Shadow

everything i have ever known or felt

is burnt into my shadow,

my storage-place 

for things that are present

but to be kept hidden-

you know what shadows are made of? 

all the things denied to us

all the loves that refuse to fade

all the people we never held

and parts of us 
that are locked-up backstage.

Reminder

have you forgotten 
why
your feet have settled at this pace?
you question
yourself and fate
because you haven't reached where they are-
is that where you are going?

have you forgotten the road to where you want to go?
or you don't know
and you want to run 
down any path 
because they are running?

have you forgotten why you don't run?
why do you doubt the ability of your feet,
when it has been a choice and a decision
to walk-
because this path needs walking,
not running
you know that 
then why
do you ask 
why?

why do you doubt your actions-
is it because they seem to have reached?
where?
when did your actions get entangled with the choices of others?

why are you so focused on their feet
when you have your own 
and they are moving 
out of choice
and requirement 

do you want to run
or do you want to reach?

where you want to go 
requires you to go slow

is your doubt 
based on impatience 
or change of passions?

either way
why do you curse your feet,
condemn your fate,
why do you hate the world?

have you forgotten that you are on your way?

Jumper

the way you love him
makes me remember 
the way i used to love before
when i gave everything
and didn't hold anything back-
now consequences 
have sharpened caution
i want to test
safety nets
before jumping
but
look at you,
reckless nose-diver
putting us all to shame
you prefer broken bones to a hollow heart?
i can hear the air around you
whispering
take heart, take heart
even if it breaks
and takes
years, to simply learn
to love yourself again
take heart

and there you are
you've jumped
without ropes or nets or cords 

but i can see
those moments of delight
when i, and all watching
could have sworn, by god,
that your fall
was truly 
flight.

Method

Sylvia Plath gets too much attention. 
It's like her body of work wasn't enough, 
she had to outdo all her contemporaries 
and future generations of troubled poets
with death.

All these writers trying to outshine one another,
I cannot fathom the depth 
of this insanity
of creation.

I try to decide how to match them. 
How creatively they save themselves 
from oblivion.
-

Coming home

(on the train from Andheri to Malad)

A harmonica tempers the air with a quaint tune.

A man washes his hands and sits down on the floor to eat. 

This train is his restaurant on wheels.

 Where are we headed? 

All of us are going with the train but our journeys don’t end at the same place, do they?

 

As another station slips past, tube-lights and hoardings try to add flavour to the night.

A flock of people disembark. An even larger group gets on. 

We are always headed somewhere, it seems.

The harmonica has resurfaced. 

This time I catch a peek of a face framed trough the shining metal rods of the train grill. 

A visually-challenged man slowly edges forward. 

People give coins.

What I think is love, could easily be pity. Why do they give? 

Is there thought behind their giving or is it unconscious. 

There are men who are  huddled on the floor. 

They sit with folded legs and abandon. 

They are lost to the world that slips by. 

Small smartphone displays make a world that was previously unavailable, now accessible.

They give these screens undivided attention. 

I see a metal-framed bridge under construction.

 A few years ago it didn’t exist. 

Today it is on its way to completion. 

How soon the city changes...

Sometimes it feels like that friend who went to a fancier college or got a better job and then was suddenly in another league. Still familiar but evidently alien. 

Would this city reject me if it ever found out that I wasn’t keeping up?

Lost in words and thoughts, the train now edges into familiar surroundings. 

It will go on into the distance but I must stop. 

Each of us has to disembark somewhere.

Sometimes I wonder about life. 

How can we ever know if we disembarked at the right stop?

On Validation

you do not need the world

to validate your existence 

you are bone and blood

animated by air

you are fire and spirit and soul

the elements support you

the earth holds your weight

here you stand

anchored, alive and awake

don't ask for approval

stamp your feet

leave your mark

make things better 

for yourself and others

change the world, if you can.

let everyone see your worth.

we, the others.

tendrils of longing
emerge from our tree-selves
in a world where they are allowed
to walk, we can only
extend coiled up fingers
to tap them on their shoulders;

but they keep walking.

in the time it takes
to re-orient directions
and face our new suns
those bright gods have slipped out of our sky

how
deep
have these feet
sunk?

how low have we fallen that
even a ray of light
seems out of reach?

layers of invisible guilt
and pins of stabbing hate
separate
gods chosen children, they
who shine in every way
and we
the forgotten children
of lesser gods
dimmed by innocence
and claimed by flaws
we
must
shrink
back
into
our
darkness-es.

watch
as these silences
envelop us

watch
as we disappear
into shadows,
crevices and cracks

watch
as we grow still
and wait
for
our kingdom
to come.

Day 51 #hundreddaysofpoetry- Stay

what is this leaving you speak about-
i will not hear of it.
rationality bends 
in the refracting light
in the eyes of a dreaming man it seems like 
i plucked you out from the stars at dawn
just before they left from my sight
your light is the wonder that swirls out and then in 
as dreams break into day 
and barely awake, 
it seems that i cant soak in enough of you-
seep into tissue
dissolve into blood
fuse into bones
melt into muscle 
do what you must
but stay.

photo taken at Navsari

Assorted Hashtags (Day 12 of #Hundreddaysofpoetry)

there should only
be a knowing of this bliss-
when your heart hovers over mine
our hands intertwine and
things just fit.
#CongruentLove

thousand other lovers
would not make me forget 
the knowing of you
#EideticFool

the void
never really stands a chance
does it?
#OnceFullNowEmpty

it's a crime that even broken hearts  manage to work just fine.
#LostCauseStillFighting

they repair themselves 
like functional beasts 
covered in scar-tissue memory
the 
#OnceBeautiful

these new hearts that see mine 
find it difficult to 
make sense 
of  this pulsating mass of reinforced muscle
#NascentTroopers

sometimes they don't even try
why should they?
let them choose 
from the bounty of the 
less broken
#BackhandedHope

Missing

Missing is a funny thing.

First you miss big things. 
Things that consume your mind completely. 
Feelings that are larger than life. 
and fuller than sighs. 
like love and the space of wanting more
of what filled you up from inside.

next, you miss subtleties. 
Small things. 
Like the shadow of birds flying across 
the sky.

A cup of chai shared before inevitable goodbyes.

And then,
there are those inner missings
like thorns poking out from the inside

Personal things.
Scent on pillows.
Shared silences. 
Presences that overlap and intertwine.
The company of someone who crossed your path. 
maybe just for a little while.

Feelings always manage to sabotage everything, like houseflies.

They never really speak, do they? 
Their presences are enough.
Silences always say so much, 
but mean nothing. 

Even if they do mean something
I tell them not to.

meaning leads to wanting 
wanting leads to waiting
and waiting alone 
leads you nowhere.

let's not wait or want, or want to wait,
what has passed is gone
there's no use adding halos to things that don't shine.

But missing is a funny thing
It always crosses that line.