Saturday, March 16, 2013

Staircase

She often wakes up
in the middle of the night.
listens to the silence
surrounding of the big house
filled to its brim with her dreams.
She moves and tosses on
the huge bed meant for two
but which mostly remains
empty, as others have entered
their own protected world,

since with each passing year,
men, women and children,
all grow up and find 
their own world of solitude.
Her mind, in such moments of
being with her own self, goes to
the ground floor, where she knows,
awaits her soul, her own reflection,
where she can stand naked 
and bare.
Slowly she climbs down from her
bed and tip toes near the staircase
and looks down.
The dimly lit landing awaits her
foot steps, and beyond that, a semi
darkened room, in which a single
night lamp softly glows in anticipation
of her union with her own soul. As she moves
near the first few steps, she holds on to the
railing and stops. She cannot move any 
further as this strange feeling of being
watched, creeps into her and pulls
her back, as if, allowed to go ahead,
she will fall, missing
the steps, down on to the ground floor.
She stands there for a long time,
looking at the room at the end of
the staircase, and smiles, thinking
that she will come back once again
tomorrow, when the house will be
sleeping again.
This goes on every night, when she 
sleep walks till the top of the 
staircase, and then senses prevent her
from falling down at the last moment
as if by a mystery mechanism, she survives
a fall and goes back to sleep
and the whole house breaths a huge
sigh of relief.
But unknown to everyone,
at the bottom of the staircase,
await a room
and a love story never told.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

State of being

A century from now,
one fine morning,
if it will be the same sky

above us, if the same Atlantic
will still be roaring in anger 
at night, as the high flying 
intercontinental flights ignore
its might. If the same duties
and obligations do not leave us 
to say all that we want to say.
If, while you will be shivering in the 
blistering cold, looking at the piled

up snow in your driveway,
Or, if an occasional hurricane wil

still be flooding your basement and making
you wonder if all those paintings will
be caught by the humid air surrounding

the County, and I will be wiping the
bids of sweat forming on my forehead.
And if you and I remember all that were

spoken and felt a century ago, 
Then you will find me at your doorsteps,
and ask for your hands for as many
lives as we will be granted by God?"

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Ventriloquist


Long ago,
you took all my
attentions.
My mind and my body
were immersed in you

and in your physical self
in the realms of reality
and dreams.
Now away from those
dreams,
I have found a new
distraction and a

new passion. I have
immersed myself in
your shadow
and its various silhouetted

shapes,
just like the ventriloquist
who keeps entertaining 

with his many voices,
each time sounding

differently, while
expressing his own
collage of pain.

Borrowed Life

Sensing rigor mortise,
I stood up.

Moved my limbs out
of their lethargic state
and neatly packed my
suitcase to leave.
A box of books and

a stack of paintings
reminded me of my days
and the reasons thereof.
I waited.

You waited.
The suitcase, the books
the doormats, the room,
the walls around it and
and the wall clocks on them,
                 - we all waited.
Neither you uttered
anything, nor could I.
Time passed us.
Seasons changed.

Stillness surrounded me
as I embraced the
world inside my own self,
outside of which, was
no other possession that
I could say was mine,
except those few books
some paintings
and a few breaths that I
borrowed from you.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Life as a river

You were the meteor from which
I was born,
you are the dust
to which I shall be buried.
The time in between
I lived as a river,
flowing all over you,
sometimes flooding the
valley and sometimes,
quietly surviving the
droughts of the season,
to dance again with 
you in the rains.