Wednesday, November 23, 2011

The Auburn Passenger

You see her on the train
with her auburn wig.
Neatly brushed and
carefully held in place
with a black cloth hairband.
And you see the eyebrows.
The painted twin arches
above her quiet eyes.
Giving a slightly bemused
expression to her
otherwise calm face.
You wonder what's wrong.
You wonder if her cells
are waging a cancerous
war against her.
Surely she has built
an army of her own
to fight those
impudent rebels?
But its artillery scars
the land of her body too.
The shells of medication
lay her to ruin.
The shrapnel of radiation
pierces through.
And as you stare unseeingly
at the book in your hand
you feel a little silly
to be worrying about crow's feet
and lost loves and to do lists.

Wednesday, November 09, 2011


Come here
and lay over me.
Head to head,
toe to toe.
The pillow of your palms
forming the perfect hollow
under my head.
Let me feel your weight
slowly sink me into the mud.
Let me feel something, anything.
The cage of your ribs,
the beat of your heart
the pebbles gently nudging me
in the small of my back,
the dew of the trampled grass.
Come, just lay here.
Your hair against my cheek. 
And keep me from floating away.
Like a fallen leaf,
a sweet wrapper,
a half-hearted whistle
carried away on the wing of a gust
on a crisp, windy day.

Wednesday, November 02, 2011


बंध गयी दीवारें 
बिना झरोकों के तो क्या?
दरारों से बेहेती रोशनी
क्या कुछ कम चमकती है?
पेहेली बारिशों की 
सौंधी सी खुशबू,
दीवारों के इस पार भी
तो उतनी ही मेहेकती है.  

दुनिया की खामियाँ 
अगर ढूंडोगे तुम,
तो उँगलियों पर
गिन न सकोगे.
हर एक खोट पर 
अगर होगे नाराज़,
तो खामखा तुम ही थकोगे.

आखिर कमियों के
खालीपन को भरने से
हम क्यूँ हिचकिचाते हैं?
खुरदुरे पन्नों पर लिखे
टेढ़े-मेढ़े से शब्द भी तो
गीतों के बोल बन जाते हैं.