The Part Of A Trance

With my spirit elsewhere,
prepare breakfast.
The idli pot works without water.
So do the broth.
The water evaporates.
The pot and pan burn
sit unmoved.

The children
hasten to the kitchen.
Pperceive the situation,
the pot and the pan blackened,
the food charred,
the burner glows red hot.
stay untouched.

One puts off the stove,
the other removes the vessels,
the youngest throws open the doorway.
They are bewildered,
perhapsfeel I am braindead.

My physique is perfect.
I  remain unmoved.

They call me, rock me vigorously,
carry me to the bed,  make me relax,

No effect. They surround me.
My eyes draw a blank.
I remain static.
Soon, I fall asleep. It is their turn
They hold on uneasily.


Travels Incognito

She pauses before the mirror
talks to the reflection.

Anyone,  away,  think
she is conversing with her friend.
So authentic is the conversation.

She does not interact with any other,
keeps her ideas to herself.
The image is her sole confidant.

She chuckles, weeps, cajoles,
pleads, commands, demands
with the other who enacts the same way.

Better is she, to have her apprehensions
to herself. She likes to travel incognito.



No More A Lawn

It is my lawn
that is my concern.
Once lush green
looks pale now.

The grass is scarce
in shafts and tufts.
The soil is obvious
dry and withered.

That of a past glory,
the lawn is like an empire
ruined by foes,
a skeleton of the grandeur.

The pathetic status
makes me lament.
I feel sore and sad.
hastily wipe my tears.

A seasonal effect people claim,
unable to reconcile. I break down.
The well laid sprawling grass
disturbs me in my sleep.





The Sun Kills

I curse the sun nowadays
Burnt, fried and scorched
I remain a bag of flesh.
The skin parched and broken
presents a fragility.
It might peel off any moment.
So bad is the sun.

The rays pierce through the flesh
the bones seem to snap
suck the water from the body
the extensions break me altogether
I cry for rain, for coolness
and for water.
The clouds gather and the sky turns dark.
So horrible is the sun.

Year after year the sun gains fortitude.
Man buys water to drink. A story unheard,
and is still incredible. Did we expect the situation?
The essential has turned a luxury.
Any substitute for water is unthinkable.
Who is to be blamed? Who will owe up?
Unable to fathom.
So heinous is the sun.







At Heathrow

My handloom cotton saree
starched and pressed
swings in the breeze.
I walk  to enter the queue
of business class passengers
at Heathrow.

An officer directs me to another line.
I fling my ticket. He declines.
Annoyed, I join issue.
The officer looks at me
with disdain.

His eyes give out his thoughts. Seem to say,
” Go, get lost, you and your cotton saree,
You appear naive and your dress portray
your status.”

I follow the line. Reconcile to the command.
Board the aircraft.
Occupy the seat in the business class.







Air India

Unusual of the Maharaja,
he hunches over.. His turban
topples. The long moustache
dyed black shimmers.

He is an image for Air India,
zooms high with a roar
and disappears in the skies
an allure for ages.

He loses his prospect.
The revenue faces a setback.
He is up in the market.
Lo! bidders are few.

Royalty is for sale.
He is afflicted.
Who can buy a Maharajah?
Not you and me.





Gracious Heaven

500 white tulips
shine in the night
like a dull white bulb
nature’s illumination
a way modest and moderate
by an unexpected
wedding ceremony.



An Embark

Allow us to come ashore.
It is a state of opportunity.
The reds are the origins.
The whites move in stealth
while the blacks arrive to serve,
the yellow race engages in commerce,
the browns plunge in to take up work,
a medley of the colours and races
regarded as heterogeneous
converts into a synthesis analogous.

A block and an arrest,
brought out by discrimination,
makes one knit his brow,
eye with disgust,
smell something fishy,
experience a distaste in the mouth,
a deliberate feel of irritation persists.
The governance forgets history
creates a furore by its policies.


The Texture

Nature is divine

Dense forests create an awe.
Land, with its terrains
ridges, gorges and lowlands
leave us bewitched.
Oceans and water forms
display a blend of azure and
present a backdrop.

Humanity enlivens.
The bustle and noise
throughout the days, the movement
across the globe for myriad reasons,
the battles and bloodshed for demands irrational,
the amity fostered among the brethren,
manifest a distinct pattern.

This intertwining of allure and buoyancy
sets the world’s cadence. The resultant texture
bewilders on occasions, inspires most sessions


Waiting For Water

waiting for water,
women squatter,
with pots of plastic.
The queue turns elastic
grows unbelievably long
people throng.
The hand pump sighs
arms wear out in tries
water decreases in speed
the wait turns a waste, indeed.