I am..

The me that I am now is a stranger to me. Then I feel maybe not a stranger at all. Sometimes I am the cocoon around me and other times I am the soul inside of the cocoon. There is this cocoon and the world around me. Sometimes I am the crowd in my world and other times I am the lonesome world.

I am the lunatic looking for signs of me on the old trail. I left pieces of me at every mile. .. like the pebbles left as signs to find my way back to me. Sometimes I am those pebbles down the trail and other times I am the trail itself.

That part of me is long dead; then I realize it is very much alive. It lives just under the thin layer of my skin. It is there in my eyes, sometimes there caught in the net of those lines on my palm. Sometimes I am those lines on my palm and other times I am the me caught in that web.

I see myself sometimes, just a glimpse of me somewhere in the crowd. I stop and look for me…it’s a routine hide and seek. Sometimes I hide and don’t seek, other times I seek but I am not hidden.

Then I see myself in my eye and say, “When will you realize that I won’t come back?”

I think it will take me one lifetime.

One Wasted Question

I don’t ask why?
It is one wasted question.
Has no answer for the days gone by

Why did he miss the bus?
Why did he catch a train instead?
They timed his ending.. why?
He lingered at the magazine wheeler
The glossy pages, the plastic faces
The murder and the gore
They called the newbie at bollywood a whore
Why?

Colors of their thousand worlds
Couldn’t eclipse his world back home
Many footsteps, voices in his head
Voices around him, footprints on his mind
Nothing could brake him enough ..why?

The locomotive whistled to him
Like a master’s signal to his pet
After a long walk through the day
It seemed to say lets close for today

The cell phone rings the bell
Silence screams for that freaky fraction
Unaware of the countdown
He blushes at the cheeky chuckle
Why?

The lightning brightness
Like the 1st white light
when the door to the Eden opens
the volatile moment stretches and yawns
why?

splinters run like a freed pack
like a crystal replica of peace
thrown from the heavenly height
tried of the peace,
peace finds peace in unrest
why?

Berserk train, plans gone berserk
The kid will wait at the closed gate
He will go unnoticed
As they showcase the train’s unplanned stop..
Why?

It is one wasted question.

Junior Jumbo Vada Pav

On my way to work I saw a shop flaunting these multiple signboards ‘jr. jumbo vada pav’. My day in the city had begun with a slight, but intensifying headache. I saw this board and asked my headache to be easy on me. Paradox. Mumbai is all but a paradox. Richest of the rich are absolutely miserly here. The poorest of the poor have nothing to lose and can give boundlessly.

The educated youth are unemployed and fed, overfed rather by their folks. The uneducated youth are enterprising and run a small workshop in the renowned empire of Dharavi. People have so much of a reason to hurry back home that without a slightest contemplation they lay their lives at the railway tracks.

Junior Jumbo Vada Pav!

Take it in your stride

take it in your stride
that tear pricking your eye
take it in your stride

grace and pride
don't lay it down
in the debris
don't let them find your hide
they cuffed your hands
on your forehead
they stamped the cult brand

take it in your stride
his indecision and your redemption
take it in your stride

don't lay there slain
his mirth can't bring you that tear
rise from the ashes
light the darkness of his den

take it in your stride
his every nail in your cross
take it in your stride

I feel like a God’s trump card

I feel like a God’s trump card
Just that the time is never right
When things get sloppy
When the tide runs in a schedule
High tide follows the low
And the game goes on
Round after round,
player after player
card after card
The mechanical progression,
It runs on a flowchart
Spades walk in a line
Then my God wakes from his slumber

The other cards of the pack
Together they stand
The Spades, they form a club there
And the diamond ones team together

But I am me, a trump card
Just that the time is never right!

Life.

Sometimes I feel so complete.. I feel I have reached there. Then there is this tug on my sleeve .. Life.

Poetic Justice

We need some poetic justice
The hell to break lose
His haven is shredded
the walls of his house
the flower beds,
a heap of thin lines
We need some poetic justice
The hell to break lose.

let the thought be

One moment I want to write
then I think I don’t want to
let the thought be
somewhere just a passing memory

let the thought be
like a rusted anchor
of some sunken ship
forgotten. green moss
paints it green.

let the thought be
like the dead guy
waiting in that vacuum
at the start of the aisle
Waiting for his God
to make up his mind