Deer came running from beyond
Far off cousin’s home compound,
As in a distant poem of time ago
Steeped in flute under a blue sky.
The deer ran away from hunting,
The golden deer so dear of a Sita.
There was eagle doing sky circle
A moment grows on us and deer
And eagle in its circles of motion.
As a language poet says ,we will write
And speak from the area of ignorance.
We write from unknown and ineffable,
A darkness that arises from our sleep,
A common sleep all through the ages
Of ignorance, our misunderstandings.
All things are like, sublime and trivial.
Towards evenings , we are wet in eyes.
She has to take loneliness herself
Surrounded by these lonely others .
Spinning tales is a cold loveliness
About empty smiles on frosty lips.
But would a knot make difference,
That tied cloth yellow on its hem?
Knots slip away in old togethers,
In powdery dissolution of bodies.
What caused such a big tumult
Between you and vague other
Near the school’s rickety steps
That it outlived you and other
Like museum in city’s history?
The only thing clear is tumult.
All else about the faces is blur.
We wish we are not called late
As our references now mention.
This mugshot in papers smiles
From a lifetime of HR practices.
We may have been slightly late.
Pl. do not add late to our name.
We are just recently turned late.
The first madam was in garden
And was very original of her sin.
You are your copy of a grandma
The original perpetrator,a bone.
Bones rattle in their spare time.
Do not open cupboards for fear
They will tumble and you cannot
Rearrange them on a loss flesh.
we are still on the earth anxious for victory
of avoiding the bumps in our tiny stomachs
and the consequent high tension wires in us
snapping in their lightning flash, a big bang.
we are looking for our paper to fly like them
who went before and are a dead-weight still.
on the earth we are hanging on to the hangar
counting Siberian bird feet into our swamps.
There is not much of a sun about us
Where we and our other come from.
We would cry hours for a milk pail
To make ourselves sick and crying.
We were actually laughing at other.
We were not a helpless milk baby.
That is the way we pay our tribute
To him who trailed us as a shadow.
His lion’s mane would wave significantly
To the management kids on wings of fire.
A fire shall now bury president of all time.
The old paper boy had aimed upper story
With news missile to reach morning cup.
Later he made missiles for the high skies.
His targets are always on time , in space.
(India’s most illustrious President and missile scientist Dr.Abdul Kalam passed yesterday at the age of 83)
Piku was a brave girl with a tall father
Who had a problem with the motions.
A largely static girl herself she spurns
Obtrusive lovers for this tallest father.
Some may be having similar dynamics,
Less to do with emotions than motions.
Now that the dad has croaked his last
Will there be a few emotions for Piku?
At least she need go through no motions.
(After watching a Hindi movie Piku)