pieces.

My footsteps. The waves wash them away. Wash them and take them where? When do I get to go there?

_________________________


His wrinkled hands pressed on his aching knees, trying to choke the pain. His shadow stretched over the rugged rock face losing its form in the creeping dark.

My faithful companion. At least someone... something stays. Choice? There is no choice. To get chosen and to choose, are games the strong play with the weak. I am neither. I've been banned.

His soft hands plopped down on his knees, resting in satisfied weariness. He was sitting on top of his shadow, shielding it from the water.

There. A little red there and some brown perhaps. Ha! The water can't reach you. Mommy will be so happy. Yes. I am big, and strong, and I'll be brave.

_________________________


He strained his eyes to search. He drew back! The sun shone with the fury of a soldier who has nothing but his fight left in him. The last gleaming light scorched his heavy eyelids shut.

Angry, again! Again? What has it ever given me? Wronged, again! Again? When was it ever right? Oh no.. not again! Never again. Ever.

He looked up. He couldn't see who he was searching for. It was getting dark. The last rays lit his back with the halo of a new born promise.

Not again! He keeps getting lost. He must ask Mommy to get him new glasses. Was she coming tomorrow? Perhaps the day after. Soon. Sometime soon.

Play Me 2

Play Me

Play with my ignorance chiding
the frivolous wants of a spoilt child
screaming for the opulent gift

Play with my madness effervescent
like the foaming mouth of a rabid dog
dying of thirst on the shore

Play with my anger fusing
inside steel in molten moulds
forming skewers for intimate torture

Play with my idiocy confusing
guides touring in primal tomes
drowning senses in alluring hallucinations

Play with my perversion building
castles in clouded minds
secreting sounds in senseless spurts

Play with my guilt deriving
energies from Tesla's coils
electrocuting the air I breathe

Play with my fear enveloping
darkness of a moonless night
filling voids of the listless lone

Play with my demons devouring
innocence in gluttonous lust
hungering for a rapid fall

Oh Play Me

Play Me 1

Play Me

Play me like the air entwined
between the fingers prancing
on a slender flute

Play with me like feline paws spanking
a ball of wool unrolling
on a deserted floor

Play on me like vin rouge flowing
through parted lips drowning
in the warm deep inside

Play beside me like strands curling
in a genetic rhythm reforming
me in a new birth

Play without me like the mind dreaming
ecstatic in its creation wanting
something more to be complete

Play before me like flames devouring
parched wood in intense rising
heat and hungry desire

Play against me like the master teaching
an eager student firmly
disciplined with ruthless care

Play within me like ink spreading
dry from a spill absorbed
furiously in fibrous paper

Oh Play Me

Irresistible... aka Me

Imagine Johnny Bravo saying, "I can't help it, I am just too sexy," and then imagine Daffy Duck saying the same, and then, after a pause of about 30 seconds and after drinking a gulp of cold water, imagine me! Still standing? Yes? Now that, is entirely unbelievable, for by now you should be doubling up on the floor, laughing your guts out.

There comes a time in a man's (boy's?) life ... errr... pardon me for being existentially confused about the boy/man thing. I would have said man-boy but that makes it seems like a rip-off from Kipling's description of Mowgli. Now where were we... Ah yes... There comes a time in a man's life when he must impress a woman. He must! The necessity of the matter is unquestionable. Even if the man remotely considers the option of mating, he must appear desirable to the woman. Or rather he has to make himself desirable. Or even more pitiable is the fact that he has to try.

Now for those built in the image of Adonis, with those sculpted six packs and rippling biceps, the question may be of things deeper inside. But for common folk like me - or wait - for common well-padded folk like me, the question is of things or rather layers of things on the outside. Ah but I must not jump the gun here. Let's analyze my situation with some finesse.

The body then, first. Mine evokes no desire. Simple. Unless you take my narcissistic love for myself into account, no woman (for that matter no man, either) will burn with lust the moment they set their eyes on me. They won't cringe, perhaps. But sadly, that does not count.

The body language, next. The human body can be a source of a lot of grace. Its movements speak a language so replete in enchanting richness. And then there is me. Me, who always spills, on his very visible mid-riff bulge, any food which passes between my lips. My body language does not flow, it moves in fixed quanta and revels in its inherent awkwardness. So "being smooth" is an alien concept to me.

Then comes the voice. A voice can melt hearts. My vocal chords, however, are a voice onto themselves. They temp me into believing they are producing some note, while they churn out something that is completely in another octave. The effect on the person I am trying to melt, is akin to finding salt in tea, in place of sugar. Oh and I like to sing. I believe it sounds like a hacksaw cutting through a creaking wooden plank. Yes, I like to sing.

My smile. Outlined by my chapped lips. The only quality of note it perhaps has, is that it is unassuming. Unashamed of its simplicity, it adorns my bewildered face too readily, accompanied by equally deviant gargling laughter. On top of that, I have it on good authority, that I giggle. A giggly man! What can be more sexy!

My style statement is the full stop where all statements stop. Stop abruptly, at that. A crumpled shirt will happily accompany old (not torn) jeans till they functionally cease to act like clothes. White sneakers, and a belt buckle, which is forever out of alignment would complete the picture. I feel the same comfort that paint blobs feel when randomly splashed on a canvas feel while they mishmash together at ease - the person who sees me feels the corresponding emotion of the horrified and confused, nouveau art admirer.

My game is that there is no game. I am not a player. Not by a long shot. My eyes neither look innocent and startled at exactly the right moments nor do they drip with lust when so called for in urgency. I cannot charm my way around or into anything or anybody. I'll most often speak what is on my head. That is either too shocking or not sufficiently so. In either case, by the end of the first coffee, the probability of getting that phone number is beyond redemption.

Oh and last of all, I am not a millionaire.

So, that's my sex appeal portrayed in film noir. Perhaps by now it should be clear that my chances of being sexy are rivalled only by my chances of getting laid. Don't pity me, please. Remember what they say about everything and everybody existing for a reason.

My reason is... to be me, of course! And not Casanova.


--------------


Ha! Touche!

She knew

The dot of red sindoor on her forehead was visible behind the drunk lines of her wet hair. Red. Blazing red. Such was the wanton force manifest in that small circle, that he felt singed even from a distance. She lifted her eyes and let them rest on him.

"What? What are you looking at like that?"

Her words had a mesmeric effect on his senses. Senses, which were overflowing right now.

"Me? I look like a wet puppy right now."

Right now. How did she know what he was thinking. She repeated words he wanted to say. And then she laughed. Laughter that invited and pushed away at the same time.

He kept looking at her. He wanted his gaze to scorch. To turn each drop of water on her wet skin to steam. He could see she knew what he was doing. She knew.

"Will you just look at me all night, or do you dare do something else?"

Dare he? His hands clenched into a fist, as his uncut nails cut into his own skin. She knew. His mind was running in a thousand directions. Trying to find a way to everywhere else, except her.

The amber light from the flickering candle danced with the shadows across her curves, beckoning. Yet the red dot arrested his gaze with such intensity, that it heeded no call. Transfixed, he was paralyzed.

He felt a rising anger in himself. At himself. Desire wrenched strongly at the restraining chains. Had he ever wanted someone more. She knew.

His mute lips quivered with words trying to force their way out, and giving up in disdain.

"If you don't do anything, I'll go and put my time to better use. You are not the only lover I have, you know..."

He knew. He knew what will happen next. He had known it all his life. He had never been one to play the game. The game, however, had never ceased to play him.

Just like she played him right now. All the right strings, twanged to life at the precise pulls of the opera. Every string moved a part of him. Parts, which he could not move himself. She knew.

There comes a time

There comes a time in one's life when...

When the world around explodes
When the mind refuses to let go
When all the heart can feel is misery
When the only hope in life is love

When decisions are out of pain borne
When all choices to be made are hard
When everything is out of control
When memories are the only things intact

When only distances seem large
When a countdown is a life saver
When slavery is a form of respite
When a voice is the only calm

When I live from second to second
When I learn to fight my own demons
When I have fallen so far and for so long
That I no longer fear falling for you, again.

Say tich!

Whatever you do, I'll do it too
Show me everything and tell me how
It all means something
And yet nothing to me

A hundred minutes at twenty-four frames per second. Hundred minutes of sheer wonder. A wonder, which takes birth in a desert of deathly white. Upside down, awkward and blissfully happy.

Hands slide onto hands. Fingers yield and fingers hold. Soft, childlike fingers. Pudgy, warm fingers. Slip on layers cold sweat and fall down. Onto and into.

Every gesture, every move that she makes
Makes me feel like never before
Why do I have
This growing need to be beside her

A gift of rhythm. A heart of gold. Love. Oooh! That thing you do, baby... Primal needs nurtured by songs of instinct. Moving illusions. Magic in motion. Draws me on. Draws me in. Renewed faith in a dream.

A gift of touch. woolly arms quiver. Tingles born on fingertips run amok. Ecstasy arrives in a nascent land. Snuggled charms. Smuggled moments. Draws me on. Draws me in. Renewed faith in reality.

Ooo, these emotions I never knew
Of some other world far beyond this place
Beyond the trees, above the clouds
I see before me a new horizon

The heart reveals its own secrets when it feels like it. Accidentally cool. Chicas looking for boom. Fitting friends. Misfit family. I am going to find out. Follow your heart. The world follows. Lost?

Imperfect and useless. Strands of satin softness rest on shoulders. Comfortable in their lazy touch. Is this happening to me? It's all my fault! Follow my heart. Lost?

Come with me now to see my world
Where there's beauty beyond your dreams
Can you feel the things I feel
Right now, with you
Take my hand
There's a world I need to know....

Lyrics from Strangers Like Me by Phil Collins, original soundtrack Tarzan (Walt Disney Pictures). (C) Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. and Walt Disney Music Company.

Bon Voyage

Distances seemed so innocuous before. In the past two months, distances have embedded their own reality in my being. Distances, which separate me. Into parts inside and across miles outside.

Journeys made across borders. On land. Inside minds. It is true that I have travelled. I would like to follow that up by saying, "I've arrived" and maybe it will sound regal and pompous. But it would also be hideously untrue. Truth is very important here, and almost as overrated as love. And without either I am equally lost.

What has my world come to and what is it now. Let me try to put it in words. It all began with a search for dreams. Dreams which define a life. My life. The building blocks of this search involved a lot of wandering, and I being the starry eyed wanderer I am, embarked on the voyage with a missionary zeal.

Soon the coast faded away, and the light from the lighthouse dwindled in the distance. Almost as soon, a new coast appeared to take its place. A place of magic, of painterly picturesque allure and of quiet. A quiet so enveloping that it drowned me within. Almost. A boat navigating the rapids gets dealt its share of blows. It is lucky though, to be afloat. Somewhere, Someone smiles.

New authority, and a new time. My world got remodeled without my consent. I was not only helpless to say no, I was also supposed to like the new decor. I did. I learned to bend. Over, under and inside out. The mind flitted back to familiar coasts, oscillating between the chosen dream and the forsaken reality.

Want. Unceasing bouts of emotion. My perceptions changed faster than the world around me. There were no ground truths, no basis for measurements, no frames of reference. Only the quiet inside, and outside. Decisions made in split seconds of reason pockmarked the face of my teen aged existential angst. The contrast was burning, like a Van Gogh canvas. It scorched its mark deep.

Voices sailed across. From afar. Simple voices. Those that I was born to. Voices that sang my life to tunes that I have composed, but those that I cannot sing. The quiet receded like a wave shying away from the shore. With an unspoken promise of returning soon.

What one journey takes away, can another return? Are all journeys across distances, or are some simply across time? Take the two together, and its like asking can one travel back into the past? Can I meet myself, and if I do, can I break out of this recursion?

Faces loved since the birth of time light up with unbridled joy. A journey purpose served. The quiet stands, hidden in the shadows. Watching. Waiting. As voices from afar seep through its cold walls and gush out nearby. The flow whets the parched clay. Forms take shape in memory's misty lanes. The form of chosen dreams.

Dreams, which call anew across distances. Is it wise to embark again? Uncertain love and undefined truth. Still I dare. Why? Because, without either I'll forever be lost. Stranded across distances I cannot fathom.

So I step. Step out, and step in. One step a lifetime.

After all, I can die only once.

It falls...

A drop of water
Just one truant drop
flows down
down her neck

A crowd of hundreds
Babel!
Eyes look in question
in approving disapproval

Flows, hesitant
Drunk with her smell
Skidding over soft satin
Tickling, tripping over

Untouched air, naked trees
Festive cheer rising
calm inside
outsides draining of colour

Rolls over the raised
tumbling into the deep
valley meandering over
shy suppleness, Ecstasy!

Lost smiles evaporate
in novel cold, longing
fill empty nooks
of a creaking old heart

Silent distilled moans
beckon to continue
curves quiver to life,
the wet touch plays on

Dry lips, parched love
dark clouds shower
stinging rain flows
over ruins and facades

It falls. A shallow
button tingles and
overflows over
It falls.

Tired footfalls trip
on jutting stones
Peeled knees bleed
It falls.

Shame

Like a spray of water,
Spewing.

from a broken air-conditioner.
In an uncontrolled burst of...
Gay abandon.

It came.

Silently enveloped my twisted being,
Shame.

Oh so penetrating it was, so
Pervasive.

Intrusive, not adhering to the bounds
of my privacy.

Passive in a cold calm
Laden with transparent guilt,

It stayed the same.

causing me to squirm and shift
Within walls of crumbling repute.
Shame.

Born of unbridled affection
Wild horses run.
Amok

Shot down!
Crippled and beaten.
Abandoned by gaiety, and rescued
by Mistrust.

Lame.

It hinders my judgment,
freezes my Innocence over,
inwardly Incandescent...
Shame

Blinds drawn

Cut

by shards of darkness, alone

in freezing, cold nights

Waiting

for life to take its destined turn

As endless time meanders

through the deep, dark

valleys of fear,

Illusions

of happiness shatter on

hardened anvils of the real

Colours mix into an ashen gray

Dreary

tracts of the never taken path

beckon with sarcastic glee

sapping at the root of all

Energy

withering away, the last remnants

of what once was

nurtured with much hope

Questioning

the very essence of my being

its existence in doubt

of itself.

Realms and Beings

A room with walls of air.

Set apart from reality by my life.

Nailed to fantasy by these words.

I know you can hear it once again.
That familiar scratching of pen on paper.
Why do you look at me so? You cannot see it. I know you can't.

You look through me. Why? See here... See this!

Wings! A bus passes by. A crowd dwindles. A phone vibrates. With those eyes, my bonny lad, you'll never see anything.

Cliques of coincidence.

A presence haunts. Mute. Always mute. Say it... Why don't you say it!
Is this your defiance? Or your surrender.

Doesn't the deafening silence hurt you yet? Embrace me once again. Tear me down.

Click! A second of eternity. Vitrified exuberance. Distilled charm. Don't you know it is bad manners to stare. Worse still to stare back.

Synaptic rites of passion.

A touch! Did you... An encore of nays. Please. Abuse my senses again.

Why are you so distant tonight? Why are you letting go. Disappear this instant!

Red! Damned flows. Lakes of conscience. Unchained lust. What business of mine is the future?

Engage in life.

I cannot help it. Smiling. Fascinating, isn't it? I know you see it. You can.

Stay. Just this once. Other castles can wait. My room cannot.

Unnecessary

In my eyes,
Another's eye, through and through,
As I, melt slowly without any ado,
How do I see past?

In my hands,
Sheer magic takes shape,
As I continue to gape,
How do I control this?

In my mind,
Incandescent dreams light up,
As I fall behind the gallop,
How do I keep pace?

In my touch,
Tingles of ecstasy abound,
As I, deafened with roaring sound,
How do I numb my senses?

In my heart,
An otherworldly alien peace,
As I, hooked to the enchanted tease,
How do I listen inside?

In my life,
So much talk, of now and then,
A guillotine of an unanswered when,
How do I bide my time?

Days of frenzy

Sard sard saansen aaj tujhe kuch keh rahi, suno zara
Dheemey dheemey, dheerey dheerey dhadkane badh rahi, ab kare to kya

Dabe dabe, ruke ruke kadmo se aa raha, koi nasha
Zara zara, thama thama seene main hai pal raha, ek dard saa.

Jaane, yeh hamen, kya hone lagaa.
Jaane, yeh hamen, kya hone lagaa.

Kya pata.

It's so hard to write right now. Not because I have any dearth of things to write about. Neither because I cannot find the words to write it down. But because my mind is not staying still. It is somewhere else, lost in streets of comic passion where I cannot tread because I am uncertain of what lies ahead.

The past week was grand! It was this mad, mad mix of delicious food, cousin brothers and sisters, and grandma, everything pujo, the telegraph, enmeshed with flavours of shared silences. It was fast and slow at the same time. Time playing truant, with nothing to do all day except laze around like the kittens which sprawl over my cousin's bed, slipping through my fingers like the touch of satin soft skin. Cats are majestic and seductive at the same time - is that what one calls "feline?" Species of fish which tempt the gastronomic gods to play havoc inside my stomach, and sweets which silently add to my abundant layers of flab.

The Ganges on a moonlit night which flows slow and wide, with tiny fishing boats riding it with aplomb and abandon. Rain! Drizzling, slow, rippling down in caressing rivulets on my parched dry skin. Wild, unchained, washing me in wanton passionate wet fire poured from above. Rain. Rain falling on water - the river, the sea; on land - the field, the road. It's like making love with something that is everywhere at the same time, all at once, outside and inside.

Dune. A book which filled my days with fantasy lands of spice deserts and enigmas. Hints of longing. Places I've known in childhood. An earlier life? Somebody stays here. I do not remember. I do not want to remember. I forget. I do not want to forget. A language which flows with the life of elegant poetry and decorated prose.

Trains. Filled with masses of humanity, moving across in paused hurry. Brownian motion along straight lines. Stations. Goodbyes. Tears. New lands? Leaving behind... finding anew. Be back soon. So much changes when I turn around. A world dies. And another lives again. It'll never be exactly the same again. Isn't that sad? Am I scared.

Questions? Home, far away from home. Alone. So alone. Just me, between endless sky and limitless green. Hold me. Cuddle me. Envelope me. Engulf me. Smother me. Suffocate me.

On return, another journey awaits. To more distant, more alien lands. Stay with me, silent and together. Stay with me. Stay.

For the curious, the song is from the movie Bas Ek Pal.

Figure this

I am thinking about
how
to answer this later
and not now.

I said
to myself as usual,
I know the answer...
Be casual!

I refuse
to be taken in,
and give up on
my chocolate sin.

I want to
make love,
and not give way when,
push comes to shove.

I wish
on every star
burn up, and light
every near and far.

I hear
you.
Find that surprising?
That's your cue.

I wonder
what I do
day and night
with so much ado.

I regret
Do i?
All my questions gone!
Can I have one more why?

I am
me, ofcourse,
unless you discount my other self,
then it's just me, off course.

I dance
slow
because it takes time
to follow you, so!

I sing
sweet.
True and tuned-in notes,
beat for beat.

I cry
precious much
everytime I remember
times past, such.

I am not always
on an obscure slant
but I never said
I can't.

I make with my hands
your dreams
because mine burst apart
at the seams.

I write
gibberish verse.
You read it!
No, that's not worse.

I confuse
almost all
when I explain the reasons
for the apple's fall.

I need
a hug
and chocolates -
a bar, ice-cream, and hot
in a jug.