Togetherness (119)

Togetherness  119


We are together in the self same house, for years
not rolling in the dunlap bed,nor jumping on those
pillows,colorful,cushioned comfort of seeming Paradise,
neither  living a physical life of mundane happiness,
nor loving a physical  life of mundane happiness.


In total pitch dark and long power failure sudden,
our eyes are closed, praying to the God and chanting the divine
the darkness is light enough surrounding,
the knowledge of Vedic discipline is encircling,
unyielding even to the mean desire of punishing,


punishing those pugnacious,petty and puerile
putting into fixture those gritty and vile,
is not in our blood, our mental plane coagulate,
though the salacious determined to operate,
we will not our principles deny and negate.

What is special about her?

What is special about her?

It is not the salad she meticulous, prepared for the kids
for the lunch, nor her hurriedly packed food
devoid of salt: how often she feels the life is without
pepper and salt, swallow the salad, she tells her ward,
she swallows many an injustice yet to digest,
there is a knock at the door by the gaunt man
fetches the cylinder,
the full weight on his shoulder,
he is overwhelmed by the reward for his
burden and service for he is used to
only pittance, she places herself in his position,
in the Almighty’s creation, the business about this
disparity and dignity is a continuous conundrum,
in her kitchen the milk cooker whistles beyond
the boiling point, pitying the enslaved,
what is the thud in the bedroom?
the wardrobe as if with a warring note pushes
the garments to be rearranged, with the same folds,
the deafening noise of the crackers
getting on her nerves, the mismanaged accounts
beckoning her calculating brain, the food particles,
on the teakwood table strewn, inviting insects
the flawed milk satchel to be replaced,
the reprimanding school reports of her ward,
it is too much for the little brain to assimilate
the listless list, yet her thinking self reassert
“thank God! You have given me a roof,
think of the roofless who mourn their grief in public”.

slow poisoning

slow poisoning

When she came to me with a secret quite casual,
tantalising and provoking my curiosity,she poisined
me heart, my faith and conviction,it was a slow and
steady manouvre,more venemous than that of Hamlet's
mother for the king was done for gain. The news was
itching and and she saw me dying everyday,yet
nourished me with her flavour,her flesh, just a mutual caring,
unseated my heart and secured she was,
her heart more and more willed by tenacity,
stony and stubble :
the secret was to be a secret the wretch amd wreck she was,
for the gnawing secret was a sin falsified,concocted,
she is just happy, doubly happy, remorseless,
the leaves in my tree are gone,she offered to water
the tree,still the roots are gone,
waiting to be strengethened by the
waters of the heaven.

A rumination in the platform

A rumination in the platform


A rumination in the platform
you sit your eyes closed in the busy platform
of the railway station viewing the busy humanity's
throb and bustle,dragging the children on the right,
along with the luggage,sometimes the pressure of
time bound programme is such,I cannot but wonder,
the luggaage and children as if baggage on equal platform,
nearby the weight machine is out of order,perhaps
somuch so, on the wornout stage,
so many sequential views on your mind stored as if
in a pen drive, automatic doors bar the passengers,
I recall the buses packed and half of the bus almost
on the ground touching,in India,amidst touching scenes,
a mendicant woman in rags on the road,near the signal
projecting her child with the uncouth calls,quick nod
from my memory if the gas cylinder is switched off,
if the greenleaves on the fry pan is overboiled to the black,
whether the windows have been closed:
the telephone bill is paid or to be cut,uncertain
queries like the failing monsoon throng me,
my train comes to take me unmindful of my situation.

Blue blue

Blue blue

I am bubbling blue in my buoyant,
walking by the beach,blue by the blue,
simply blued by the blue colour of the sky
touching the ocean,
like the magic wand of the supreme,
measured beat of the creator,
the mighty,uncontrolled waves of the deep
waves roll up and down and up and down,
I stand blooming blue by the blue,
stretching my imagination with a wide
ambience,my neatly tucked
blue bordered saree serenading
with my expectations,dispelling my
belligerent attitude surging on my baser instincts,
I sing along by the blue,blue,blue.

Identity

Identity

Here I stand in my kitchen,the shelf ill arranged,
the rotten tomatoes and coriander inviting the tiny
insects a,mockery on my carelessness,I search for
the knief hidden in the bunch of green chillies slowly
changing the colour into red, half visible,like the woman, totally
in contrast with the deep and as changing as
the chameleon not visible to the plain and open,
the woman has many followers,
the water does not flow for the rust and mud blocks
in the pipeline, by the time the plumber decides to attend
I go berserk,
I prepare ' Whitsun Weddings' for the next class,
the bread crumbs in the pan go black,
a hurried jump from my table is only to remove
and empty the vessel, the sincerity I pay,
I learnt a lesson,the book and the pan
hardly ever go together.