Your tawny little kittens

Your tawny little kittens
purring little mosaics of life
Your quartet of snuggle bugs
warming up to new life behind an old  TV set.

Peering into their basket
we watch, one and a half eyes open yet
The mother lolls insouciantly
to our two sets of leery eyes.

Your tawny little kittens

You’ve always had them around
in different sizes, colors and temperaments
Enough to match each one’s type to
a member of the family or a friend.

There’s always been cat books in your shelves
Kitten paintings on your walls
cat hair in your house
and cat poop in your beautiful garden.

There were brief seasons of no cats
but somehow a vagabond cat
always made your house its home,
a lost kitten nestled in your lap.

There’s always been the sounds of
chanting, tea boiling and a cat meowing in your house.
Your tawny little kittens
purring little mosaics of life
You’ve always had them around.

(For a dear friend, Shasha and her many cats)

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A single glowing tip

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I rolled all my sorrows
and excruciating pain from these dark hours
in a cigarette and lit it with resolve.
It was after all
always a single glowing tip
and a lonely ride to the stars.
And hell yes, it’s been a fun ride.

When a Wood Elf turns into a City Hulk

30,000 feet below,
the rise and fall of lush green landscapes
was slowly replaced with symmetrical patches of predictability.
Where once she stood,
swathed in mist and warm morning sunlight,
stand towers that will perhaps broadcast my elegy.
The wood elf slowly turning into a city hulk.
And my only wish is not to land,
but crash-land into the bosom
of that very viridian valley
plush with the scarlet of rhododendrons.
in whose glory Minivets sang.

Twelve Moons

 

Meenakshi
Twelve black moons in your eyes
I wait for them to rise.
Twelve kisses unaccounted,
to sequin your moon-face.
Twelve dreams, nascent
tucked away in twelve corners.
Twelve more lives to be lived,
in twelve planets yet to arrive.
Twelve galaxies to saunter through,
twelve bodies to adorn.
Twelve magicians barefeet
twelve tricks sublime.
Twelve long years to salvation.

Unnoticed is the river inside of us

Vagaries of the weather outside
make it to the newsrooms,
but nobody notices
the changing of weather inside.

Unnoticed remain,
the churning of
mind’s meterological phantoms
that play havoc in some mind-scapes.

Unnoticed is,
the river inside of us
swelling, surging over the banks of
‘I will fight this melancholy today’.

These are torrential rains
we can not take cover from.
We are holding onto
life in any form that we can.

Please know, inside of us there are rivers too,
transboundary between madness and insanity –
that we swim in.
And on some days we drown
in our own body of river waters.

Small, Incomplete Departures

Sandakphu
He lights up a cigarette
and offers a generous smile,
A new glint in his very dark eyes,
a new sliver of the moon rises today
not meant for my dark skies.
He doesn’t hold my hands,
but offers a generous mug of coffee
and a very small portion of love,
some advice and small, incomplete departures.
He doesn’t offer me his birds today
nor their colored feathers.
But he offers small, incomplete departures
He doesn’t offer me his songs
But offers telegraphic emails.
What remains is,
notes exchanged in poetry,
life shared in musical notes
and small, incomplete departures.