A Place for Love

Sometimes I wish I'd given you
the wrong number;
Sometimes you are too close to
move away.

I can hardly breath
or think straight.

A pigeon flying upside down
on a moonlit night
and walking into the water
is so easy.

"Deeper still.."
she says and pulls me
on an invisible thread tied to my heart.

I close my eyes and move backwards.
The sands pull at the cracks in my
feet and
I move backwards.

The sun flares up
into a brilliant flame,
reminding me that it's
so faraway.

Blinking away a dream
so deep
I am so empty
and shadows,
moments
and hopes are raised.

Whispering in my ear a million secrets,
The silent night steals past.


I can hardly breath
as you walk past,
a smile on your face
and I can wish
for a shade of summer
in my open hands.

A little golden flower,
melts to honey
I drink in the name of a season lost;
a Festival of life is behind us


When the moons flip,
the hour changes the year,
on a distant shore,
I know
in your heart,
there will be place
for love to grow.

A poem for today

Some things that are cold
remain so forever.
Some things flicker;
some things fleet.


I whispered into the night;
a flake of sweetened ice
brushed past;
I can count that on my finger-tips,
as I cross them with my thoughts.
Running it through my hair,
strands are the link:

Dragging?
I think leading.

Unmei. (fate/destiny)

Seems like a lie to the
face of truth.

In the face of things,
nothing ever really changes.

But we do.
We all do.


Like the creaking of the door,
that half-step.
The hesitating breath;
that one moment
as you hold back again.



All turn to ice.
Lodging themselves inside.
They turn everyone around them cold.
Like glass that has been in too far:
sigh?
The moonlight shines and makes
it sparkle bright.

That was the thought.
That was the feeling
and nothing,
could change.

A step away.
A call across the sea
and the breath that is held
for a life-time.

What ties us together?

Taffy.
sweet yet dangerous.
would you believe it?

Bare branches that
make me shiver.
steam rising up
and vanishing
in the river sparkle.

Distractions.
Distractions that we look for.
Things that become distractions
and a place to be.


A place where
you're protected.
A place where you are
always safe.
A place you can run away to.

Even if you don't know,
even if you don't expect it.
Even if you haven't cared much;
but the shards.

A fountain of thought.
A spring of delight.
A river of life.

Continuous;
momentarily.
Turn into one;
at the end.

Just when you are sure.
That things don't ever change.


Like a flower blooming.
In a sudden head rush of
sugar-high Spring.
Unfurling
it's large red petals.
Turning me yellow and red.

Burn the ice away.

Flipping my hair back.
Drops to the ground;
Rain.


Roar.
Burning bright;
sparkling;
Blackness fades away.
light and heat.

How could you be far?

Wrong letter.
Listening to the tune
so close.
Right here.

Right now.

I don't want to wander.
You hold me here.
Compass- it's two legs.
Even though you let me.

The light.
The bright shining sun
blindingly beautiful
on my morning skin.

Crinkling lines on a face.
So startling.
Years?
No.
Truth.

A red flame.
A yellow flame.
A pure flame.


I can see them all.
Merge into one.

Thank you.
I am what I am because you're here.
By my side.

Out of a rickshaw on a rainy day

A mangy dog dips his tongue
into a dark puddle
The trees above shake their shadows and
their leaves scatter upon the
asphalt, a splashing.

A man perches on a red mottled LPG cylinder,
a fluorescent yellow hard hat on his head,
Sipping a glass of Chai
as the Chaiwala stirs tea
he accepts the change.

A truck full of youths in white
with saffron tags
cheer for the coming of Ganesha
as they grab onto the rope harness
as the driver brakes.

Flowers arranged on
the florist's bench
peer out of their plastic covers
leering and sniggering
as kids struggle with their many bags and one raincoat.

I speak in a foreign tongue for an hour or two
yet as I walk back,
I can feel the distant light descend in
on the wet city but
traffic lights make up
new decorations.
The street looks like a snake
and that Diwali comes rolling in from all the
streets into an intersection of
prismatic charms and a hundred and one
patterned umbrellas.

An old poem

My hair tangles and forms an
unspoken link
between us.

Our hands intertwined,
much passes between us.
Cheek on cheek, we communicate
more than anyone allowed us.

Our parted lips connected,
for less than a minute
A memory formed forever in our hearts
too pure a feeling for the
animal, minimal form.

A clear glint of happiness in your irises
pale from the passing light.
Hold me up high,
a new melody teach me
I ache for this feeling,
to feel renewed.



(note: this poem was written 2 years ago, just didn't post it here.)

Burnt Butterfly

I love you so but I pretend.
It's easier to burn the butterfly
then let it soar to the dark grey sky.

A dark grey city leaves me tearless.

Upon the drops of rain,
I look through the windshield and wonder
if it could be let in?
The patter of feet on the long hallway
answered my heartbeats.


And and she said I had nothing to worry about.How could I not?
How could I look into your face and say
what I want?

Better to just burn the butterfly and
in its turbulent beauty let the
ashes out into the wind.
Sealed lips,
are lips bulging with unsaid thought.
I long to drink something
to swallow down the urge to fight myself and just speak out.

I would drink you down in a long,
breathless shot.
You would.....sip on the tea.

"Sorry," is the last words you said to me as you turned away.

Am I not losing myself a little more everyday?

I can try and try to shake it off,
but the sight of this wooden cross
you hacked out of my bones
is a stake thro the heart.

Like purging me of plain desire
None the less wiser
I will lie in another's arms.

With the drink in my nose,
a scented candle lit by the window.

Reflections in time- I

My breath is stuck in my chest.

A distant African drum beat my breath in,
Stuck,
frozen;
A piece of ice stuck in my hot throat
that's going dry.

When y0u feel the rug being pulled
from under your feet
in quakes of the solid ground,
you flail your arms
in hope to hold onto
something stationary.

A cry leaves your throat,
and you can't swallow
though you want to
and everything else dies down to a
hollow bump
till you can think of how to save yourself.

Anger from a loud person isn't surprising;
like silence from a quiet one
it's already lost its charm. An active volcano,
a steaming bowl of soup.
Anger from a quite person is something to be afraid of.
Over the hell fires rises a demon,
like Raganrok, Armagadon,
the dark of the night
has poached the sunlight.

In its captive nest, the light rots
to a beast with claws and stings.

I fear not the pain a slap might bring,
for it is a symbol of discipline.
But the same hand has the capacity to love
is the one that scares and causes wonder.

A child plays with a red balloon,
tossing it lightly above him
the air carrying it up and then letting it
descend into small grappling arms.
A grip too tight, Burst!
A grip too loose and it slips away.

The child knows no rules,
and it flings its innocence into
knowledge's way.
A bulldozer of authority and education
pulverized the spirit, if not
the happiness.

A web of lies can weave you a cloak that
glitters with gems of teary dew.
Each an Araneae , chewing and spitting
a bunch of thought.
Waiting upon a silly little fly to step into their intricate plans
and thus become
Food.

In the bleak twilight, It's inviting grace
asks you to parade into the dying light.

If all our sins were laid out for us alone to see
would we forgive ourselves?
Will the distant horizon
rise with a distant call of freedom?
Who can free us from our fate?

The somber bugle of the last moment,
the note linger like an after-taste.
Medicine. Cocaine.

Fate tied a red ribbon on your neck as she watched you sleep.
And as it comes undone,
the last little wisp of you life remains,
hanging onto a tendril of your hair,
as the world depends on this moment.

My Daughter

I'm sure I had a daughter in my past.

I can feel her presence, sometimes.
When I think of baby things, I know it's her things I think of.
When people talk about the joys of having a daughter- I know,
because I had you.

I can't help but think of your beautiful long hair,
each strand perfect,
and your cheeks soft and chubby.
Sleeping in my arms, you had candy dreams.

And I remember your first brave smile as you smiled up at me,
as you stepped into school alone.
I remember that sweet touch that handed me a share of candy.
I remember a sweet little girl, twirling around in her long, thick, golden embroidered skirt, trying to look grown up.

I was just mesmerized the way you put on your make-up as you got ready to go out with your friends.
You waved me goodbye as I watched you drive out.

And I remember the wet napkin as I wiped away your tears and your cold.

And tea.
I feel we have a bond like no other.

The way your eyes would plead me for an extra book, an extra hair-clip, an extra sticker sheet.

I remember your wedding day.
You were marring the man of your dreams,
I couldn't believe my daughter was going to be someone's wife.
And I was hoping for her own baby girl.
Those beautiful gold and diamond necklaces your wore,
the lace and embroidery on your bridal-ware...
It was fascinating.

Dear,
if I meet you in the street now,
I know I will recognize you.
Will you remember me?