Idee Fixe.

So close that I can touch 
So Real that I can hold 
Walk step in step with
A Stark Truth above mere facts
I know it in my heart

This Thing :

A Light in the Darkness
A Presence that floats in and out of the winter mists.
Stares me in the face at the oddest times.
Stays despite all odds.

Poetic Drought

As monsoons
to the parched earth
So to Soul
A Poem
After a long summer 
of Poetic Drought.

Bus Ride to Hell.

I am relieved :
It was not me -
Who took a ride to Hell
On a  curtained ,White Bus 
with red seats
and a Torture cabin
where lurked 
Beasts wearing 
masks of men .

Where the dirty ,misshapen hag 
of Evil Opportunity was making out
in the dark - with the malevolently grinning
frustrated, misogynist Male psyche
It was a Dark jungle -well lit
where the red lights eerily blinked
on the triptych of  Vishnu-Siva -Ganesh
and a shimmery ,pompooned banner said:
Jai mata di.

She stood near those Paper Gods
and watched her Body 
as it lay -
in a Gigantic spasm 
of Epileptic Grief
She heard the choking 
of muffled cries
as the Diseased
uncorked their Dementia.
Every helpless thrashing dimmed :
she saw a baby dear 
set upon by a pack of hungry Jackals.
She saw a
her body 
hanging on to life
as she died again and again.

I was relieved it was not me:
Between the headline masts-
But it could have been me or mine 
It could have been you or yours.
And the Ghost of the Unspeakable
is here to haunt us all
for a long -long time. 

Complain against Planes.

Some like the plane
Some like the Train

Airport dashers can never understand
Why some old fashioned folks travel by land .

Why would anyone commit the Crime
Of  not lopping off Travel Time.

Much harassed as I am
By the late trains and the latest planes :

I have decided that I would like to remain
with the relatively less Insane.

Time saved on planes is a great attraction
unless it becomes a laughable Abstraction.

The sad and Cruel truth is this :
The Promise of the Aeroplane is about as fast and fickle as a First Kiss.

You think it will be smooth ,silky and smouldering
But it lingers on the Edge of Take -off for an eternity and leaves you weary ,teary and glowering.

The plane like a Jerk -does not really need you or want you :but dallies - with all the postponements :
Keeping you imprisoned in Departures -you sinner - to ensure that you do not scrimp on the Atonement.

And if you ever do Arrive on time-
Why - your luggage is sure to lag behind

You  Ass : so you needed  Fairy Tales
All you get is permanently lit , noisy and painted Lounge as your dreary Jail .

Had you gone for the slow but steady Train
Talking sleeping, eating, meeting : you and your belongings would be in one piece -sans complain.

Of course like all Fairy Tales - once in a while - the Aeroplane one - comes true
on which pretext Airlines continue to test the travellers' patience,docility,meekness and such-like virtues.

From the diary of my Mother.

Windows
are my desire to have a piece of the Sky
a shaft of Golden Light
Air -
to ventilate
the dark nooks and crannies
of my cloistered mind
Curtains (white,starched)
are my need to shut out the world.
the mad,the bad and the unexpected -
the storms and the Peeping Toms.
I want to Cross -
God knows I do :
but on my terms
To step out
you need Doorways
but for now
I am happy
with just
a Window
and a Curtain.
Maybe  I
should have changed into a Cat
a Cat door would
suit me
so much better.
There is no fuss then
about all
the comings and goings  
and all the ways would be mine.
Is the possibility of an Exit
a sufficient deterrent
or the ease of Entrance ?

धूप .

धुआं -धुआं सा हट गया है
आज कोहरा छट गया है।

सफर था जो कंटीला, दुरूह
चलते-चलते कट गया है।

कुछ लिख के ,कह के,सुन के
दर्द बिखर या बँट गया है।

कुछ सह के ,कुछ नदी सम बह के -
गए अँधेरे  : सूरज फिर से डट गया है।  

ICU-II

There is no morning ,noon or night
Life is measured by 
Blimps and beeps on a screen -
Fluorescent is the only Constant. 

ICU-I

The beds in Neuro ICUs have creatures who used to be people in their earlier lives .Now they are locked in a sick world . If they could get up and speak what would they ask for ?

खुदाया
ये तार-तार नफ़स से बूँद -बूँद ज़िंदगी न दे -
ये घुटन ,ये तिजारत , ये बेरुखी न दे
मरना मंज़ूर है -
बस इतनी सी हसरत है :
जो देना है तो
बस एक कतरा धूप
दो कतरा रंगों -बू
और किसी पंखुरी पे शबनम सी हंसी दे दे।

Arrested Arrivals.

Straining at the leash

like a tethered bulldog -

snarling and hissing ,

the traffic growls -

its grumpy way

leaving behind 

clouds of  

acrid discontent :

On which ride 

Folks -

Looking for -

An Escape to

Home .Food .

Friendly faces 

and Welcome Spaces :

The Pain

Of Arrival
Puts a Premium

on Reaching Out .

And makes Virtue 

out of Virtual ..

Lubricious.

Love greases
The noisy clanks of Lust
Fills out the rough edges
Smooths the Angularities 
Rankling  for attention
As the fiction of friction's frisson
Chafes against the Reality of fracas
Love Daubs an Ointment
And cools the Heatened 
Rusty mental grooves

Potholes still make you wince
But an Ouch lesser.