Monday, 2 October 2017

Beyond Circles

Walk into the day
and hand over
familiar looks
to strangers
Sip loneliness
out of your head
at night

After all
this is the only menu
given by many moods
of the sun
so that the tired cat
waves at all parrots
and goes out of town

But tonight curtains are raised
The grey continent
of your shadow
climbs to the terrace

Second-hand paintings
from walls
pass comments
or suggestions
to start off a conversation

“I could have helped but
                                        my hands have this baby”

“Put your left foot on the pipe
                                                are you new?”

“I am going for my wedding
                                              would you like to join?”

After these diversions
you enter a room
where your mother
plucks a song
from the mountain
of tilting homes
for you and you
rest one eye
on her head

Saturday, 13 May 2017

Taking Night and Day on Rent

Behind landlady’s eyes
a sceptic squirrel sits
with folded arms

If you scratch this face
the squirrel disappears
into the dark woods

Right now the silence
of our ears
is a cricket’s song

A plane crashes
in the ink sea
when I dip my tongue
to write

The squirrel sits
straight with a
jerk and strokes
his anxiety:

If I see
a map
upside down
we will all fall

But the clouds
have slippery eyes
beating hard
our swollen umbrellas

If we fall
into the sky
we could return
these eyeballs

The sceptic squirrel knits
trouble for solutions
Next morning I
see a hole in the wall

As tall as our building the landlady
tells from her stage:

My mongoose takes
an evening walk
from your house
to the neighbour’s
He did not
want to disturb
your door

Friday, 13 January 2017

Self Portrait of a Woman Resting on a Cliff

On waves of my
hair a house floats
where two foxes
visit at night
to drink rum
and feel safe

A slip a chance
could take them
upstairs to a thin
lad rolling
on the carpet,
wrestling with winter

Are you alright?
a fox asks
Boy: I swallowed fifty
         seeds for dinner
         A forest will grow
         from my mouth
         by morning and
         reach the girl from
         school to rain apples
         on her terrace
         Now I am only waiting

Outside an owl blinks
photographs through
the dark
He hands them to
a woman resting
on a cliff
She gives him
the warmth of
her hands

Tuesday, 22 November 2016

A Day in the Maryam of Winter

Across the road
snow has fallen
and filled
her body that
she kept on a rock

Maryam is an aluminum
box her grandmother
stores blouses in
of her foremother
from another land where
dust drowns itself
in the sea

A crow whistles
The scene shivers

Maryam leans
forward to take a glance
of her palms heavy
with someone else’s
dry leaves

She looks at the crow
The crow stares back
at her, they exchange eyes

Maryam can now
see herself from
the tree--her
body leaning
and collecting snow

She takes her eyes
back to throw them
at a black
dot receding
in the distance

Maryam then walks
to her house and
sits by the window
With leaves she paints
the trees brown
With snow she paints
the frame white

Wednesday, 28 September 2016

Taking Trips Inside a Room

A song walking in
Between my finger tips
Flew to his hair

I asked him
– Did you hear that?

He said – no, it was
Just your hand
Of ink marks
And dry mountain rocks

But then he
Sent a letter of
Striped pieces of heat
Walked over by
A confident spider
When the night spread
Inside the neighbour’s mouth

The letter wrapped up
In winter fog
Climbed the roof
Crawled on the floor
And reached my waist

Saturday, 19 March 2016

Weather is Changing Clothes

There are moments
In the lifespan
Of an elephant's memory
When romantic rotations
Of the earth allow
Land and sky
To knot legs,
Legs stiff from
Elaborate sessions of
Knotting together
So perfectly that
It seems he is
passing through
A movie set.

My lady
Is made of
Copper and gold.
Her face is
A monastry for
Music to stretch
Arms in and touch
Its own face.
Her elbows scratch
Rocks, they hide
Behind their mothers.
Her waist climbs wind
Lets the earth
Untie its hair.

Saturday, 12 March 2016

Street that Chases Its Tail

An empty glass of
water traps wind
brings a storm through
keyholes on the body
goes breathless and
rests on a tongue
till friends visit
in the evening
to watch veins dancing
on their arms
and yawn big Os
so that the magic is lost forever
while 3 A.M. crows
make fun of birds
who sleep next to them.

Morning is a disappointed friend
who never offers you a cigarette.

Saturday, 14 November 2015

At the centre of this town
Is a building of windows
Everyone is a thief in
Their own house
They spread embroidered carpets of
Oil outside every escape
They step out to fall on head
And make each trip new

At the centre of my eye
Is your faraway face
You are a thief in
Your own house
Wherever I go I drink black gold
It spreads outside my eyes
You slip out in toe dance
To fall in the pit of my neck

Sunday, 23 August 2015

अंधेरे में

सरला का समय जो चूला जलाने और चूला जलाने के लिए माचिस उठाने के बीच में धकेला हुआ था अप्रिय उल्टी व्याख्यान करते हुए स्व-मनोविश्लेषण का, जो खुद ही में था इतना गहरा और भारी कि उसने दूसरे कमरे की घड़ी को एक लंबा भाषण दे दिया, सरला के चूला जलाने के लिए माचिस उठाने से भी पहले।

भाषण का विषय था - क्या दुनिया दिमाग में हमेशा से भिनभिनाता हुआ मच्छर है या फिर वो साँप जो चुपचाप कोने से गुज़रकर कान में हल्की, खुजली वाली हिस्स छोड़ जाता है? घड़ी का मानना था कि दुनिया साँप है 'क्योंकि दुनिया चलती है, साँप चलता है, मैं भी चलती हूँ'। पर फिर घड़ी गलत साबित हुई क्योंकि कभी-कभी दुनिया को सारा समय बटोरकर आँखों के बीच नाक की हड्डी पर लेट जाना पसंद है। फिर वह एक ही बार में अपना भयंकर रूप दिखाकर आगे बढ़ने से मना कर देती। इसलिए, सरला के मनोविश्लेषण ने और कहा, कमरे में बंद रहने से ही चीज़ों की समझ नहीं आ जाती।

सरला इस बातचीत की ओर ध्यान ज़रा कम दे पायी। वो तो छत पर लेटकर अपनी छाती पे गिरती हुई सारी लाशों का वज़न तोलने में लगी थी। जिन्हें लंबी खुरदरी मालाएँ पहनाकर ज़मीन के थोड़ा ऊपर आसमान से लटकने को छोड़ दिया जाता है, वे सब हर रात सरला की ही छाती पर गिरकर पहाड़ बनाते हैं। फिर जब आज का पहाड़ पूरी तरह से जम गया और इसका तकरीबन वज़न भी लिख लिया गया, तब सिर्फ शरीर के बालों से गुज़रती हवा के आराम से ही सरला सो गई, अपने चूला जलाने के लिए माचिस उठाने के लिए उठने से भी पहले।

Friday, 10 July 2015

Passing through a Narrow Night

On a smooth metal rod
Two monks stitch
Each other's sleeves together
And sway their robes
Hanging tall along with curtains
So they can watch how
Every needle pulls all jasmine
Nectar out from gardens of flesh
Resting on each bed

Megaphone: Night is narrow, ladies
Please squeeze yourself out

Square 1

A six-month-old cries
Herself to sleep
A needle sucks jasmines from
This tiny garden
For combat her mother passes
A very silent weapon of smiles
Into her dreams

Square 2

A needle gets ready to
Start tonight's sucking
Lady: Ah Ammi, it pains!
She rolls her eyeballs
Man (whispering): Your Ammi cannot hear you
Lady: I will beat you
With my chappal. I will kill you,
You dog
They both chuckle

Square 3

A lady feeds her newborn
From her breast,
From her arm
She feeds a needle

Square 4

Yesterday she saluted the air
For being there always
And killed herself
Tonight she pulls air,
Lets a needle pull out her sap

Square 5

The needle here is now stout
And rigorous. A squirrel hops
Over this yellow garden
Settles on her stomach
Shakes her arms
Wakes her up and asks:
Are you sleeping?