You hold me thus so‏

Dark days, dull moments, my dazed life
And cups of amber, boxed lanterns,
my stopgaps of light

The eyelashes, a caress on my heart.
Smile a gentle hug. And inflections
of voice a tender symphony

A chink in the armour. Pierced,
And I am held. Whirling up, spiralling
Down. Captive in an unbound light

Wajd

Wajd ki baat karte ho
Wajd ki baat hoti hai
Barzakh ka aalam hota hai
Jab mere paas hote ho

Sufi ne kaha dil kho do
Zaat mita do, hasti bemol kar do
Haq keliye wijdan dhoondo. Wijdan
Hai, hota hai. Jab mere paas hote ho



inspired by

To love someone else enough to forget about yourself even for one moment is to be free. The mystics and the churchmen talk about throwing off the body and its desires, being no longer a slave to the flesh. They don’t say that through the flesh we are set free. That our desire for another will lift us out of ourselves more cleanly than anything divine.

— Jeanette Winterson

The Prodigal Return

The prodigal return out of time, out of turn
Non-sequential, irrelevant.
The discordant note in the orchestra
A chisel accidentally slipping on a face

The clock has turned as have the seasons.
The cobwebs have died of old age.

The rust falls off gratefully in my palm.
 Of the door left ajar far too long.

The gratefulness had not come.
Prayers were not said
The wait was not over.
It had never been a deliberation.

Remnants

Like the residuum of a lingering illness
A cough here, a spasm there, an ache

So do you nest in, fragment like, a shiver
Chafed, remnants of a love gone, frayed ends

Remnants of a story unsaid, fading sunset
All remnants,  remains of the day, extant

Welcome Back

Oh yeah, welcome back
I have missed you
The walls have been up
And I have been building more

High up, higher and higher
Reinforced, dungeon dark
And tough, oh so tough
Till came a flicker

The lightest of touch
Butterfly wings, feather-like
A gentle breeze. Enough!
A smile tipping off the edge

Of eyelashes that caress your
Heart barely so. Fingers that
Electrify, sun-burst, lightening
Fireworks across the sky

Welcome back
Welcome back to ecstasy
And to agony; soul-sisters
To the blues and my shine too


January 2014

Abandoned Poems

Abandoned poems like abandoned houses
Wistful, ethereal, grave
Some shy, reticent, hesitant
Like strays hiding in corners
Few left by the roadside
Waving down cars


Some more yet in hiding
Hidden away, locked and bolted
Beautiful still, steady, strong
In glorious colours, moods; tinged
With emotion, heart, soul
Alive and resonant!

Touching with fingers

Touching with fingers the naked body
Of my dreams, I jump away with a cry
Singed fingers, a heart more singed
Still. Dust arises all around; fingers
Discarded of yore. Burnt, crumbled,
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust