Pages can wait

Words from the sediments reappear.

They change shapes and colours, only to vanish.

The pet Fox lurks around.

It plays with the emptiness of the old diary.

The peddler of dreams knocks.

To leave something seemingly heavy at my doorstep.

I step away from the empty pages.

The sack on my shoulder is a big, light cloud.

It bursts open with a feather touch.

I flip around to gather the lost thoughts, all at a time.

The Fox grins and jumps into the bushes.

It knows, the pages can wait.

I wrote

You asked me to write

And I wrote.

Fragments

It's funny

When eyes, lips, smiles,

Laughters, voices, poems, photographs,

Smells, footsteps, colours, gestures

Come together

And manifest into one person

Who you dream about every night

And find next to you when you wake up.

Photos on the wall

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive.
(Robert Browning's My Last Duchess)

And she joins me
In the cruelest smile we give at life.
We come together
Only to vaporise among the ruins.

Curtains

They keep secrets

They hide light

They change shape

They cause fight.

Mrs. Munshi, the Nostradamus

On a sultry summer evening
You professed
That a fish eating, brown eyed, luscious girl
Will distract him beyond measure.

The girl came
Like an evening shadow
He walked away with her
And as they turned to give one last look

You said, but she’s not you.

He sings

It's an ugly fight.

Denials begin,
Accusations follow,
Obstinacies compete,
Threats continue.

And then there's silence,
There's no sound until a long time.

And then he sings,
A soft, sad hum
A fluttering feather in vacuous void.

In a month's time

In the next thirty days,
My name will change.

I will have two sets of parents
In a different home.

The address that I rattle out
Will be unlearnt.

My letter-head will have
Another address, yet mine.

My windows will open to a new world
That remains to be explored.

My hairline will never remain the same.
Nor will my life behind a closed door.