Funeral

Playing languid games with you, sister, on summer afternoons up in the attic room.

Time would seize and the world would disappear except when interrupted, we always knew how to keep an ear out for any kind of sound.

Do you remember that pleasure of little fingers finding each other out? And I would see you quiver, only slightly, as I touched the many lips on your map.

We were so happy and proud. We were sacred then, in our oasis where nothing was forbidden and no one withered away because they ate. We paid tribute to our hunger and no one stopped until they were satisfied.

What happened then sister mine? Do you remember that dreadful day when we began our first lessons in food?

Learning to measure Want, like it was an ingredient in a dessert recipe; Only a teaspoon each for us, any more could turn flour to stone.

How easily we lost and looked away from each other. Hate flowing between our legs, hate lying where we had lain. That was the last time we went to the attic room. The last summer when heat was word.

We never speak now, you and I. Lovers have come between us, with their armor and their weapons. It was always a war out there and through all these years we were molded to be honest soldiers. Shedding our clothes when the orders came. Singing an anthem that no one ever bothered to know the words to.

I could no longer bear for you to see me, how ugly it is this cold steel mirror I wear as a face. And on those nights when I dream of you I wake up with fear crawling around me. What if you died? What if we both did? No one would be the wiser because when they killed Desire that summer no one really did notice that the light in your eyes had stopped burning holes into the sun.

You had once saved me with your love. Now the time has come for me to jump and I know you won't hold me back. You won't make promises that we have already broken. The world would've been a better place, had we the feet to stand. But those too were cut, to use as fuel for the fireplace one winter. How can I tell my children a story again. I cannot hide the shame on my face. The shame that comes from letting a love to waste.

Father

a little buzzing in the head
fingers moving
sounds from the television - ringing all evening
full stomach almost too full
should i fill this glass again - that honey liquid calls.
we hardly ever talk, but take comfort from being in rooms next to each other
he's always wondering if i'm upto things...clever things....dangerous things

if only you could see
i'm lonely just as you,
having learnt nothing from your mistakes.
i'm the same person you tried not to be.

Dry Comfort

This suspicious air that we breathe
Stories half heard.
Made crueler in their retelling.
No I was not there, nor were you, but…
Drawing out hair from cues at the cinema
This could be your killer, the bomber, the rapist.
His eyes, his clothes and his face give it all away.
He’s the one to blame for the lack of food on your table
He’s the one who got what you wanted.
I don’t believe in anything that is not mine. Mine is everything that is yours.
Loudspeakers shout at passers-by.

“Buy, Buy,Buy,”
“Beware”
“Grab”
“Shine”
“Bounce”
“Fly”
“King”
“Queen”

Dulled with this longing for better skin, a better body, life after death.
Hoping for self-help. I hate.
The monk who sold his car – how much was it worth?
And what did he do with the money?
We know nothing of each other. I’ve never been to your home.
Do you live in a green palace? Saffron scares you?
On this side we speak correctly.
Except when caught at a bad time.
“Those people are strange. Yes I know I might sound wrong but really they are”
It is entirely your fault this crazy world. Who started it? Who should end it?

Evaporate.
Mushroom cloud for us all.
Honor.
Lesson.
Enslave.
Justice.
Divine.
Kill.
Consume.
Faith.
Blind.

At birth I could not see. I learnt to touch, then speak and then walk.
Then they said don’t cross that line.

Yours.
Mine.
Together.
Apart.
Distance.
Boundary
Walls.

Can be broken.

What's The Difference?

Man flew off the highway
We watched. Time didn't stop
So we moved on to places we had to be.

Why I thought,

but decided to play music instead.
Cold day to die

I thought.

Was he a boy whose future was filled with phonecalls?
Was his alter ego called James or John or did they take turns at identities?

Cold cold day to die.

And how would they know who was who and which was which lying there underneath the flyover - James, John or the Boy.

Far worse things happen. Like being shot at by a classmate when school ended. What a moment of shock when the first bullet went through him.

Did he think "but I was just playing?' Or did he go down with a curse. There's honor in death too like the heroes have.

Boys will be boys. "Another toy gun for you little one, now go and learn to be a man".

A little bit of fun never did anyone any harm

or did it?

cold days these.

Candle

In the night
You unravel like a spring flower
Your light meets my face and pauses briefly as if it remembered something but then moves on.
I want to answer every question you leave unasked.
Desire that you burn like winterwood, warming us and keeping us still
like the wires and boxes. We sit around you in a perfect circle - if only someone painted us now, then we'd remain here.
We never tire of speaking except when we want the pleasure of silence,
To witness your beauty, veiled in blue but always falling apart.

****************

Now that your unraveling in complete

You lie alone, a thing of beauty on the floor

And we have all crawled away like little ants to our own solitude in the wall.

How long shall you lie there Joy? Through every kind of delirium.

Fallen thing, your colors change with every passing hour.

That Autumn turns to grey is an eventuality we can no longer deny.

You keep your dreams of last night in every dying horn that shall blow and every layer

of dust that will take you farther away from our vision. Red flower

I fear holding you in my arms when I know you shall crumble away like love.

But I cannot leave you here or give you up to strangers or their feet.

Jailbird I must make you mine atleast in my small mind and see you wither away until I forget even to look at you through the door hole.

That day you shall truly have died like Summer.

Candle in the morning

We have been cruel in love but it always was for the best.

"A Poem For You"

On this grey wintry morning
I try to write you a letter and again these words
They fail me. Shall I say that your love was incomparable
To mine? Shall my words be sorry or pointing you towards hope?

Blurry mind. Memories of when we were children - waking up next to one another.
Will you ever wake up and smile again? What I hate is that I am a coward. Poetry is for
cowards such as I. Talking in twisted tongues, slurring; drunk on beauty even when there isn't
any. But in your voice is truth. Truth always was your friend. She buoyed you up on her tides.
And you saw her reflection so perfect and languid in the water.

I'm the one who stumbled upon truth on land in her cave - and found how ugly she really was. Horrified
I could not forgive her for her lies while she smiled at me slyly; knowing that my fate had been written in so many inks.

How I wish you could remain simple and yet know these things. That your heart would know love but not know breaking. If I were to commit a crime would they cut off my tongue - so I'd never have to speak again to you.

As I make room for new tenants I find what is good is yours and decide to send you the things that belong to me. Suffer - isn't that how we came to be. Will Truth be your guide even on those nights when your body craves for food and death - will she say to you to let this pass while you can't comprehend the agony. I worry for you, but only that much. I fortify myself with words because I worry for myself more. I could not accept your gifts when you curse me. The thought of banishment shall keep me awake until the day I find sleep has justified everything perfectly and I am only a little numb.

We all lost. In forests, in water, at the races. There are no rewinds on this one. Wounds that take their own time to heal - some faster than others while some never do. We must choose which we will be for each other.
At a crossroad where our names clearly point in different directions; don't follow me. I no longer fear my own shadow and I can't stop storms that are yet to come.

Find yourself another song. Lamentations are just the end of this one. More tunes will come by and by. Do I sound like a cheat quoting hope at you? Not even my own.

I've been mad once and been strummed between chord variations I did not like. How can I ease this shade when it is not for me to ease. It is for you to cherish this blue. And sink until you wish to save yourself.