i wait for the magnolia to bloom

 

as it creeps into my blood and bones

like a cold cold winter,

numbing me.

existence becomes meaningless.

gravity becoming a myth

i float deeper

towards my abyss.

emptiness

numbness

frozen.

it comes and goes

it comes and goes.

and, yet

in this meaningless existence

i wait for the magnolia to bloom.

and i know

if and when the battle is lost.

this meaningless existence

will still

miss

waiting for the magnolia to bloom.

what a shame

what a shame.

📷 ma.

फाल्चा (पाटी)

I.

back in days,

Revolutions were born -  here!

like caterpillars, like butterflies

they crawled, they flew

from pati to kitchen

from guthi to the nation.

II.

“We are the witness!”

III.

And,

I am the witness.

I knew The People.

they whispered me their plans, their strategies

before they marched

to the gates of a man claiming to be God.

(to make him a commoner)

in other days,

I have heard their sighs,

and soaked their tears.

I have felt their hopes, 

and tasted their victories.  

I have nurtured

innocence of children

bravery of youth

and wisdom of the elderly.

I know.

‘the child is the father of the man’

IV.

Yes!

“I don’t like going to other places.

I like it – here -

I am happier.”

This is my second childhood.

as they say,

 'a man becomes a child - twice’.

V.

in these days,

more than familiar ones I see new faces.

this crowd carries

different languages, different smells and different tastes.

however,   

each aftershock seems to bring us closer.

as it loosens my grip to the core

they bring ‘teka’ to support

and I offer my corners for shelter.

I know

in these days,

revolutions happen through a screen.

but please

before you leave

do not forget to tell the tales,

back in days,

‘I was not just a heritage’

I was where Revolutions were born.

I am where Revolutions are born!

[I wrote this picture poem for an exhibition 'Mero Chowk' organised by Ka Baata in 2016. I don't remember the photographer's name. Will update once I find out.]

Shadow and the Sun.

                                                                                PC: Gary Wornell

Tell me a story.

my dear shadow

Do you crave

for the sun

As much as I do for her?

And, when you do

do you know

Exactly,

how to print

the shape, the size

and the colour of your heart?

to the soldier. (II)

the sweaty warmth
on my naked back
wakes me up
satisfied but thirsty.

He has covered me like a blanket.

legs intertwined with mine
He has fixed himself as a question mark,
Exerting his muscles
Covering my edges
and spaces
Filling my depths 
and gorges.

His left hand holds me to his chest
as gentle as water bubble
cupping my breast.
But
The right hand fingers 
that 
traced the tip of my hair
to the tip of my toe nail

waking me to multiple wants
and desires
are now
balled up in a fist.

as if he is ready
(like a lion of Sahara)
To spring at any moment.

is it the sands our legs carried
that are spread like grains
on the creased and crinkled 
white canvas we are painted on

that puts him on guard?

Reminding him.
of the far far land
of sun and sand
of blood and sweat
of bomb and bullet.

I turn and face him.

I trace his scars and cuts.
they are everywhere.
on his lips.
on his chest.
on his feet.

I kiss each of them.

He sighs and smiles in his sleep
He turns and twists
fixes himself like a blanket over me.

Again.

But, his fingers don't relax.
As always.
He sleeps fitfully.

SEMICOLON

मृत्यु

के रे ?

म नै तिमी कहाँ आउनु पर्ने ?

तिमी म कहाँ आउँन मिल्दैन ?

यहाँ जीवन छ ।

यहाँ राती आकाशमा ताराहरु चम्किन्छन् ।

हँ ... म डरपोख रे ?

होइन ।

तिमीलाई झै उसले मलाई मन्त्रमुग्ध तुल्याउँछ ।

उसको रहस्यताले मलाई पनि लोभ्याउँछ ।

त्यसैले मलाई नाङ्गो तार छोऊँ–छोऊँ लाग्छ

छुरीले नसा रेटूँ– रेटूँ झै लाग्छ ।

एकपटक,

उसको पच्छौरीमा लुक्न छोजेकी थिएँ ।

आँखा चिम्लिसकेकी

हच्किएछु,

ब्युझिए ।

त्यहाँको चिसोपन मलाई मन परेन ।

अहँ ... अस्वीकारेको होइन ।

अन्तिम घडीलाई म स्वीकार्छु ।

तर अहिले म तयार छैन,

मलाई हिउँदको रापिलो घाम अझै पुगेको छैन 

आमाको काख अझै प्यारो लाग्छ

मलाई समुन्द्रका छाल हेर्नुछ ।

तिमीले त्यागेका हरेक पल जिउनु छ ।

अँ...हो ।

उसले मलाई अझै लोभ्याउँछ ।

कुनै समय नाङ्गा तार छुन नहिच्किचाएछु भने,

तिम्रो र मेरो भेट समयभन्दा पहिले हुनसक्छ ।।।

The FIRST.

‘the details’

do not ask me

my dear.

I did not feel

The breeze playing with my curls

Nor saw forming of komorebi on it.

I did not hear

Chaiwala filtering tea,

thak…thak…thak

just by the corner.

Nor smelt boiling of fresh milk coffee.

The barking of dogs

The tringgg…tringgg…tringgg

Of cycles passing by

Or, the screeching of wheels

Stopping by.

The knocking of heat waves

like a persistent little brother

peeking in my room.

The rolling of sweat drops

on my cleavage.

the stickiness

the saltiness

I did not feel.

Nor see.

Nor hear.

My dear,

I became

a deaf

a blind

to the world outside our periphery.

My eyes

were only touching your lips.

My hands

were busy picking up the words.

scared.

that they will scatter in the air

before reaching my ear.

My skin

rejoiced the caress

of your beautiful mind

and heart.

And,

It was first.

I lived that moment.

I was alive.

The Lake

In the midst of bullets being fired, 
bloods being shed
found myself by the lake
sitting on the rock
setting sun 
warming
my bare back.
(I am daring, just like that!)

by Sarah Kay

"PAWS" 

The third time your plane is delayed,

your voice on the phone has melted to a whimper.

I don’t know when we’ll take off,

you say. I’m going back to the desk to ask.

All day, you have been sending me text messages

of puppy love. I can’t wait to kiss you.

I miss the nook of your neck. How strange,

that when you are away, I reach for my

cell phone’s buzz as if it were your hand.

Each shiver in my pocket, a way to find you.

I will see you soon, Love, this morning’s text promised.

And yet now it is night, and you are still lost

in an airport somewhere in Florida, and I am still here,

trying to comfort you through this phone.

I’m okay, you promise. I just wish I was home.

You sigh into the speaker. The static crackles.

In November, a doctor put your dog to sleep.

You didn’t tell me it had happened for the whole day,

because you didn’t want me to worry or be upset.

I didn’t find out until your parents told me, and I reached

for your hand, not knowing what else to do.

I have never had a pet, I do not know this kind of loss.

The quiet of our kitchen does not sound empty to me,

I cannot hear the missing padding of paws on tiles,

the missing pant and rumble of her belly. But the first few times

you came home that week, I did see the way you opened

the front door: the extra moment you waited, the way

your shoulders sank. She was old, you told me.

She din’t get around like she used to. She didn’t

even jumped up when people came in, didn’t run to

bark and greet me at the door. But she was here.

At least I knew she would be here when I got home.

Recently, there have been more airports for the both

of us. Different suitcases and baggage claims, different

time zones and phone calls. My friends roll their eyes

at me when we are out to coffee, and I keep jumping

for my phone. We know, they say. You “have to take

this.” I apologize, excuse myself, check to see that

you are there. Nobody else notices how naked my

hands look. Nobody else thinks the space between

my chin and shoulder seems oddly empty. But I know

what this should feel like. I know what is missing.

At least the buzz of my cell phone fills the quiet.

For now, it will have to do. Until it can be replaced

by the sound of your padding feet and heavy breath,

by the sight of you in the doorway, exhausted and worn,

but finally, finally home.

for my friend.

Asmi,
You have taught me right.
taught me well.

Life is more,
than living.

That happiness,
is in giving.

That knowledge,
is in sharing.

My friend,
You have taught me well.
You have taught me right.

BE A MAN!!!

...I ask him,
"How difficult is it to be a Man?"
in this society,
in this time.
he looks surprised,
unprepared.
I tell him,
"No, really?"
I am serious.
I wanna know.
is it difficult for you ?
to fit in the box
as it is for me...

not a home.

always,

always there was something

wrong.

something out of place

something unfitting

something unnatural.

the hugs were too tight

the kisses were not right

the smiles never reached the eyes

and

I was left.

always.

always to wonder

why? why?

then,

one day,

after a very long time

I checked my scars,

my bruises

my bitterness.

that were inflicted by him.

inflicted by me.

and, I understood.

whenever he opened his mouth

it was not the heart

but the brain.

that spoke the words.

the words.

that I heard with the heart.

He said what I wanted to hear.

I heard

what I wanted to hear.

I heard

what he wanted me to hear.

But, it was not his fault,

nor mine.

nor time.

he was 'the type' of a man

who saw the mirror in me.

I was not the mirror.

nor the door,

nor The Answer.

but, he was in search

for The Answer.

and,

I was in search of a place to call home

he was not my home.


[P.S this poem is highly influenced and inspired by Sarah Kay's "The Type".]

fluttering tears.

"Ahh... this is the feeling of falling in love"

a thought came,
and my heart ached.


the happiness,
could only be expressed in tears.

...

she cuts a lonely figure.

as her sun sets
and shadows disappear

she cuts a lonely figure.

everything is temporary.

and while we are at it,
lets not forget
everything is temporary.

the genuine love that we receive
is not going to be there - forever!
if we are to discard it
with our arrogance
and indifference.

taking it for granted
leaving the loving one
with the scar
of humiliation
and disappointment.

stripped of dignity
and full of regret.

and lets not forget.
we are not that great.
we are not that perfect.

and everything is temporary.
but,
still, scars seem to last longer.

a make-up kit!

i need a make-up-kit.
for
when a gust of death-air blows
on my hair
and through my youth,
I want to be prepared
with a coral lips
and rosy cheeks.

One-Sided Love Affair!

(Pulicat Lake, TamilNadu with Shivani Yadav)

You have to know
I was here
I existed.

In these woods
where
birds chirped
and fishermen rested.

I was here
I waited.
Memories to be made
footprints to be shared.

You need to know
I existed.
Existed : longing for you!