Thursday, June 28, 2012

Ode to my bookshelf

It was between amber and brown, 
between fire and earth. 
The rich dark chocolate
of dusk had set in 
A wave of dust
had colored the wood 
I took contemplative miniature steps 
–feeling every
wood, seasoned or un-aged,
on the planks, 
on open doors 
Finally, I found you. 
From your feet
to the brim, 
heavy and bright, 
my fingers had
brushed against you
You left an oval of dirt ,
on my fingertips.
I knew you were salty,
a fruit that the seas of
my emotion had chosen. 
to stand against the
wall of the house, 
open to me 
like a mouthful of kisses 
I had mourned and perished 
and grew with the books in your bosom.
Naked in your skin
I will dismantle you slowly.
Take down
books of poetry and prose,
books clothed in their glory jackets 
books naked and threadbare.
I wish I could depart with you,
to another life 
but for now I kill you, 
with pain that stabs me
when I stab you.
I will bleed my knuckles over you.
I will leave coffee mug stain on you
  – a circle like a ring, a circle
akin to handcuffs you’d think.
Sometimes a house lizard will run over
leaving padded footsteps 
marked in dust. 
Your death will reduce to
ashes and the wind will powder me
with your gray remains.
I will lose my companion, 
one autumnal summer of amaltas © 

Thursday, June 14, 2012


I am
a veteran 
of goodbyes
a dream
a dimension
in the blackness of eternity
stuns me
with the immobilising fear
of a fleeting hope
I am 
more reconciled 
to sorrow
without the messy paraphernalia
of dreams
like a noose
like a beaded pearl ©

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

A moment

The stretch of skies
Between dawn and dusk
Gold melting into bluish white
Blue and forlorn the hours
Till it deepens
Liquor tea
At dusk
There is
Not a moment in time
When the stars fade
One forgets to stare
And find them
Scorched from view
Wind and rivers
Had conceived
Pregnant clouds
Burst over windowpanes
Gray earth
Cling to feet
as if a reluctant lover
grudging goodbye
A lump of grief
Collects at my throat
The day slides
from my grasp ©