Tag Archives: Poem

Between Us

15 Jul

Between us, a phone call,
A little time, a little distance.
Between us, two summers,
A monsoon, a winter.
Between us, an ocean,
An expanse uncrossed.
Between us, my painful love.
Between us,
Your constant indifference.

The Visit to a Dear One

12 Jan

To sigh, was the only thing to do
When we met.
Seeing you on that morning,
My mind raced forward,
And hugged you warm.
But my body,
Cold from the weather outside,
Stayed still on the couch,
Offering only a weak handshake
To greet you.
At night, while talking,
My mind was busy.
Running invisible fingers through your hair,
Kissing your cheeks,
Mouthing mute endearments,
While my body stayed,
Stiff and numb.
My hands clasping a book,
Lips shut tight,
With only my eyes
Engaged watching your sweet face,
Your shapely nose, and,
Your innocent eyes.
May be it is that I am a good boy.
A virtuous boy.
And it may be that,
The heat of virtue dries up the springs of love.
For, when we parted,
I felt no sorrow,
No remorse over the separation.
I didn’t even want to shake hands with you.
All I wanted then
Was to get away,
Get away from you,
Get away from this strange dangerous love,
To my city, far far away
And to dive deep
Into the cozy anonymity,
Of the madding crowds therein.

———————————————————————————————————————————-

Rallying with Thursday Poets’ Rally Week 60

Violet

21 Mar

Violet, reminds me of you, Krishna!

You once were my dearest mud idol,

In the sacred room, your face violet.

I used to love you then.

Your indignant pose,

With hands on your hips,

Your brow arched as if in contempt,

And that smile confirming it.

You did indeed charm me.

I spent my hours near you,

Polishing your ornaments,

Decorating you in ways countless.

I embalmed your beautiful violet face,

With sandal paste, cold and scented.

Trying to make your face new,

Drawing eyes, brows and lips

On that set white sandal crust.

Alas! Lifeless were the eyes I drew,

And smileless were those lips.

Washing away the sandal,

That ugly countenance,

In a gush of water,

I looked again at your face

To see that hue, violet,

To see your smile, playful.

Only a bare brown mud mould

Stared back at me, expressionless

A new Krishna stands smiling now,

In the sacred room,

Its face, a dull, pale blue.

In an ignored corner,

Covered in dust and cobwebs,

Stands another one,

His pose still indignant,

With hands on his hips,

But with a brown blank look on the face.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

Posted for Magpie Tales(Week 57) hosted by Willow Manor!
Continue reading

Funeral

18 Mar

His lifeless body lay there, on the clean floor.

People floated in and out,

Not even one staying.

Only that peculiar stillness of death lingered.

I stood there, in the room, leaning on a wall,

Staring at his fragile frame, and pale face.

My dear old man should not feel lonely,

Even in these last hours.

I knew it was of no use,

For, a corpse knows feelings, not.

When they placed his body on the stretcher,

And carried it onto the pyre,

I wailed aloud, sorrow choking me,

And went after them to the graveyard.

I saw them setting fire to his body,

Heard their casual talks,

Of the fresh wood not burning well,

And the apprehensions of a possible rain.

Even after everyone had left, I stayed,

To keep him company,

For, my dear old man should never feel lonely.

I looked through the burning logs,

To get a last glimpse of his form,

Now deep within the hungry mouth of fire.

Black clouds of smoke blinded me,

Flaring red flames scorched me.

As the pyre burned out, I turned back,

Looked around, and found no one.

I knew that nothing remained of him.

And what became of me ?

A withered, lonely boy of twenty.