Category: Poetry

Infinity

They met under
The sign, “Infinity.”
For blood flows
Down one line.

Their hearts held
Within divinity.
Heart waves follow
The sine.

Today two paths
Crossed proximally.
Where souls bleed
Universal time.

There was spark
Fired for brevity.
Under blanketing
Sapphire stars.

Here found heaven
Defying gravity.
As they embrace
Who they are.

Never tomorrow
Before nativity.
They who refuse
To fail their destiny.

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Fabric of Life

Do not be afraid to wear the fabric of life
It makes you who you are
Do not dye it with borrowed colours
Because it is not who you are
Even if you try to, you cannot hide it for long
It will shine through like a star

Let life colour the fabric
Let life wear the fabric

You will be surprised at
How lovely the colours turn out to be
And how cozy it makes thee.

The Dreamy Reality

I am the Human
I am the Autopilot
I am the Zombie

Am I awake or asleep?

There is reality
There are dreams
Then there is the dreamy reality

I am speaking
I am listening
But there is no sound

I am walking
I am running
But I am going nowhere

I am loving
I am getting loved
But I don’t see any love marks

I am not sleepless
I am not fast asleep
Nor am I not fully awake
It just feels like a different state
Somewhere between sleep and awakening
Where there is dreamy reality.

The Journey

My legs dangle in the car
In the seat, I settle, awkward
The jagged outlines of
the interstate and the green
On both sides lighting up
Like tattoos.
Bollywood Hindi refrains
Gyrating, recycled, served up
Like frothy, milky chai in old, verdant train stations
remembered with a child’s eagerness.
In our mouths, between
Our silences outstretched
And our tongues sticking out
Parched, tame, scanning
The flatlands and the ripples
We seek out our
love song for the road,
The tangy and sour essence of the small towns
That ebb and flow with
The shrill rain,
the murky flood waters,
The turmeric-stained sunlight
That we taste, bubbling,
Resting on our backs.
The tires push down the
Buttery roads and I am
Wrapped in the childhood raincoat where the playlist
Of the songs become
Promises, vows, stillness grasped.
In the mirror, strands of hair
Dance to the orchestra
Like pesky birds,
Grey, trampled, bronzed
With colors, behind a veil
Of shrinking, errant drapes.
The wind and the light outside
A thin stick of pungent smoke
I inhale like a stealthy lover
On our way back home.
Soon the roads, robust
Against our limp bodies
Will bend and waltz,
Tweak and twirl, to
the stairs leading home.
In the brown, saucy night sky
Our road songs, ingrained, left behind,
will jump, float away in scattered lines.

The Farmer And The Potter

Two men lived in a village
at different ends
whom God loved dearly.
One was a potter,
the other, a farmer
who planted his crops merrily
and tended them
day and night, sweating with toil
as his own progenies.
Once, the sun shone brightly
and angst felt the farmer
while the potter rejoiced.
He made some vessels,
moulding them with love.
He then placed the tender pots
in the sun
and looked at the sky.
Worry overcame him
when he saw some clouds.
The farmer took a sigh of relief though.
Both men went to pray.
The farmer wished for rain
to save his yields from thirst
and the potter wished for sunbeams
to make his earthenware dry.
Both of them put their trust on the Almighty
and retired to their houses
peacefully.