New Poem


This poem was first published in Peacock Journal, an excellent journal edited by W.F.Lantry (award winning poet and writer) and his team.

Illusions

I read, I read and I read
until there is nothing more to read
except the newspapers
then I take to the windows
begin to fill my empty hours
gazing into time
that seldom seems to move
on either side of the frame
on the wall my calendar changes
seasons change… people change
but the stillness remains
the silence within me remains
untouched… unchanging

at night the walls become a
presence
and then become walls again
as they merge into each other
to leave only an expanse of black
and then the light
that always hides at the edges
rises swiftly and crumbles my illusion

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New Poem – Home


This poem was first published in Peacock Journal   edited by W.F. Lantry and his team. Do browse the journal for some excellent work.

Home

the shadow of the Oak trees
lies heavy on the grass below
no life stirs in the green expanse
that stretches until it meets the sky
with its cargo of clouds

along the distant ridge of hills
dust rises from a winding road
that looks lazily down upon
the slowly moving river
that crosses the land

along that road is our house
the house we loved and shared
until the day we drifted apart
now that lonely house waits
hoping again to become a home

Travel Poem – Memory 2


This poem was first published in Cafe Dissensus blog as part of two travel memories.

 

the stone steps lead to a clearing

on the slope of the mountain
but today I’m taking a trail into the unknown,
I listen to the shifting silences of the trees,
the leaves spiral down and dance
to an imaginary music along the pathway,
they cling to my worn sneakers,
my gaze follows two pairs of wings
chasing each other in the clear blue sky
as I shift the weight of the backpack
onto the other shoulder, I pause
between Cedars and Oaks
taking in the shifting rhythms of the landscape,
the path gently passes through the forest, then dips,
the sound of falling water only makes the silence apparent,
here,  there is no such thing as time,
I inhale the hot fragrance of the day
and share my breath with you,
in your mind I may be only a memory,
in my mind, you are a pause between my thoughts

 

Travel Poem – Memory – 1


This poem is from a set of two travel memory poems first published in Cafe Dissensus Everyday.

 

 

 A window opens through time
scented by Deodars and Pines,
as I lie on the wooden balcony of our cottage
my eyes linger on the shadow stencils
of the Dhauladhars rising beyond the valley,
the leaves murmur as the breeze tugs at them,
the sun, forgetting to set,
filters through the swaying branches
and meanders along forgotten paths,
a twist of smoke rises to meet the sky,
I breathe deeply, eyes closed,
inhale the aromas that we once shared,
the crackling warmth of wood stove,
the tang of our salt-laced bodies
with their steam rising into the stillness
like the echo of dreams haunting this house,
outside my window time advances slowly

Poem – Scent Of A Season


This poem was first published in Asian Signature Magazine.

 

Sitting on the verandah at dusk

I count the curling crisp brown leaves on a tree

and feel the autumn trailing in my bones,

a lemon scented breeze stirs my memories…

clusters of saptparni blooms crumbling in my hands,

their scent rising from the white carpeted pavements ,

intoxicating the night above them,

a smell of winter – nostalgia – childhood, love,

adolescence, youth, late night cigarette sessions

around makeshift fires on the terrace,

old monk, spliffs, long drives,

and your breath against mine.

There is more to it that lingers on in Lutyen’s Delhi

memories of a time I can’t forget.

New Poem – Wraith


Every year when the veil thins

and the two worlds merge as one,

she tiptoes across the bare fields

under the cold gray skies

wearing a cloak of autumn leaves,

stops at an abandoned cemetery

at the riverside,

rushes past the creaky gate,

and the moonlit graves,

 kneels beside a nameless stone

 sweeps it clean with her gentle hands

and  lays a clumsy bouquet of

wayside beauties gathered on the way,

She then lights a votive candle and spreads

a feast for two; mulled wine, fruits, nuts, berries,

and a loaf of rye bread.

 

Shadowless like silence

she sits under the wiccan moon

clasping the little life that came too swiftly

and went too soon.

 

All through the Samhain night

you can hear her lament with a sorrowful heart

“Why O why they buried us

so far apart”

My Poem Is Part Of The Event ‘Foglie Di Poesia’ – VerdArti Festival, Porcia, Italy


Foglie di poesia or ‘Leaves of Poetry‘ is one of the many programs to be held during the VerdArti Festival at Villa Dolfin, Porcia, Italy from August 29- August 31. The theme of VerdArti is Nature, Art and Poetry.

 

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During this period short poems will be installed all around the beautiful park of the ancient Villa Correr Dolfin as an exhibition. The best poems will be read out on Sunday morning as part of the event FOGLIE DI POESIA. I am very happy and proud to be part of this grand event. To be featured among such talented artists and poets is an honor indeed.

This poem of mine will be installed in the park among many others for display reading . The translation in Italian is by Alessandro Canzian (Samuele Editore Due)

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BIRTH OF A POEM

While a poem sparks through a seed of wonder
and reaches up to the sky another swiftly travels
deep and beyond in complex tangles
under the surface of the soil
proliferating out below and in all directions
under debris and filth of cities,
along the grassy river beds
further down
into the ocean bed
slithering beneath countries, continents
into the deep forests
under the desolate deserts
through the heart of frozen mountains
birthing new poems
joined together by the same consciousness
same essence of
Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, and Void.

NASCITA DI UNA POESIA

Mentre una poesia germoglia da un seme di stupore
e arriva fino al cielo un’altra velocemente ramifica
nel fondo e nell’oltre dei grovigli complessi
sotto la superficie del suolo
proliferando sotto e in tutte le direzioni
sotto i detriti e la sporcizia delle città,
lungo i letti dei fiumi erbosi
e sempre più in basso
nel fondo dell’oceano
strisciando al di sotto dei paesi, dei continenti
nelle foreste profonde
sotto i deserti desolati
attraverso il cuore delle montagne congelate
gemmando nuove altre poesie
accomunate dalla medesima coscienza
dalla stessa essenza della
Terra, dell’Acqua, del Fuoco, del Vento e del Vuoto.

(Translation by Alessandro Canzian)

For detailed information please visit  this website

You can read about the program in English HERE and in the links above.

The parks of this beautiful villa will hold the three-day festival. Be there if you are around this area.

Villa Dolfin ( Video rights reserved – Giovanni Del Ben )

The Ghosts Of War – A Poem


Some days back  James had posted a wonderful “little piece” Ghost 1 on Facebook thanks to Edouard Beau, whose
photographs of Iraq gave  the words to two poems from two different perspectives. Here is my take on the Photograph.

I see him standing there,
a body trapped in soul,
watching the remnant of
what was our home.
They had found him slumped
near the ruins of a bombed
mosque, his spectacles propped
awkwardly to the bridge of his
broken nose, his forearms
shattered, his white robe mud
caked and ragged. They had
dumped him into a two-wheeled
cart and dragged to where he
now stands in the picture that
came today from a stranger
with a scribble at the back,
“your father.”
A reminder of the day the city
smoldered under clouds of dust
and smoke, deafened by the sirens
and the wails of women and children.
The day I and my mother, forced
by my father, braved the blood-stained
road to another land, never to return.

You and Me – The Unsigned Poem


CONCESSION

I painted myself

in a corner of your room

I painted myself in invisible ink

so you don’t know I am there

watching you secretly

sometimes you stop

whatever you are doing

and look in my direction

and I really have to keep my heart still

lest you recognize the familiar beat

That afternoon

when the sun was concentrated

in a shaft of light

that fell on the corner

where I stood

you, fresh from the shower,

had come and stood in the pool of light

that had gathered at my feet

looked at me with a strange light

in your eyes

and slowly traced your finger

over my invisible form

lingering over my lips

then

at the base of my throat

and further down

my heart beating wildly

under the tip of your finger

for a moment I had thought

the heat from your naked body

would end my little secret

and bring me to life

but

you turned got dressed

and went without a glance

since then I am trapped

in my own image

invisible to you

invisible to me

painted

in one corner of your life

starved for attention.

(First published on Memoirs Of A Homemaker)

Sometimes The Scars bleed


Sometimes 
falling all the way in
is the only way out.
Sometimes 
time is all 
that’s left between two people.
Frozen.
Everything else melts.
Sometimes 
only the reflection are clear
rest is all distorted.
Sometimes 
what is straight 
is twisted 
the temple of love
just a deception.
Sometimes 
the message lies
in the shadows and the dust .
Sometimes 
the light doesn’t 
guide you home.
Sometimes 
the best stories 
are written in the margins.
Sometimes 
the drama isn’t 
in the script.

Some wounds
run too deep for healing
sometimes
the scars bleed.