The Remains

Sitting on the steps of the backdoor
I look at the sun gliding into the horizon
The waning blob of the reddish tinge
The tinge which I remember
Also adorned your lips so often
The memory of which
I immediately regret
It doesn’t hurt anymore, frankly
The thought of you, I mean
But I can’t help rue
The possibilities
The would-have-beens and could-have-beens
The childish sorrow of the biscuit
Melted in a hot cup of tea
Or the grief of the flower
Plucked before it had the chance
To grow fully
All that remains now is the memory
Of moments we inhaled and exhaled together
Locking our secrets to the wind
Secrets of passion, and dreamy merryland
Which get recycled now
Sitting here on the steps of the backdoor
As each wave of Southwest breeze hits my body
And also that peculiar word
Called Nostalgia!
The sun has gone into oblivion now
But not quite
In the form of moonlight
It’s presence is to be felt again

You

The evening breeze tries to flip the pages of the daily
As I sit near the window
Crossword puzzle on my lap
I still have that pen you had given me
As a return gift
For the poem I had written for you
And which you had liked a lot
“Damn! What’s the word for this?”
I suddenly feel the urge to shout your name
I am sure you’d have had the answer to this damn clue
As you had
To every question of mine
Answers
Not perfect, but always reassuring!

I still feel you in this empty house
In the pillows you’d hit me with to show your appreciation
For my lame jokes
In the nail-paint I had gifted you
To go with your tunic
Or in the dazzling aroma of your perfume wafting
Through my imagination as I enter the bedroom every time

I try to find traces of you
In the books we’d read together
The Calvin and Hobbes coffee mugs we occasionally sat with
The corner seats of our favourite movie theatre
Old, decrepit bookshops; the dingy bars and quaint coffee-shops
But never the graveyard!

A Faraway Land

I once rode in the sky
on the wings of an angel
she took me to a land which
was quite unlike ours
where cars didn’t honk
for an inch or two of space
or dogs bark at each other
for no reason whatsoever
or rats play hide and seek
in the dead of the night
on the pavements
the filthy pavements
garbaged with people’s half-eaten food

No, no
it was a beautiful land
oh so beautiful
with high hills and wide lakes
flowered gardens and breezy wind

A land of plenty, truly
where no one starved
nor for food, or love
where no one felt the need to
invent swords,
guns, or bombs
where there were no concepts
of rich and poor
or distant and dear

My angel
who took me to a faraway land
a land of plenty
and a land of beauty
I wonder which child
she is carrying on her wings now

A Cold-Blooded Murder

I squeezed the flower
Made dents in its corolla
Dismembered it
One petal at a time
Only the stem remained now
I threw that away too
In the gutter…

I loved that flower
I swear I did
Its gorgeous body
And the intoxicating fragrance

But I killed it
Just like that
For the kicks
For it couldn’t speak
Or go to the courts
Or call the army on me

Murder, yes, it was
A cold-blooded one

Waking the Dead

I went there again
to wake the dead from graves,
to make them my buddies,
to take them home…

I will ask them
The reason I weep —
for my soul
and their deeds
my insanity
and their sins
their imperfections
and my long-lost dreams

I want to make peace
once and for all
I have a right to know
I am but their descendant
after all

Let me do it
One last time
I will be free
after that
to bury them
with their hatchets
and then they can sleep
peacefully
for posterity
and so can I