Monday, April 07, 2008

on mothers

she welcomes me with a warm embrace,
and a big clear smile on her face,
a sumptuous meal follows
and with each mouthful, the comfort grows.
after an hour's simple conversation
you know there's a rare connection.

Funny, how mothers all around the world are the same; capable of
such open, unconditional love.

(PS: The lady in the poem is Soumya's mother)

Friday, April 04, 2008


you wake up to darkness
the clock shows its an ungodly hour.
you shuffle around. lift the empty water jug
feel the need for a warm hug.

you get up and
think of the TV remote for the briefest moment;
realize that's not the solution,
and totter your way to the kitchen

the lizard on the wall is staring at you with gleaming eyes.
was it insomnia or misery that loves company - your mind tries
to remember.

In the fridge you find rice
and sambar, on heating gives a heavenly smell
there's some curd and pickle as well
'this is going to be a good meal'-
you can hear your tummy tell.

you sit back on the sofa and stare at the ceiling
it's 3 am, and you have to get to work in five hours.
you should be cursing yourself for drinking so much coffee
but you suddenly feel very content;
you feel like you have come to the end of a journey.
there is a strange beauty in everything -
the rhythmic flapping of of curtains,
the soft whirring sound of the ceiling fan,
the random sounds that come from the depths of the night.

you measure the night between mouthfuls of rice
and watch the changing hues of the sky.
slowly the sun rises and the world wakes up,
and you feel like God witnessing it all
you come out of the naked darkness that had engulfed you,
and welcome the warm sunshine from your balcony.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

radiant mornings

waking up without the aid of any alarm,
to a soft rhythmic breathing
a delicious warmth where our skins are pressed together
clothes strewn around on the floor
sun shining through empty wine bottles
traces of your smell on my skin
the gentle heaviness of limbs

it's the perfect moment of my day
when everything is just right.

the day tumbles after that,
imperfect, dissatisfying hours of existence
lost between deadlines, newspapers and electricity bills;
but I find the meaning of life condensed in these moments of naked beauty.

Who reads this stuff, anyway?