Insomnia

Just as twilight covers a sleeping bridge,
with its overwhelming lustre, bit-by-bit;
insomnia hits me hard,
grows on me, inch-by-inch.
and I pass hours, days, months & years,
each single night.

It creeps from under my two heavy pillows,
and from beneath the aches of my tired torso,
and from throbbing, drumbeating temples,
to ask one crushing question-
“Who will leave now? Who will leave?”

Covered in a fervent loop,
sleep acts like a blurred labyrinth,
difficult to look at.
so I fill the silence with some random thoughts-
like,
his love for cauliflower,
her rendezvous with coffee,
and few other sundries,
which are as unimportant as this night!

So I picture-
there’s that misty smell,
some freshly cut grass,
some music- Scubert’s piano perhaps.
I sense all this and pat myself to sleep,
just when,
the Question with ten legs again stings my breast-
“Who will leave now?" He asks, "Who will leave?”

Perhaps this very thought,
seizes my forty winks,
every three-sixty-five days.

When She Danced to the Raaga

She stood stiff, with her neck buried into her piano, just the way a cow grazes the grass. She believed this way, she can bring her mind closer to the task and concentrate fully. Her fingers moved like undersized waves that ebb and flow recklessly into a sea. The black and white keys, the notes and half-notes blow some syncopated music that she could dance to. She so wanted to! But she concentrated to get the Malkaush Raag right.

Some music begins to flow into the room like maple leaves fall in Ontario- soft, and bronze red.

“Guru ji says this music releases some sort of nourishing energy”- she chuckled without looking up at him.

“Nourishing energy? Umm… like some soul stirring?”- he enquired.

“Soul-stirring. Yes. This raag is believed to have been created by Goddess Parvati to sooth Shiva when He was outraged and would not calm down...after Tandav...and…”

She resumed her attention on the Arohana notes. She just slipped her hand from Komal Ga to Shuddh Pa. "Pa is completely omitted from Maulkaush raag", she recalled. She cursed herself for playing it wrong, and started from scratch.

“And what do they believe Shiva do when Parvati plays this raag?”- he asked as he inched closer. His hands spread horizontally, as if we would envelope her. And her piano.

She didn’t answer.

“He dances still. But peacefully.”- she replied a moment later, as she felt his shadow over the black keys on piano. At the moment, all she wanted was to step him back, absorb the melody of the raag, and the silence of her heart.

He put her right hand over hers and swayed them both to the right, like a swaying pendulum makes its journey back home. Then he put his left hand as gently onto her eyes, as roughly he had put his right hand over her hand. She was now camouflaged. She continued playing some incorrect chords with her left hand for few seconds. He pressed her tightly to his chest.

And then, for the first time during this episode, she instantly turned her back to her piano, and looked at him, with eyes still protected with his hand. He leapt over her, and placed all four hands on the piano, letting out some haphazard music. Then they made the piano moan in melody for quite some time.

Where?

Where is Peace?
Tell me.
Show me.
Inside?
Oh yes you are right, inside a pigeon’s cave.

Where is Smile?
Let me see it.
Let me embrace it.
Repressed’?
By the silent tears of my eyes.

Where is happiness?
We have to look for it?
Hmm…true.
All my life is an experiment.

Where is Hope?
Let me keep it.
Let me experience its friendship..
It’s always ready to be friends?
Yep, quite true.
But easy got, easy spent.

Where is the happy sound?
I want to hear it.
Let me experience it.
It’s even here?
Tinkles like a Christmas bell?
Well, a cracked bell never makes sweet sound.

Where is self-reliance?
Lack of Peace, Smile, Happiness & Hope,
Breeds the lack of it!

My Mother

In her times, she was a spangling beauty.
Her bridal snap would put to shame the beauty of Princess Diana.
Her heavy locks of hair & her brows, black just as a moon less night.
Once youth sat on her face, as morning dew sits on a grass leaf,
Which is now a dying star, flickering and blackening.
Her perkiness is lost in her struggles and duties,
In her years dedicated to her home, her partner & her kids.

The effortless activities from the grocer to the kitchen,
From garments shop to the book store, all in one day,
Never wearied her out.
Now sometimes, even her breathing is labored.
Her same hands are now crinkled & her face old,
O! Alas! It’s old and tired,
The reflexes on her forehead are now permanent flakes,
And not the result of a frown or a sulk.
The grey of her hair now shines in the sun,
And I hurriedly cover them up, with a jet black dye.
Because they scream to me, and sometimes even smirk,
“She is getting old, oh so old”
“She is tired, oh so tired”
“She is turning a child, oh a small little child”
“She is nearing her genesis, oh the genesis of her soul”

Beyond the Ruin

When all the pages read lie;
And a faded handwriting, "I will always be there with you!" blurs its origin,
I flip some books and wander few desks,
Where stories of life are never aimlessly authored.

When all the musical rhythms,
Sound cacophonic & transform into silence,
I pick myself up and meander into the wilderness,
Where music enters into me, and then never leaves.

I lift myself up,
From the deep of the sea where I'm forced to drown,
My heart’s devotion,
And become a refugee to rummage that piece of land,
Which isn’t a dwelling of people just one or two,
But ageless towns & villages,
That for devotion, devotion give.
That for love, love bestow,
And fulfil promises they vow.

When you are Gone

Sometimes, when you are gone, your smell and smile reside with me, and turn into a bubble that doesn’t burst for days.

Sometimes, when you are gone, Spring suddenly turns into Autumn and every green memory falls red.

Sometimes, when you are gone, all the happy days get lost & meaningless, just like a horse runs in the meadows.

Sometimes, when you are gone, the green of the earth, and the blue of the sky, become hazy.

Sometimes, when you are gone, your touch lingers in me, my hands take your form and doodle your name reflexively.

Sometimes, when you are gone, the fetish of my passion that was, haunts me in my dreams.

Sometimes, when you are gone, the courage veils too, the courage that I need, the one that I should become, and the one that should catch me.

Fragrance of Her Being

Under the hazy sky that smelled blue,

Her wet lips smelled my breath so new,

I came closer and smelled her love,

And both our breath shed just one fragrance.

My eyes and her shadows,

Then lingered into an invisible red,

The red was so fresh, and smelled…just red.

But now all that fragrance is lost,

For she is not in love any more

And for my nose, oh, it has fallen on the floor!