SHE #10

A different shade of mundane

Every single hour in the day

Every single hour in the day

I seek a rhyme worthy of you

I reach the right milestones, but I'm lost in my way

SHE #9

You are a well
To most, you are precious
For the sweet water of beauty
And the refreshing coolness of company
But what do they know, who only know of you.
  
  
You are a well
Of mysteries that scare Light
And fluid darkness that whispers ancient secrets
To some, you are the Holy Grail
For the lifelong quest behind a question mark
And the roller coaster ride of seeking

The few who know you, know the universe.

SHE #8

SHE #8

She makes me feel like a toddler

"Baba, can we count all the stars?"
On a star-spilling roof
On a load-shedded Calcutta night
(A magical Calcutta night)
How will the buds next door bloom by the morning?
What do the fireflies eat to shine so bright?
How does a moment feel to pass her by, forever?
The sacred geometry of her curves
The restless dynamics of her furious, ticking mind
How does the universe regret not crashing unto her feet?

She makes me feel like a toddler

"You can count them stars"- said my old man
"All of them, here, start from the Pole"
Like then,as now, I CAN
Count these tinkling seconds that lead to her
Twinkling like the stars
Its good to be a toddler, after all these years.

I watched this film, The Holiday recently. Loved the relationship they depicted between a senile and once famous hollywood screenplay writer (Arthur) and a woman, perhaps in her early 30's, who has come to LA on a vacation. I wonder how it would be to fall in love at an old age. I guess it is getting back the gift of wonder, a gift we are all born with but one that erodes as we grow up. I feel love can bring back that gift. As a kid I used to enquire of my father everything that would arouse my curioisity, these days I enquire of myself everything I find curious in this girl I know. I guess that sense of wonder has become more internal now, I wondered if that had been the case with Arthur.

  

The River Girl (She #7)

I met a river high up the mountains.

 Nascent, now she twists and then she turns
 Just free from clutches of momma glacier,
 Restless, she scoffs and then she roars
 As she speeds by broken hearts, of many a lover dear.


 I met a river deep into my youth.

 There is music in her new found gait
 Dance, in her serpentine motion
 Some turns are abstract poetry, like confidence in a newly teenaged girl 
Some curves are self doubt, a newly pimpled boy in infatuation.


 I met a river deep in ecstasy. 
In love with herself as she brought the moon down
 And let the pack of clouds gulp it
 She turned red, blushed, enjoying assiduous attention
 Of meditative mountains, keenly watching sun, waking meadows-- all voyeuristic. 


 I met a river like a Byzantine empress.

 They both didn't know where to go
 But are out to build a queendom 
They both will break a few things-- hearts, fences, rocks
 (And build many more)
 As they embark on their quest for freedom.


 "Don't talk about a prince"- she said
 " Nor about the sea" - she said
 " Never settle"- they said together
 The more you travel, nearer you are to who you are.


I met a girl high in the mountains
 I met a river deep in her conscience

SHE #5

I must be like a breeze for her

I'm welcome, liked too even

But she would'nt wait for me

Would plan for me on her pink lifeline

C'mon, who ever waits for a breeze ?


She is like a cool fragrant breeze

Like a shot of glucose, before the last leg of Mumbai Mjyhon

Like a cool , happy sensation after a rewarding review

Like a good day for no reason, a rare welcome good day

She is like a breeze for me
She lights up my lifeline even if for a fleeting moment

I wait eagerly for a breeze.                                                                                                                                      

The Desire Game

I have always always felt the best things in life hit the same spot on your brain to elicit essentially the same reaction, Happiness, by some hormonal play or the other. But for me, the two best things that can ever happen to me, giving birth to a poem or making love to a woman, are very similar at a very procedural level. This is why...

The Game resembles a poem
The birth of a poem
It starts with trance, or of losing the selfish self

I am a slave
To an idea yet to form
To the promise of pleasure yet to come

I am a mind, only a mind, consumed by just one thought
I am a body, nothing but a body, consumed by desire
The words are elusive, as if a 'lil shy
Like a familiar word long gone by
Like 'pittoo' , like 'rainy-day', childhood or the library room left ajar
She sits close, just a little far.

The words I can grasp but not quite grip; they tease
Like bra straps,hooks, buttons and zip
We rush ahead of time, like the Budhdha, Cobain or Scorcese
An abundance of words, gold, a pirate and a defenseless ship.

Wonder which is more primal to Man
A thirst for words or a crave for completion
The words, precious and perfect, fall in line
Like 2 bodies, complete and in rhythm divine


What follows is infinite bliss
A poem, two lovers, joy and peace.

SHE #4

She is rare.

Like an unlit street in bombay
Like an unlit street in Bombay
Like an unlit street and starry night in Bombay
Like an unlit street, a starry night and a deserted Bombay
Like 2 lonely young beings under a starry night walking by an unlit street in deserted Bombay

She is rare
Like darkness, solitude, silence, a wish granted or a shooting star
Like a corporate honcho's heart laid bare

SHE #3

To think of her is to listen to Desert Rain (Indian Ocean)

You marvel at sheer possibilities, infinite avenues

Of harmony, of life, of having a life

Through the murky clogged canals

Of incentives, emi's, debts and raises

(A desolate moonlit night, a brook and a raft)

She wafts through, butter under knife.

She #2

To catch the first pearls of dawn
I need not wait for the sun to rise, nor wake up early
I see sunrise everytime her lips part
And her face make a pinkish smiley

SHE

She smells of a new book
All her stories alive,
Of distant oceans
Of 2 lofty mountains
In their womb, a brook
Her eyes a page mark,a constant reminder
To know more I must strive