The Moon
Now that we have colonised the moon I cannot see what everyone used to get excited about. It's harsh, desolate; Not at all like a lover's skin. It's not a teardrop, Nor does it sparkle. It's a desert, A scam, A hollow fulfilment. Now that we are on the moon, I do not see what the fuss was about.
The Words
The best words come to me When I'm at my most dishevelled. They say, "You stay as you are, We'll go out and make you proud."
Monumental Love
If I scratch our names Into the stone of a long Forgotten monument of love, Would you, perhaps, remark how The least and the most sincere Expressions of longing Now overlap?
In Maths Class
Carry the two, Shravan Kumar, you must Always remember to Carry the two.
Rain Song
Through my closed window, A short distance away, I see Rainwater falling into dozens Of clay tiles, like cupped hands. It's a jal tarang that I am Listening to with just my eyes.
Child Girl – I
I saw a sign stencilled On a wall which said, “Save Water. Save Child Girl.” It’s an efficient use of space but Don’t let them get too close or One will understand that it’s as Precious as the other.
Child Girl – II
Save the Child Girl. Don't you care about the wild girl? Only need the mild girl. Turn away the reviled girl, Throw away the defiled girl, The one-you-had-beguiled girl. “Just wish she sometimes smiled” girl. Never leave my sight, my child, Girl.
What-er Future!
Twist the tap, Nothing flows out. Give stinky stare, But dry’s the spout. Your filth awaits, You haven’t a clue. None never did a thing, Now’s nothing left to do. Jumbo pump is started, Water dribbles after pause. Yesterday’s was Coca-Cola, Today’s is Soya Sauce.
Slender Fingers
Many cross his path but don’t have a clue, That handling home loans is not all he do. He has another side; a secret that lingers. Behind the banker is the world of slender fingers. They’ve told him at work to be sober with clothes, Only white, black, grey, beige – colours he loathes. No pocket squares, no cravats, not a stray tassel, Nothing at all that could give clients a hassle. So he found his days more and more bleached, His happiness depleted, his joie was breached. If you listened closely, the change you could glean. His voice and his face resembled the Xerox machine. One day it broke - the print not our friend, The mechanic was away, so it fell to him in the end. Squatted on the floor, rolled-up his sleeves our loan-er, And surrounded himself with four packs of toner. It wasn’t easy but he figured it out. Four-colour copies started to spout. Our friend had done well for no extra pay. His handiwork and his hands were C, M, Y, and K. Such blessing, such joy, to see some hues on his body, How he had missed this with a dress code so shoddy. He returned to his seat passing all the cubicles, Narrowly avoiding accidents as he admired his cuticles. All the rest of the day, by gosh, His hands he plainly refused to wash. Both his eyes refused to come away From those mighty colours, so alive and gay. That day on, hidden from everyone’s scrutiny, He secretly rejoiced in his private mutiny. On purpose, with ink he would fidget, Till tiny coloured dots would adorn his digit. No longer did the rules tempt him to malinger, Our banker, each day, had at least one revolutionary finger.
My Tapestry
I could spend years embroidering a tapestry of my talents and my failures. Then wear it like a cape And prance about the town square, Asking people to, “Please, see”. And all anyone would do Is squeeze my life story judgmentally Between their vulgar fingers, and say “Hell, I’m sure I could do that too.”
Priorities
“Nap comes first,” Said he, “Then you, Then me.”
Manly Emotions
They say the Brahmaputra Is the only male river in India. It rages, it cannot be tamed, Or predicted, or planned for. It submerges without pity. It brings you to your knees with Its destructive temper. Why then Do they say, that Women are the emotional ones?
Cookie
My poems are like cookies. Bite-sized, delightful, And may also be used to track your online behaviour.
Merit
To a handful of you, Merit feels like Even steroids are allowed if they best propel you. (You were standing behind them when The rules were being written, Filling their ears and their pockets). To the rest of us, Merit feels like Even when we run the best race of our lives, And cross the finishing line first, We still don’t know if You will let us have our medal. Enjoy your podium finish, But remember, That day will come When you find yourself excluded From the winners’ table, And you will come to us For sympathy. And then, we will decide If your humble request Holds any merit.
Ode to a Thespian Bird
Mynah come and mynah go, Always puts on a very good show. Mynah laugh and mynah yell, What it’s feeling you never can tell. Mynah chirp and mynah screech, Orchestra of voices in its speech. Mynah laugh and mynah cry, With no drama life would be dry. Mynah mock and mynah shock, It don't care you're human or hawk. Mynah leap and mynah soar, And if you don't like it you’re a big bore.
Camouflage
I have been dismissed, discounted, And discouraged so many times That I no longer show myself. I just hide behind the Camouflage Of stories I tell myself.
Multi Worse
Standing between two mirrors She sees all versions of herself. One of them must be happy She feels. But, That version doesn't want to acknowledge me, She knows.
Lost in Translation
I asked her, "May we?" Elle a répondu gentiment, "Mais, oui."
Dancing Girl
Beads of perspiration had gathered on their brows. Those who were merely watching, They knew they were not of this plane any longer, For she had long ago captured even the air in her swirl. She was possessed like the Lord of Dance Striking the universe with her mudras, Shattering the Earth with the sure Assail of her feet. It was a performance so spectacular, A performance so octacular, A performance so stupendacular, That no language could sufficiently define. And then, she stopped. Like throwing water on a sleeping man. Like lightning striking a playing child. Like the first sight of a starry mountain sky. Like that, the audience was shocked into silence. She stood there, breasts heaving with her power. One hand resting on her waist, The other hanging by her side, Her body leaning back from her divine kala. No one knew what to say, So they began to mutter. Some with anger, others with fear, And some who said her time was near. Her eyes trembled behind closed curtains. Her mouth twitched like she was conversing Beyond the pale of this world. Her feet Created rhythm with the ground. Slowly catching her breath, The Dancing Girl, she said, “I put on the greatest show for you. So great it was that I had to stop to admire it myself.”
Soma
I swear I have not touched, Ganja, bhang, or charas. It has not been my luck to Imbibe the fumes of duality. Then why, pray tell, does the World feel like a hallucination?
He Who Is Without Sadness
The great king, greatest perhaps, Surveyed the battlefield. The red of victory covered every inch, Rapidly turning to black. Triumph would be trumpeted in all Corners, songs would be on every mouth. Tributes would flow in on the bent backs of Ambassadors with allegiance in their heart. But, what would that mean to the parent Without a son? The wife Without a husband? The child Without a father? Can this be righteously considered A commensurate price to pay? Can one man’s glory not be measured Any other way? What cost ten thousand yesterday, Costs a hundred thousand today, And, who knows, a million tomorrow. That’s the inflation of the ego. None of those watching knew what was different About that day when their liege Got down on his knees and silently sobbed, “There has to be a better way. There has to be a better way.”
Some Paintings Of Van Gogh
This one shows Van Gogh smiling At some faces that he’s painted, Looking for some human connection that we Know will never smile back. Oh, and what about this beauty? Can almost feel the wind on your skin. He could never share this sensation With another, like you and I. And here is Van Gogh staring out The window of his room at Arles, Looking for the parade that we Know will never come. Those haystacks, oh my, how comfy, I would sleep and sleep all day on them. But, I read that he never slept well, Which may explain why he was so creative. Such are the ways of great artists. Toiling away without base thoughts of Rewards or recognition. A true genius Doesn’t taint itself with mundane needs. And now, my friend, shall we discuss My fees?
We the Dispossessed
We, the dispossessed. We ask for so little, And you give us still less. We, the dispossessed. Kick us in our stomachs, Say, “Count yourselves blessed”. We, the dispossessed. Your dams are so simple, But our forests are complex? We, the dispossessed. Your shareholders must be certain, While our children must guess. We, the dispossessed. The horizon marks your conquest, And you leave to us the rest. We, the dispossessed. No longer count on justice, When the machines churn at your behest. We, the dispossessed. Are waiting till our corpses Start filling up your chest. When the blood clogs your revenue streams, When the flood sinks your highest beams, When the mud taints your haughtiest dreams, When our voices emerge from your children’s screams - Then will you acknowledge Us, the dispossessed?
The Soldier
Through the arrow slits of his eyes, As he honours his duty’s ties, The soldier remembers his wife call To his daughter - now grown so tall. From frontiers he must answer for, He watches us demand more war Adrift from his familiar shore, Yet, readies to settle our score.
The Body Poetic of John Doe
He was the John Doe of writers. Those who knew his name, Never found the body. Those who read the body, Never found his name.
Casting the Line
He likes the idea of casting the line; The tranquil rod, the sunrise divine. Catching fish is a waste of time. All he wants is to cast the line.
Cuddles
Have you ever cuddled with a calf? It's really quite nice. The chicks may feel lonely, But you need some extra spice. And if the kitty wants some loving, Just point it to some mice.
Movie Magic
She dreams of watching a movie Being made; not being screened. She wants to see all the faces never seen, The ones that never make it to celluloid. She wants to see the fingers clutching the rafters, The riff-raffters, the magician’s assistants. She wants to see the drama, comedy, emotion, Tragedy, romance, suspense, and action, That never makes it to the screen. The real magic of the movies Are not the stars; not the premiers. They are the rabbits living in the hat.
Royal Ease
[Royal Ease or lalitasana is a pose seen in classical Indian art.]
The cars are gone now; Only watch out for speeding people. The sun has given up, The moon now takes you in her cradle; It's time now for royal ease. Under the bridge One foot dangles in the gutter, While the other is pulled in to massage. There's no more begging to do, And no more home to return to. The balance sheet is rounded off each day, Under the flyover. The husband-wife are sovereign here, Sitting in royal ease. They cannot be evicted When all they claim is the spot they are sitting in, That moves with them under their feet. Wherever they stand, Wherever they sit, They do it with royal ease.
Durga, she who is difficult to go against
Those ten arms are not all for fighting, Some protect you while you attack. Those angry eyes are not containers of rage, Only they see what truly bothers you inside. Her lion doesn’t just rip your flesh to shreds, He also licks your wounds and heals your psyche. Durga, she is difficult to go against, Because she is the only true love you have.
Bee gone, too soon
To the bee that gave its life for The opening scene of a legendary film. Your contribution to the motion picture arts Will not be forgotten, Though your name won’t be included ‘In Memorium’.
Them
Some days she wanted to be him, Some days he wanted to be her. All the self-help advice in the world Couldn't make that happen. So they just learned to be content as themselves. And lived together happily ever after, He with her and she with him.
Live Long and Prosper, Spot
See Spot. Spot is a good dog. Spot loves his human family. Spot loves fetch, long walks, And belly rubs. Spots family gives him The best food and tonics, Specially formulated to give a shiny coat And a long life. Spot loves his birthdays. Here's a yummy cake for his 5th, A beautiful new chew toy for his 15th, A long car ride and picnic for his 25th. [Calendar years, mind ye, Not doggie. These tonics really boost his longevity.] Spot has already outlived his parents by 10 years. Of course he doesn't remember his parents. Well, it's his 35th already, What does Spot want ? Another chew toy? Another bed? Death? Or maybe a new collar. Now it's his 45th. Spot doesn’t respond to his name anymore. Not that he is too old to hear; The surgery fixed that. He just doesn't care. On his 55th, he actually runs away for a few days, Till his family finds him and brings him back. They can't live without Spot. On his 65th, Spot is wild with rage. He hates his family, He hates their love, He can't stand their faces. He spits out his tonic. On his 75th, well, that's when he decides He cannot take anymore life. He mauls the family. He howls how much he hates them and himself. He hears the police sirens. They'll kill you Spot. You have so many years left to live. Medical science will fix your brain right up. But if the cops find you like this they'll shoot you down, Like a dog. Run, Spot, run. Spot… Why won't you run?
Philosopher
She was living the life of great philosophers, But, She had nothing new to say. “You've entrusted me with all your grief, But taken my words away.”
Haiku for Camus
Reality and Your expectations are one Absurd gap apart.
Haiku for Nietzsche
Meaning may grant warm Dignity but Nietzsche gives Cold satisfaction.
Haiku for a Dog
Pick up snacks from store, I take long to make a choice. Passenger dog honks.
A House for Mr Sukhram
When Sukhram wanted to build a house, One friend from the south brought bricks, One friend from the northeast brought clay, One from the west brought paint, One from the north brought wood, One from foreign shores brought nails, And one brought a hammer. "Thank goodness", thought he, "They know it takes a diversity Of material to build a house and Not just an army of hammers."
Warrior
She surveyed it all with her eyes. With her eyes she saw her sun rise. Everything she had predicted, All the actions she had directed, Each mistake she had corrected, In the end they finally connected. She surveyed it all with her eyes. With her eyes she saw her sun rise. While her back may’ve been against the wall, Every step may’ve tempted her downfall, In the end she held fate in her thrall, And her achievements forever stood tall. She surveyed it all with her eyes. With her eyes she saw her sun rise.
Diagnosis
From the looks of this X-ray There are no signs of the - 77 times your teachers ridiculed you, 543 times your friends mocked you, 13 times the staff molested you, 193 times your parents disbelieved you, 1838 times you imagined your own death. Based on this I can confidently say You're doing fine, There’s nothing to worry about.
Dharma in Disguise
If the hundred Kaurav brothers Disguised themselves as twenty sets Of Pandavs, is that all it would take To deceive all of us? If the twenty sets demand our loyalty As their birth right, would we unquestioning Just accept that as dharma and Question nothing? If the twenty then drill into our collective Consciousness and plant misinterpretations Of wrong and right, justice and might, Would we just go along? Is that all we've learnt from so many Verses, so many characters, so many retellings? To believe what anyone tells you as long As they wear a disguise?
RAM/ROM
Her RAM was full of the great Things she achieved, then forgot. Her ROM was full of humiliation, Which she felt was her true lot.
Haiku for Wings
Bird trapped in a net Soon enough stops fluttering Becomes forever still. Paper kite trapped in Crevice rattles and lashes forever. Which is animate?
Third Eye of the Jester
First, she wasn't allowed to have an ego so She became a jester. Then, she wasn't allowed to have respect so She became a philosopher. Thereafter, she wasn't allowed to have peace so She became a hermit. Finally, when she wasn't allowed to be one with nature Her third eye had to set the world on fire.
Spiritual Awakening
For the first time she dusted off The holy book. Beautifully decorated with The arts of sages And ages. There were names of supernatural Spirits that used to roam the earth, But not anymore. She knew she'd be mocked For believing in things the eyes Can't see. But things had gotten to the point That she started to feel unavoidably Religious. Her mind and heart could conceive What her senses could no longer Detect. Her fingers traced the embossed words "We the people of India", And smiled. The words Had strength Yet.
The Wanton Rapper
Well, he was a wanton rapper And he got under my skin. Though I tried dumpling him He always had a new spin. I could not resist his prowess, Though I knew it was all bluffing. While the fans saw him as an icon, I knew most of it was just stuffing. I often tried to cut and split But he had me packed too tight. There was tension pushing both ways And steamy reconciliations at night. One day I spotted a young spring roll, Flaky, but a juicy appetiser, And I knew this was my chance to be rid Of this unbearable womaniser. From the very next day I made sure I looked like a dry, diseased wisp. And stood close to the tan springer Who reliably looked so crisp. This way I guided his eyes towards her, And even spilt some sweet chili sauce, So when some of it fell on her His heart literally paused. It wasn't long before I found My days and nights freer. I knew the two were getting stuffed Maybe joined by some blonde beer. Now, I know this may not be the mature way - I committed many-a no-no. But, in my defence I have to say Have you tried reasoning with a momo?
You’ve Been Here All Along
A coin buried for eons, By the feet of weary migrants From north and west, Caught the sun, And the searcher’s eye. Mud was brushed off, A bath of sterile water, So gently like a baby It was placed On a bed of cotton. It could be discerned now - A human figure in robes, A halo divine, A gesture to remove fear, With letters anachronistic. Beta-Omicron-Delta-Delta-Omicron. And he could read it, Though he possessed not that language! Silently he addressed the word, “You’ve been here all along.”
We Once Had A Pushpak Vimaan
He tightens the final screw, On his miraculous flying machine (But everyone just talks about the Miracle that was the Pushpak Vimaan). He take it out for a maiden flight, Ascends like an angel (But everyone only wants to know the Antiquity of the Pushpak Vimaan). Something goes wrong, The machine hurtles downwards (But all anyone cares about is Reviving the legend of the Pushpak Vimaan). He leaps out with a parachute, Screams for help below (But everyone's just looking at the skies for Evidence of the Pushpak Vimaan). The end is gruesome and the body never recovered, If only the first flying man had never touched the ground (But all everyone discusses next morning is the World must know we once had a Pushpak Vimaan).
I Thought I Needed New Curtains
I thought I needed curtains, But I needed a new house. I thought I needed ventilation, But I needed to break down the walls. I thought I needed polished furniture, But I needed to polish my empathy. I thought I needed a safe room, But I needed to build a safe world. I thought I needed fragrant incense, But I needed to get incensed. I thought I needed curtains, But, really, I needed a new house.
A Plan, A Route, A Map
We had a plan, a route, a map, A destination. Now that we're here It's nothing. The boulder has rolled downhill - Should we go after it? Let's wait a while. A while is all it takes, To burn through life anyway.
Everyday
The biggest mistake we make, Everyday, Is assuming human behaviour is Predictable. Then we repeat this mistake Till we breathe, Because, otherwise, what is Every other day?
The Easiest Poem You’ll Never Understand
The easiest thing you’ll never understand Is you don’t matter and neither do I. We don’t matter to the earth or sky. Never mind the lived you saved, Never mind the billions you made, Never mind the victories, the art, the babies, Nothing you create will last as long as the Molecules in one eyelash you shed while reading this. This is the easiest poem you’ll never understand. But, for that count yourself blessed Your mind can rest Pride fill your breast In a moment’s conquest You can feel success. If you understood you would know You don’t matter, you are Just matter.