My Bohemian Brother
O! My bohemian brother!
Dweller of a blue boat
A soft song perpetually resides
On the neck of your little vessel
You stand on the narrow deck
Coloured in yellow sun,
Fed on blue berries,
With a discordant beer mug
And a murky laughter
You sing unawares
— a song without words
You don’t know me and
We are civilised
— apparently
So I can only lisp in
— "Hi ! Hello!"
Although you know
I celebrate our human bond
With each step and each breath
I take over the path to I watch you!
(For an unknown boat-dweller
on the Thames near Oxford)
Promise of Peace
I assured you that I will lead you
To the promised land
Now be calm and take control
Displace your ancient sorrows
Into other more recent contexts
Abuse the kettle for boiling noisily
The knife for cutting too sharply
The salt for not being salty enough
The sugar for not being sugary enough
The honey for not being sweet enough
Keep your eyes not in the direction of your pain
Look obsessively at where I stand
Find fault in the way I appeared — to some
The way I spoke — to some
I will use each abuse in a particular way
To keep you from distress
Don’t be Afraid
Don’t be afraid
Move freely through the night
See how the moon moves
like a graceful woman,
coming softly, gently each night
to touch precious stillness of a pond
Night is not an enemy
Night is friendly,
Night is serene
Night holds silence in its lap just to nourish your soul
Breathe in the night airs
Cool your inner space
Sit a little longer in the dark
Hear the duck dipping its head into water
flapping its wings playfully
showing water skills
to its new found friend
Perhaps your mother was wrong
The night is not an enemy
Rectify the vision of your daughter
let her find out
Darkness is not evil
Rapists don’t lurk in darkness
They are afraid of the dark
Stairs to the Sky
In the celebratory month of Kaartik
Blossoms of "Gandhraj Saptaparni" rule over the senses
They shower amnesia over the city lanes
In mad forgetfulness of suffferings
This cruel, polluted, rapacious city offers
Some paint pandals
For mother Durga for aeons
Some build Ravana-s
High as the sky
Year after year since Satayuga
Some work as maids to thousands of queens
in posh residences through their lives
Find some relief from their own
Eternally deprived dungeon of a home
Some sit in parlours
For as long as youth and beyond
To compete with the Goddess in beauty
On auspicious Diwali
Some desperately search for silence
away from crowds or bogus family fraternities
in the hidden dark public spaces
Protected by Peepul trees
— They make stairs through moon to the sky