stone

when cast with intent,
it draws blood, pain, leaves scars -
otherwise harmless.

untitled

an afternoon of laughter
with you and the swing.
i squint my eyes to see yours,
and let go.
the sunlight dappled our faces,
and the wind played with our hair.
you held me then,
and the earth and sky became one.
the season has changed,
and so have your games,
my wild and wilful Blue one.
and i should've known better.
i've chased you through shadows
and through light,
longing for the same explicit afternoon experience.
and heard your laughter
rumble through the clouds.
exhausted by all that running
and all that chasing,
i collapsed on the same summer swing.
only to discover you've been with me all along.

still Blue

my love is like camphor,
no visible flame,
but i burn,
until i am nothing.

Sweet Blue

i am not one for bhajans, but this one made everything else written about the Blue one, sort of...less. here it is, as someone wrote it. hats off!

adharam madhuram, vadanam madhuram,
nayanam madhuram, hasitam madhuram,
hridayam madhuram, gamanam madhuram,
madhuradhipate akilam madhuram.

vachanam madhuram, charitam madhuram,
vasanam madhuram, valitam madhuram,
chalitam madhuram, bhramitam madhuram,
madhuradhipate akilam madhuram.

venu madhuro, renur madhuraha,
panir madhuraha, padau madhuro,
nrityam madhuram, sakhyam madhuram,
madhuradhipate akilam madhuram.


there's more where that came from, but i'm sunk after learning just this much.

yep! there's nobody quite like you, Blue.

summer love

when i fell in love with you
i was younger, prettier and
many pounds lighter.

and you had freckles -
thousands of them, on your face
and arms and back.

i was easier to please, ready to listen,
you had dreams to dream,
and stories to share.

i had eyes only for you,
and you had beautiful green eyes
and sooty, spiky lashes.

i liked the clean woodsy smell of you,
and you liked disappearing into the woods
for many, many days.

i stayed by the sunlit stream,
skipping on the rocks, waiting for you
to emerge from the forest.

and just as easily and surely
as autumn follows summer, i fell,
out of love with you.

dialogue

"am writing a poem to love."
"is there any other kind?"
"well...i could write a piece..."
"piece? as in prose? really?"
"yeah. prose. essay. opinion."
"you joined a workshop?"
"no. do i need one?"
"that's strange. i write prose."
"for a living, yes. i know."
"presumptuous so-and-so."
"now, now. i say it as i see it."
"i've written a prose blog."
"have you written anything lately?"
"no...but i've written reviews."
"reviews? of movies? love stories?"
"no...they were not love stories."
"there you go then, love."
"hmm...a poem about love, then?"
"like i said, is there any other kind?"

night 1

dear love, how cold you are
perfect foil to my hot exhausted body,
i prefer this commune under the stars,
so sharp so blue, as if someone
had stabbed holes into the floor of heaven.

i like it because you are silent,
i like kissing your mouth
at once firm and vulnerable,
and a bit blue on the edges.

there are shadows beneath your eyes,
but i like kissing them just as i did before,
shivering with pleasure
when my lips touch your spiky lashes.

it’s good to have you all to myself.

the moon is hiding as well,
we are alone here on the thirteenth fairway,
unashamed of the unremarkable brownness
of my naked body lying next to yours,
so pale and magnificent,
so hard and unyielding,

i allow a sigh to disturb
this companionable silence,
it will be years before they call you topsoil.

love poem 2

little things about you i like to keep:

the way your hair curls upon your neck
when you throw your head back and laugh,

how my glasses slide off my nose and yours don’t,
'it’s a noble nose!' my aunt always says,

your large hands on the steering wheel,
i love the way they feel on the small of my back,

i am so glad for the pickling lessons,
grandma insisted i take as a teen.
i have made good use of the jam jars
she stocked in the garage
hoping the mango would yield some day.

your nose still looks as sharp in vinegar,
and your hands still look clean,
but your heart remains as black as ever.

but best part is that look in your eyes,
when i raised the ginsu,
on that dappled afternoon by the stream.

does not fit in any jar but is fresh even today
perfectly preserved in my head.

love poem 1

my fingers ache to soothe
the flyaway hair on your neck,
and when you reassure me
we’re not speeding,
i simply close my eyes,
and let the bike embrace the wind.

you never read a map,
and i always know the way,
but this time i let you guide me
to download love songs off the net.

smitten with him? you ask.
i want to say, yes moron, with you.
but i laugh and let it be.

not yet, not yet. my fingers are crossed
let me enjoy this for a bit longer
it’s my moment. don’t want to give happiness
some one else’s address.

i’m collecting pictures for later,
i explain on gtalk.
magic seeds i plant now for later,
when you’re mature and i've learnt to feel
instead of thinking so much.

i stab at the keyboard to reach you
hope you will walk to me
just as i picture you walking to meet me.
and then watch me exhale.

worth

one hundred and twenty four thousand prophets
until your heart became a slate for surah after holy surah
the faithful recite five times a day even today.
how young you must have been, how alone,
was there anyone who understood the pain
Gibreel’s quill inflicted upon your heart?
was there anyone who could wipe away the blood?
was there blood spilt upon the sands?
your heart must’ve been so big, to include it all,
a reflection of everything He is.

i have picked up a little book of the verses
abridged appropriately for weekend seekers
maybe one lifetime won’t be enough
to align my desires to His plans
how did you surrender when i find it tough even to bow
i begin to wonder , was i born for this?