S Harshavardhana, Untitled, Mixed Media on Canvas, 2023; Photo courtesy of Art Alive Gallery
Trepidation
In this ostentatiously indifferent landscape
the ghosts of desire once I knew
dance gracefully in the autumn breeze
and create a river of illusion
in a full-moon night.
I may not see a pretence
of absolute longing to be here
I may return to walk
on an untrodden path
But I cannot deny succumbing to
the glory of this moment that
holds carefully a heartbeat
I skip
while remembering you
It is all there
settled in the black corona
of a dazzling light
all those glorious words
I keep inside
the membrane of memory
stares at your absence in silence
An obliterated river
runs between us
we share a strange forest
written by evanescent seasons
in favour of reductionism
Endangered
There always exists a twilight
where the shadow of joy
and the illusion of love
depart from each other
and the ecstasy
of darkness insists
on dwelling inside you
At such a juncture
stars subdue your darkness
in the hollow of your
expectation and desperation
They keep you alive
with their resplendent gaze
as you pass through the time
and walk the whole way down
to eternity
But not even the stars are eternal
they come and go
leaving only their halo and nebula
behind them
No one asks what happens
to a dying star
as it collapses
to form a singularity
with infinite density
at the heart of a black hole
A dying star lit from within
by embracing the silent warmth
of its remnant stellar core
Imperceptible
when a patch of mildew
perpetually expands
we remain indifferent
we let it expand
with its insatiable hunger
and keep on searching
for our respective images of love
and we name it eternity
but what about our lost pieces
those of kite runner
of chess player
of vagabonds or homemakers
who knows how many rugs
we have tried to stitch
out of these rags
who can determine
what it takes
to reclaim these purest joys
at times we want to believe
in the power of
an infinite straight line
without interruption
of time’s zigzags
Silent Prayer
It is just an attempt
to crush the desperation
and to hold the hope
inside the folded palms
Silent prayers conjure
the garbhagriha
of a silent God
in a disjointed time —
just a space
When red rain thrashes
the barren fields brutishly
blurring the epiphanies
in a random time
beyond the screen
of your teary eyes
and your sanctum sanctuary
collapses silently
To the prayers falling silent
you gift a voice of absolution
and the wings of love
you are the glory of your pain
beyond the history
of your progeny
you are the stardust
of your wounded world
Umbrella of Borrowed Words
Vienna stands silently
in the evening
glittering like a Christmas tree
Its extravagant coffee houses
serve sweet pastries with salty memories
Here you make friends out of strangers
and strangers out of friends
Slow-moving shadows
nod friendly in your direction
Guten Abend, they whisper
and then they vanish
in the slick dark walls of the city
You walk past them alone
in an unfamiliar cold torrent
holding the umbrella
of borrowed words
You put your feet carefully
on the cobbled street
saving a lonely dandelion
that blooms in the fissure
between the two paving blocks
These poems were part of The Poetry Issue 2023, curated by Shireen Quadri. © The Punch Magazine. No part of these should be reproduced anywhere without the prior permission of The Punch Magazine.
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