Saturday, March 28, 2009

Nothing goes wrong when

Nothing goes wrong when
spring ends every year,
a predictable season begins,
but when love fades
you run aground suddenly,
there is no joy nor fear;
the plane stops mid-air
as if the skies were folded
and put in a pocket, as if
the tables suddenly were turned
.
I am not guilty I touched him,
I loved him and got bored;
there is no lesson to be learned.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Karaoke

Karaoke, they say, is the only way to love.
Already, your songs have been written &
rehearsed; all you need do is turn up,
tune in, botch some words and sing badly

in a bid to make the song your own.
Karaokes, you see, are gatherings of amateurs.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

मुझे भेजना


अपने
मुहँ से जूठी की हुई एक चिठ्ठी,
उसमें हर लफ्ज़ स्याही से नहीं
बल्कि टेढ़ी हसीं से बना,
और हर जुमला, मतलब से
नहीं,
जिद् से, खटास से भरा हुआ
और थोड़ा झक्की, कि मानो
जताना तो चाहते हो तुम हिचकिचाहट
पर ये हो नहीं पाता तुमसे,
और प्यार, हर कोने से खटक पटक,
तुम्हारे हर लब्ज़ के पीछे से लपक
लुड़क पड़ता है मेरे सामने।

Saturday, March 7, 2009

When I was about eleven or twelve

When I was about eleven or twelve,
he used to give me poppies;
he used to give me such things which
he knew children hoarded as treasures.
He would leave his shirt undone
(the sun being hot for work) his hair
stuck beautifully to his forehead,
his waist was dark and if you saw closely
you could notice that he was breathing fast;
that is my first memory of pleasure,
wondering what it would be to touch him.
He would run out to the school playground
for something had caught his eye
and come back with a red flower
smiling and holding it out for me;
gifting poppies, could he ever know,
he was giving me the idea of opium?

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Pass the parcel

When you drive your car,
you busy one of your hands
on the steering wheel
and lend the other
in an interlock with mine;
the hand by which you steer
is keen to avoid accidents
but the other to cause them.
When you wish to change the gear,
I make you wait, I let go
a second late, to pass the parcel,
my love, of touch; to pass it
back and forth and onwards.
Not to be grand in our love,
or to thump chests but to touch
lightly and leave impress
that disappears soon enough,
not to say all at once and
tie up strands, instead to speak
with this game of hands.