Resurrection

There Love lay, curled up, waiting,

       - as it was begun, a story co-written -

For a gentle tender touch, for another awakening

Each breath, each pause, each fingertip was smitten

when Love woke up and Passion inflamed

Resurrected, a promise it sought to fulfil

The vow of a sweet kiss that yearning longing claimed

The wonder of a smile suffused a soul now calm and still.

The Dutch tilt rights itself, in the iris Love unfurls

       - the moment is poignant, an astonished wonder -

in a slow dance of exquisite grace, of taps and twirls

while Passion awakes as gentle as distant thunder

In a band of brilliant light beat two passionate hearts

And with Forever in clear view, this is where the story starts.

Burial

Someday I will be able to feign

love for our songs again

but not yet, certainly not now

the pain intense from knowing how

these songs we love but can never share

bring dreams that dreaming we can never dare --

Thus buried in work, weaning,

spaces infused with scant meaning

for places and time so devoid

of you, of work, I do avoid

their unmitigated loneliness too harsh to bear

the interminable pain somehow to spare --

What you wish, you cannot, what you cannot, you wish…

So let love stay buried in a steely heart's niche.

Bereft

In the softness of the night

you arrive again and again --

Thought-ghost, magician's trick,

though I banish you with sweet pain.

And oft times we allow a whisper

zephyr-like to brush the heart

we kiss deep enough to drown

and yet again are torn apart

torn asunder as dreams from reality

drawn inexorably as tide to sand

flood, draw back, leave love-kelp to weep,

dissolve words on pages of eternity.

Betrayed yet again by absence I understand

Bereft of strong arms, I yearn for sleep.

Terminal

Ten steps back, five forth 

walkalate to Departure 

excruciating

If It Is a Sin

If it is indeed a sin to love you

let me call that toll-free number

and book me a place in Hades

as through this interminable life I lumber --

Let me find a Teacher then

to learn right from wrong;

I did think I had got it right

till you chanced along.

There are no roses, they say,

on the beds of Hades, just thorns.

But the softness of your eyes and soul

notions of right and wrong transforms.

So a story looking for two writers and wandering lost

Cries out to be written, whatever the cost.

Forgive Me

Forgive me for what I am not

For it makes no sense to be

That which I cannot visualize

Or that which I cannot see.

Forgive yourself for what you cannot

Do, be, say, imagine or see

There are stories waiting to be written

That need not be about you and me.

For in the dark and jaded days in the sun

There are no spaces of warm soft light

There are no places we can watch a sunset

In the concrete jungle of the night.

In a world turned stunned, dreadful, this is a plea

Forgive me for what I do today, only to set you free.

The Haiku Challenge

(For Shirin)

A series of haikus written as part of a challenge or chain at the behest of Shirin Hasrat...

Haiku Day #1 - Lost

Raindrop wanders lost

searching for its cloud and home

lonely homeless wretch

Haiku Day # 2 - Memory of a Psychopath

Time warped bubble bursts when

kinks chinks in armour widen

vampire sucks my soul

Haiku Day # 3 - Staple Diet

Haiku at breakfast

a sonnet follows at lunch

an ode warms the night

Haiku Day #4 - The Power of Art

O, uncertain Muse

paint stars on earth, flowers on skies

write your gloom away

Haiku Day #5 - Love Dries Up

When love dries up cold

Shriveled it sleeps in a nook

Of the heart, waiting

A Dream More True

Yesterday I stood on a familiar street

echoing with car horns and scenes from a past,

a childhood innocence of long walks.

When traffic sounds dimly aware

I watched a scene in sharp focus:

two children walking towards me

deep in some doubtless philosophical words,

walking past me, engrossed, in their bubble,

and disappeared into the home of one of them

just down this same busy, silent street.

But the other day, I dreamt of you --

A lucid dream when I knew I was dreaming

shoved reality away and refused to wake up:

For you touched me gently on my ear

let your hand linger softly on my cheek

held my gaze in yours

and wrote an ode to me with your eyes

in a moment that stretched to eternity.

And though you betray my days

with perplexing silence and confusing absence,

in my dreams,

In my dreams, you are so true to me.

So I choke on those words

the right ones said at the right time

for will they really make you mine?

And the harsh sun of the day

creates havoc with the softness of my dreams

making each awakening an anticlimax

in which all things fall apart.

Thus hopelessly trapped in the sun

I long for shadows to chase the day away

to free me from shackled reality

and just for a few moments each night

I can hold you gently in my arms

soothe the worry from your shoulders

steal a kiss from your lips

and lose myself in dreams of you…

in which

A whisper can make you tremble

A look can speed up your heart

A touch can make you melt

A caress can ignite endless passion

A place that we can imagine, even see,

But perhaps one where we can never be.

Sometimes

Sometimes a song plays in my car and I turn

smile sadly at the empty seat, and learn

the million ways in which I miss

that unconquerable joy, or even just one kiss.

And sometimes on a walk when I hear

a thousand frogs in chorus as they cheer

the space beside me is hollower than before

a space vacant of arms I would adore.

But sometimes a breadcrumb drops my way

for minuscule time chases loneliness away

leaving a smile, a glow in its wake

but from this dream too I soon awake.

Yet I do not wallow, wail or weep

and my date with words, every day I keep. 

Is Art a Lie?

(after Pablo Picasso)

It brews, unfurls,

the aroma puissant

words seek a space

brushes a canvas -

soft-grained kernels

of truthful truths

Herald the birth,

that belies the art, the untruth.

Art, the lie, enfolds

You in the truth --

For,

Can the artist

Ever

Lie?

Silence

The radio silence transmits

a signal more powerful than a scream

transits from together to dark hollow spaces

like waking from a dreadful frightening dream.

Creep about all day, stoned at night

inner spaces define Empty and Void

Humid, Quiet, Dull, Heavy thud past

Cold Comfort, Wet Blanket. Devoid

of hearty hearths, of feelings told.

Grounded flights, caged bird singing

of better, uncertain warmer places

a lone, empty, solitary swing swinging.

A sometime text, a little tenderness,

live in memories of the spring.

Drenching, Disgust, Death

Chase rainbows on oil-slicked roads

gutters gurgling muddiness filled

water-logged potholes trap the wheels

splash from passing cars at speed

distant thunder, gritty rain

lightning streaks dull grey sky

black umbrellas streaming faces

snarls of traffic with Doppler whines

honking siren's ambulance wails

stuck behind trains of cars.

Someone lives, someone dies

in the minutes it takes for lights to change.

The callous city keeps wading by

No grief, no shame, not even a sigh.

Microworld

(a tanka)

Dewdrop for breakfast

Dipped in the freshest blue breeze

Ladybugs crawl slow

Sip dip taste from cups of grass

Another day dawns

The Seven Degrees of Separation

There are seven degrees of separation between marriage and divorce.

Togetherness: Stage One is when two people are very "together" - from going to the movies and listening to music, to even grocery shopping (dear God!) you want to do it together. There are long walks, drives, chats, you share every part of your life and being with each other. You feel connected in impossible ways to each other, can almost hear the other think, and don't need to speak to communicate. Life together is full of adventure and excitement and you can't wait to wake up in the morning or go to bed at night because both of you bring that kind of joy into each other's existence. In short, you don't need anyone else in the world to feel alive. Whatever differences you have, you either gloss over or, if you are a highly evolved couple, you try to sort out to find a middle ground on which to meet. Two people have to remain on the same page to remain in Stage One till death do them part. But both of them have to work at it every single day. To create the little surprises that bring a smile into the other's eyes. To reach for each other constantly and to be there for the other through thick and thin. To be completely honest with each other without forgetting that honesty needs to be tempered with kindness. This is the stuff that fairy tales are made of. This is living happily ever after. While everyone aspires for this, very, very few people can actually honestly live it.

Routine: Stage Two is when routine takes over. You settle into domesticity, take the other for granted. There are days of shared joy, many things that you still run to the other with. Often this happens when children have been born. There is still a common space, meals are shared, you may ask how the other's day went and really listen till the children interrupt. For many couples, Stage Two works just as well as Stage One and they can live out the rest of their lives without moving to the next stage. These people can grow old together and even mourn the other's death, but in essence, their spirits are no longer bonded in the deepest possible sense. More evolved people see their lives slipping into Stage Two and take measures to go back to Stage One. It keeps both alive and together.

Boredom: Stage Three is when routine transforms into boredom. The other is no longer the stimulus of great joy, perhaps on really rare occasions do you feel anything resembling tenderness. This is when friends start becoming important to you. You reach out to friends for those adventures, those long walks and drives, and more and more the "other" is someone you go home to for safety and security, but beyond that there are not many shared moments or spaces. Differences of opinion are settled by agreeing to disagree. You continue to cohabit sometimes for the children, sometimes because you need the stability and security. This one is really the danger zone because it slips so easily to the next stage if neither recognizes it or does anything to move it back to the first or second stages.

Excitement Elsewhere: Stage Four is when, bored out of your mind, you seek excitement elsewhere. This may be with or without the consent of the other. You may seek it with other people. You may reach out for intimacy with other partners and end up with quick-fix sex. You may seek excitement and fulfilment at work. You may even undertake journeys into unknown lands, new sports, or develop new skills. This is the stage in which you may relate far deeper to people, places or activities in the absence of the other. Possibly the only time you meet the "other" is when you need to make large decisions about your joint existence, or perhaps about your children. The human mind, in a state of boredom, does not survive, and therefore it seeks excitement wherever it can find it. Differences of opinion are often highlighted here because the deep feelings of discontent with your shared existence overshadow the wisdom that earlier led you to seek to resolve or respect them. Evolved people tend to seek counselling at this point and some do come through on top of their situation.

Independence: Stage Five is when you lead a completely independent existence from each other. In some sensible scenarios, the partners move into separate bedrooms, and even have separate work spaces in the house. This probably led to the invention of the ubiquitous "Den"! Work takes on primary importance with a growing need to feel independent of the other in every possible way. You often work late, come home late, and perhaps don't come home at all. Everything that made you incompatible in the first place comes to the forefront so you avoid the other as far as is physically possible. This is a stage of no return really. If you have got here, you will probably not be able to go back to togetherness of any worthwhile sort.

Hatred: Stage Six is when hatred for the other sets in. You are so completely bored out of your mind with the same nonsense that rules the house that everything about the other begins to irritate you. From the toothbrush left in the wrong place, to the unmade bed in the morning, to even the other's body odor that did not bother you in the past, everything about the other seems completely out of sync. By this time, most of life's larger decisions have been made, so there may not really even be a need to meet over them. If there are any decisions, you either make them without consulting the other, or leave the other to do it. You continue to work late, take up golf on the weekends, and spend as much time as possible in spaces that the other does not want to access. This is the other danger zone because instead of bringing out the best in you, the other leads you to behave in the worst possible ways. This is when, if you are prone to violence, you give in to those urges to hit, to shout, to bring the house down. You hurt each other in unimaginable ways, do and say things you did not know you were capable of. You hit to damage and you don't pull your punches. If you are lucky, the children have grown up and left and don't see this undignified falling out of the two people they need to feel connected to most in the world. But if you are unlucky, your children are the primary witnesses to the complete bestiality of your natures, seeing at first hand what cads and vipers both their parents can be. Not to be judgmental or anything but, if possible, we need to shield the young and innocent from these ring-side seats.... Sensible people move out at this point, before they damage their partners or their children beyond repair and have sacrificed their souls at the altar of Ares.

Separation: Stage Seven is when you wake up one morning and realize that life is too short to go on living like this. You realize that you would rather be lonely on your own time than lonely cohabiting with the other. You discover that for so long you have not been able to share your most precious and intimate thoughts with the "other". You no longer know or even care what the other does in your absence. In fact, you understand that you and the other have grown so far apart that speech is no longer even an option. You take time off from work and go house hunting and in the evening, perhaps late at night, you tell the other that you are moving out. You pack your bags and leave without a backward glance because what you want from life, the other is no longer interested in giving you. The dialogue thereafter is taken up by your respective lawyers because there is a clarity to legalese that nothing else can match. Take the precision of, "The parties seek a divorce forthwith on the grounds of mutual incompatibility and irreconcilable differences..." and compare it to the more emotional, albeit more accurate, "These two have tried, tested and tortured each other for eleven bloody years and it is high time we released them from the bondage of handing out BS to each other on dinner plates..." The former wins hands down. 

Standing in the midst of crowds of people in the Tis Hazari courts one morning in April over two decades ago, I watched people getting married. When our lawyer arrived, a little late, he apologized. "Sorry," he said, "I had a divorce hearing just before this." He grinned. "That's my life. Divorce, marriage, divorce, and marriage yet again. All in a day's work."

A little like God, huh? 

And eleven years later, the words came back to haunt me, as in another lawyer's cubby hole in the same Tis Hazari courts, my freshly ex-ed husband and I sipped soft drinks, in a civilized mockery of the complete lack of civility in the last few degrees of our separation. At least legalese was able to pave the way for civilization to be restored.

But, mostly, it brought to the fore the undeniable fact that nothing is made or unmade in heaven but right here on earth between two people who want to lead a shared existence. With the 20-20 vision of hindsight, I quote Bono, "Life is short, but it is the longest thing you will ever do..." Amen.

Lost Souls

so far, so near,

so dreaded, so dear,

underneath the pale golden sky

two lost souls went wandering by

pinning down the breeze

chasing the will-o'-the-wisp

caterwauling at the moon at night

with loneliness they kept on a fight

searching, seeking, the other half

the one and only, their one true love

down shady alleys and up trendy creeks

their eyes burned bright over reddened cheeks

no let up, no way to let go

the immutable quest of the soul

a treadmill of a measureless dream

they shamed themselves at every stream

two lost souls on paths split wide

plod on and on till the end of time

one trapped in the bonds of insecurity

the other condemned to lonely eternity

ships that pass in the night

darkness envelops them still

under a brilliant, luminous, starry sky

two lost, wayward souls go wandering by

Catch a Dream by the Tail

Last night I had the strangest dream

lost in an airport looking for Departure

But saw these tall and elegant buildings

of beautiful yellow-red-gold structure

in indescribable, gentle hues,

the architecture of an old style

not ugly brick, mortar and glass,

Wished I could stop and stare for a while.

And I went from building to building,

with no signs within sight,

no indication of which one would lead to the terminal

where I could board my flight.

In the midst of distress, predominantly,

as the deep emotional content,

was an even deeper curiosity:

Who made these buildings, so tall and elegant?

Who left a signature on this earth,

Who spent time to become timeless, ageless, immortal…?

Till I finally found it,

found the right portal

and all those friends from school

who were to travel with me.

Still, there was no real relief,

just a vague, vociferous anxiety.

Thereafter, when I had to put

all my luggage on the conveyor belt

for checking in, I put all my bags,

And much nervousness I felt

for I put in the bag with my laptop.

A little later I realized what I had done,

went up to one of the officials

but again relief there was none.

He told me that it had been checked in

and I could only get it back when we landed.

I told him that it had my laptop,

Without which I was surely stranded

for certainly it would be broken to pieces

by the time I got it back

but he was obdurate and refused

Kindness, consideration, both did he lack.

The entire dream was filled

with anxiety, nervousness and distress.

But as all dreams it ended with the dawn

And back to calm I managed to regress.

Who knows what flight I was to catch

What the destination that awaited

What the symbolism of the architecture

What my subconscious mind had created.

Catching a dream by its tail on its way in or out

Shows insights to the subconscious, they say…

But how can one pin down a dream?

How can one explain it away?

Was it a dream caught in a flightless moment?

One about the gentle hands to create buildings so tall?

Or the unnerving callousness of airport officials?

The infinite possibilities enthrall…

Ditch the Myth and Boulder

Did my angel get feet of clay

plodding through an unacknowledged life?

Sometimes filled with tedium,

occasionally filled with strife?

Ditch the myth and boulder, dear Sisyphus,

This labour is not worth your while;

Strap on the wings of Daedalus

escape from lassitude in style.

Lil' angel, that's what you called me;

and this part am I willing to play --

But I am merely a fitful poet caught,

trapped, captured, held at bay

in the branches of this world of words

cornered, ambushed, as those flightless birds.

The Story So Far

In the vast vacant spaces

in the recesses of my mind

like Sisyphus and his boulder --

to myself have I been unkind

judged, blamed, torn asunder

left my heart wrecked in my wake

frenzied, furious, fuming

no breakthroughs did I make

into my own soul oft so bemused,

battered, beaten and bruised;

good angels have I loved and left

their giving grace have I confused.

Through a rusty window, across a quaint bridge, I see an eloquent light;

Feelings I can't believe overpower me, and befuddled, flummoxed, I fight.   

Doon 2015

The sun adds a dramatic touch
to an equally dramatic sky;
Both will be here long after we're gone
But there is story we must write, of you and I. 

At the risk of putting more sinful ideas in your head. . . 
Dear Shirin, do remember that I am no good to you if dead! 
(the sunset was too beautiful not to share. . . 
It is only thus that tentatively I dare. . .)

The deluge claimed the sun
But nothing goes on for long 
The sun comes out in triumph
The clouds have sung their song.

Ephemeral though they are. . . 
These pretty raindrops are wise. . .

To live and laugh and dance. . .
In a moment they fall only to rise.

 

There is always a silver lining. . . But why abuse the cloud?

From the Watchtower

From the tall, unreachable watchtower

For centuries I have watched life roll by,

the ebb and tide of others' fortunes

on which I cast a benign eye…

And from this window so high up

Nearly, dearly, touching a cloud:

Here have I sat and chanted,

Talked to myself, aloud,

While life rolled by unheeded

chances of happiness strolled past;

But finally, eyes wide open, I can

See into the future, at last.

So now I step carefully, down

these steps for to atone:

Mistakes made in the haste of youth

to no longer trudge alone.

I can't put a name to what we may have

Perhaps a beatific, wondrous, gentle-grained light

Unsought, unsublimated, unconstricted emotion

Boundless, bond-free, like a bird in flight.

If you call to me from where you stand

grounded in your life, in cords so strong;

If you call to me to share some of your life

ask me to walk along,

I will meet you down in the shingle

take one of your hands in mine;

my mortality clutched in the other clenched fist

our stars forthwith to align

to make this moment last forevermore

be as vast and inviting as the sky

to let love take flight like an unbroken bird --

there, with the grace of you, will I fly.

Hope

Someday, in some space

where bonds don't tie our wrists

tightly behind our backs

exists a world of possibilities

of reaching out and seeking warmth,

something this existence lacks.

In a state of dreaming an impossible dream

of possible impossibility

even if your steely heart melts or cracks

and love, longing, lust, lay dammed

from mind, heart, body, soul and space

life's meaning lies obscured and logic attacks -

but floating gently on sweet memories

of skin on skin, lips on lips, whispered names,

hope slips in through infinitesimal cracks

that someday, in some way, reaching out

giving, accepting, holding close and lying near --

We will find what our world now lacks.

If We Could Stay

If you should tremble in my arms

(Holding back from you could prove infinitely tough)

just as your heart trembles with each word I write -

If we could stay, would the night be enough?

If we should lie naked in each other's arms again

or we kiss far, far deeper than we did before

with moonlight streaming through a window -

If we could stay, would the shipwrecked reach the shore?

If we should push away dark shadows with lightning

Fill days with thunder or with gentle rain

If we should recreate days and nights long gone

And whisper intimately once again

of dreams and Ferris wheels and other such stuff -

But if we could stay, would the night really be enough?

The Tiffin

A mangled bicycle

A trail of destruction

The offending jeep stands witness

A pair of feet

A blanket-covered body

A picture of utter and complete bleakness.

Mute spectators walk on

Or drive by in slow tribute

Tribute paid as someone reaches the final goal of life

Reached too soon by some

Ending joy, sorrow, perplexity, honour --

A life perhaps lived constantly in the throes of strife.

And at the end of life what remains

Is a tiffin carrier of spilt contents

Spread out on the road leaving an unholy trail

From the place of impact

To the mangled remains of man and machine

Creating a mole-hill mountain and a little dale.

Who made those contents for him?

I wonder about who will mourn this life, this death:

Who will look out the window time and again tonight

and wait and wait and wait

for the precious to return to the warmest fold?

Whose safe world will this passing smite?