Patterns

(Written September 23, 2011, 3:17 am.)

The patterns of shadow on my ceiling conceal some hidden truth.

The day will come and wash it away.
The light will consume it, illegible, untraceable.

Then night will come again, with slightly different patterns.
And I will wonder if the truth has changed just a little.
Or if the Earth is just at a slightly different angle with the Sun, and the truth is just the same.

If I am the shadow that keeps shifting, and you are the truth concealed in me.

Moments

(Written September 23, 2011, 2:45 am.)

Do moments fade into the pores of skin?
Are all of ours in your bones?
Do they creak uncomfortably as you move?
Do they sit silent and heavy as stones?

Do moments get sucked in with every breath?
Are yours and mine in your chest?
Do they ache with every in and out?
Do they cause unexplained unrest?

Are moments of us hiding in you?
Are they tethered to your insides, oh -
Because I am left wondering,
Where exactly did the moments go?

Puzzle

(Written September 23, 2011, 2:40 am.)

Dice my body into thoughts I seek.
Rearrange them in the puzzle of your mind.
Show me the picture you see.

Untitled

(Written September 23, 2011, 2:30 am.)

Brush me with a stroke of your finger
And scatter me in the passing air.
Break my skin and drain me out,
Rain my pieces on some part of you.

Lie your lesser love down somewhere
And bid it your unfondest goodbye.
Spread me in a circle around you
On a cracked earth,
And watch me rise and fall
With the gravity of your lips.

Grip my merest substance.
Let it drop.
Feel its steady breath falter.

Feed me your bitterest truth
And watch me swallow.

Sthir Si Raat

(Written in September 2011.)

sthir si ek raat mein,
chanchal si ek yaad ne,
haath mera thaam ke,
atal si aavaaz mein
mujhe kaha:

tu yaheen pe theher,
main tehel ke aata hoon,
usko dhoondh laata hoon.

Dravid

(Written September 16, 2011, 12:35 pm.)

Behind the Little Master and Dada,
Stood the handsome gritty Indian wall,
His body adorning the strength of patience,
And his bat welcoming every ball.
Relentless and tall his stature stood,
His talent a relic of cricketing grace.
Today, forever, he leaves the one-day pitch,
With raised bat and serene face.

Would You (2)

(Written September 15, 2011, 1:00 am.)

Would you please bleed my heart?
Kill my most relentless part?
Flood me in Descartes?
Etch me in worthless art?

Would you please find my end?
Be a lover and broken friend?
Sometimes please and often offend?
Blind me with pretend?

Would you please blow me out?
Plot me on a lost route?
Pledge me to you devout?
Paint me in strengthening doubt?

Would you please breathe me in?
Extinguish me from within?
Fade my scars into my skin?
Carve me into unforgivable sin?

(Untitled)

(Written September 14-15, 2011, over midnight.)

I am a little of you, wrapped in all that could,
I am a shadow at night, falling where you once stood.
You are all of me, wrapped in all that is,
You are the dancing light that casts me remiss.

I am the faded remnants on a canvas of old,
I am the inconsequential details of a story once told.
You are the artist that sketches anew,
You are the writer of life, and of love, too.

I am the pages of science once lingered on,
I am the torn hems of clothes once worn.
You are the learner of a hundred new books,
You are the smile unconcerned with looks.

I am the passion of a forgotten dance,
I am a lesson taught by fickle chance.
You are the rhythm and pitch of melody,
You are the experience of destiny.

Drive

(Written September 1, 2011.)

City lights, seen from a highway
Shone upon the deepest part of a bluish sky,
The bluish night fading into a blackish sky,
The blackish sky fading into the edges of a world I once knew.

Beach

(Written September 1, 2011.)

Each grain of sand a locked memory,
Each wave an unexpected key.
The games the beach and I play.