My lover, browned with sun

I met my lover
creased with life
smelling of worries
amongst loss
amongst departing summer

I met my lover
after september
and spring bursted suddenly
from the east
with purple sweet pea
in his vein
with thabal lei in his breath

My lover left
But will be back
browned with sun
chapped with wind
will bring fire and woods
will bring sun and spices
and a few more creases around his eyes
and a few more creases around his smile

My lover will come
and forgive me my friend
if I start believing in god again

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The tulsi of my courtyard

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My tanned lover

On such immense evenings
When poetry denies me
its words, its rhythm
With a whimper I recoil back
Envious of the words on your lips
Envious of the words on your pages
I go back to my wooden book rack
Bought on impulse
with my lover
one autumn dusk
It was the color of my lover
Tanned with the Newar sun
He had age behind him
I cling to his anecdotes
I have life ahead of me
He clings to my laughter

On such immense evenings
When poetry denies me
its words, its rhythm
I read the lines on his face
I read the map on his back
I knew he was an endless poem
The rhythm of Beas Kund
I had emptiness behind me
He clings to my anecdotes
He had happiness ahead of him
I cling to his heady brew

On such immense evenings
When poetry denies me
its words, its rhythm
I deny poetry my pen
And I read my lover with my hands

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To Shreema

We struggle
within ropes
plaited by known hands
Invoking
silent feelings
from deep crevices
Tears from inner wells
had long dried
Happiness a fear fleeting
Sadness a comfort
To dwell in its perpetuity
While they
set forth in their journey
to discover
truths and self
You and I
journeyed within
for wombs of words
and verses
To discover
That dwells within

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Without you

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Gold

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Silent sepia of dusk

The day went off to die
behind the silent sepia of dusk
behind the fireflies in the fields
The un-awaited chronology
arrived yet again
solemnly announced by ominous thunders
Along with the small hours of the night
Plunging onto the tarmac
Plunging into the drain
dripping with wind
bringing the nostalgic scent of earth

I gazed at a spent rainbow called yesterday
streaming down my window pane
I sailed my little white paper boats
shaped from a hastily folded letter of love
I saw it browned by mud
singularly navigating polythene bags and pebbles
sailing into the heart of the liquid ocean of the sky
Unaware of the silver dagger of lightning

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