nostalgia

songs,
like houses
I've lived in

sunny days
spent colouring
black and white notes

I've moved out
packing cartons
shifting to another block

leaving
a few things behind
every time

they lie forgotten
collecting dust
in some hidden corner

I go back
once in a while
to pick them up

and sing along
renewing
cobweb covered emotions.

break up

halve a whole
to create
two strangers

burn down
each others
lucid memories

erase a life
we dont dare
to remember

shovel in the years
cover it up
with sand

and you plant seeds
but they'll never grow
the soil's too dry,barren

so this is where
it all ends
you called it love

this joke,
haha.

(written in 2008)

haji lane

narrow alley
crayon graffiti
scrawled, smudged
on the walls

two boys sit
in a corner
yellow light
with guitars

playing a bluesy riff
smoking, 8 pm
a passing cat
stopped to listen

retaurants, pink
aladdin and
his magic cafe
jeannie-type girls invite

hookahs,
mezze platters
welcome to istanbul!
a man pops up out of nowhere

boutiques in a row
hip youngster bling
dresses, bags,
the funky paper shop

two hours later
we pass by
the same duo
sitting at the corner

smoking, wandering about
the same riff,
the cat curled up
at their side.

purpose

in spite of
knowing you so well
I poked and prodded
and provoked

to get words
that I knew
I could hold
against you

I wanted
to hurt you
because I was hurt

if I have succeeded
I shamefacedly say sorry
if I haven't
I do the same.

he was rather pleased
in this new place
this small town

where nobody knew him
it was quiet
it was just right

now he wouldn't have
to talk business
with endless clients

over fancy dinners
and wine
(by then he had learnt

the trick to sealing deals)
he wouldn't have to
hang out with

leching groups of friends
over the weekends
at bars where

fifteen year old girls
smoked in style
and laughed loudly

he had all those scenes
though, in charcoal
his well-kept secret

long nights,
sketch after sketch
with a gripping fervour

his resignation
was not sudden
but carefully planned

he had thought
about it for long
he had all the material

he was full of ideas
and had saved enough
to set up this studio

with a pottalam
by his side
he sat at his desk
and started working.

pigeon

you thing of beauty

on my window sill

strutting about

on your skinny pink legs

red iris,

shiny neck,

that cere, like a

proud nose stud

you catch me looking

and grace a side profile view,

a half-smile

like a shy indian bride

i put out my hand

to spread some grain

and you (darpok!),

show interrupted,

fly off above

to the opposite building's sill,

watching curiously

from a safe distance

what now?

do you expect me

to say 'ao ao'

like he did in ddlj?

come and eat

whenever you want,

silly bird.