She

In her enigma rests the pleasant
Teasing, like the wind playing
With her let-loose hair.
Always an attention but never
A bother.

Her hands do not seek, only an
Allusion in her kohl eyes
Entices you, like a driftwood
In the flooding stretch of the
Yellow river.

Oar not in this stretch, and the current
Would teach to you the language
Of her allusion.
A never treaded expanse you’ll be in
Where her hands would both
Seek and guide.


Her Language

Don’t hunt the lion but its pride,
Understand not that is
In the light.

Monsoon- The First Rains of the Season

After months of the Summer Sun's face, we welcome the rains. To the park we run, in the roads we play with a dance song in our hearts while our eyes look into the distance and at the skies. The drops hitting our face come from the heaven and in this moment of closeness we long to live.

After months of rain and clouds, the Sun smiles at the sunflowers. Eternal seems the light that screens through the last of the defeated clouds, and brings before us the blue sky. Dont we long for that as well?

The rains after the sun, the sun after the rains... Like the wild tango of sorrows and the happiness... And yet, the impermanence of happiness is our greatest concern.

Silent Company

Where have you been my friend?
In the stories of the yore I search for you, like
The memories of a lost fragrance
You cling to me, deserting my soul when I try to recall
And smearing it when I least look for you.


Why do you visit me when I am asleep
And disappear into memory when I seek you?
You come to me like the dust in the wind,
Touching me and running away
While I try to make my way in your storm.

Incomplete--- The Potter's Clay Shaping My Love

I embraced her in my dreams, and she felt like the soft cotton, always too afraid of being caught in the gush of the angry wind. She clung to me for support and as I held her I realized of the warmth she was spreading within me. But this warmth held her from spanning her wings to the call of the wind again..

She died in this embrace and every time I braced myself, I found her in the undiscovered space between me and my brace.

I saw a cotton seed burst open, releasing forth the desire of flight. I tried to catch its glee, its slow descent and then its resurrection in the sudden surge of upward current--- sometimes in a song, sometimes in a lazy siesta, and sometimes in the wild dance of Shiva. I have a desire in my being too--- of her wings, of her dreams left without a chase. Those dreams are still waiting, to play the incomplete game of hide and seek. But as I extend my hand to chase it, I realize that it’s not my game to play--- it’s hers. I wait there with my open arms, not knowing whether I’m trying to play the game that is not mine, or whether I’m trying to disown her, to see her play, while the dreams, her dreams wait for her to return.

*** ***

The Palm Tree’s Diary

The wind that blows from the seas finds a resistance in the palm leaves. I complained of her harshness and her refusal to acknowledge my reception.

Late at night, in the stillness of the moonlight, I found her caressing my hair with her breezy wings. A few words I mumbled in my sleepy trance while she made me make friendship with dreams.

*** ***

The song that escaped my lips but never traveled the distance had a hope. I knocked on her door, always knowing that I’ll have to walk back the distance.

*** ***

I realize of the love, but does it always have to be sweet?