Grandmother

I.

(Thanks to kind Fiona Bolger)

My grandmother sits there
chanting in a muted voice
krishna, krishna, krishna krishna
the prayer drifts on
playing its own music
hitting all the chords right
the words forgetting themselves
in their own rhythm

as she slowly drifts
to an uneasy sleep
induced by a mix of pills
and exercises prescribed
by the man in white
whom she loathes above all

as the advertisers on TV
drone on ceaselessly
explaining the fundaes of stock markets
and the newsmen lamenting
the fall of rupee
as the markets flopped

as her dreams fill with nightmares
of the doctors' white coat
whiter smiles
waiting to prise her open

she startles to wakefulness
and as on autoplay
resumes the quite chants
om parasakti nama
om parasakti nama
om parasakti nama
om shanti
shanti
shanti.

II.

She sits on the porch
on a creaky stool

leaning on the red armrest
looking out at the world passing by

her eyes never saw much
ears failing now

but in the bicycle bell of the newspaper boy
she hears how the world fares

the sun seeping through the trees
shows her lives no one ever sees

in the void of the house
she lives a hundred lives

past converses fluently with an uncertain present
leaving the present a muddled mess.

The Anonymous Man

The days have passed by
     By the roadside he stands
          Eyes fixed on oblivion

His body melts into thin air
     Like a salted snail
          And no one notices

The world goes by
     The rush hour traffic twists
          And turns its way around potholes

Life was a balancing act
     He was caught by surprise
          And sent toppling down to anonymity

Routine

A Tanka.

Just by the window 
seated in the moving train
I wait a while for
my thoughts to run through the streets
of all the sand castle dreams

Messiah of My Words

I see my words wander through the crowds

They sniff at the coffee shop

To see if you are still there

Mingled with the smell of mismatched filter coffee

I see them wandering through the corridors

Peeping through the half-closed doors

And grilled windows, making sure

That they won’t miss your rare visits

They seem to like the way you casually feed them

While you just sit there

Talking about yourself

Frantically waving your arms around

Adjusting your hair

Wiping your eyes beneath your glasses

And sometimes about the world

How it is rotting

How you see people smiling towards their deaths

How you hope that there is redemption

How you are saddened that a messiah is not at hand

How you dream about being the messiah

But just look down at your feet when you are back here next time

My words lie there faithfully

Waiting for your caress

Waiting for your fingers to run through the furs

And for the treat that you always carry around with you without even noticing

For my words,

You are the messiah they are waiting for

Chatting

Like the railway tracks 
running parallel to each other

kissing one moment

and missing the next

we wait on the other side -

missing and reminiscing -

for the green dot

for the drop sound

for the blinking light

You Are.

You are a recurring taste in my mouth

A song playing in loop in my head

A rhythmic beating in my heart

You are bright blue in my dreams

A rising moon in my starless sky

A vision in my waking hours

You are the dreams of my past

A momentous relief of my life

A storm in the pits of my stomach

You are an ache unexplained

A mark of words unremembered

And of thoughts unthought. 

Anticipating a Goodbye

The day I fly away
you'll think all the sweet words
I whispered in your ears
were all a big lie

the stories I made up
so the nights will be longer
that the magic will linger

and on one of the sore nights

when the gift of remembrances haunt you

you'll ask questions

answers for which I never had

and will never have

know that all I know 

is that I love you, truly.