Protected: Being Human

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Protected: Mendelssohn: String Quartet No. 2 in A Minor, Op. 13

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Four little alternating pieces


My happiness is
derived from small little things,
and greatness stymied.



Her observations
fill my days with contentment
I don’t desire;
A summertime caesura
arrives, bringing misery.


When she laughs

When she laughs, her eyes,
exploding in happiness,
simplifies our world.



Sometimes you attend
the wedding of a couple
you barely know, for you think
it is a good chance to meet
that someone you barely know.

Five not so easy pieces: #2

After the rites

In the burning Ghats
I watch tired bodies praying
for a cleaner death.



When the weather turns
a harp plays inside my bones
and ripples my soul.


Hooked Under

Gulmohar petals
trapped under my car’s wiper
struggle to break free
like bra hooks in the hands of
an over eager lover.


The commerce of words

Take a great poem.
In its humble remembrance
over hundred years,
do you picture the decay
of human conversation?


There is memory

Every night, I watch
a father walk with his child
inside our compound;
Sometimes I feel guilty, but
always there is memory.

Five not so easy pieces


This brooding silence,
echo of a despondence
that our road ends here.



Mason breaking tiles,
shrouded in a dusty haze
I watch and resist
an immaterial grief
rising from the detritus.



In the school lobby
I listen, till she completes
Her swimming lesson;
She was born for the water
I, to linger in daydream.


Burnt Waters

The river, submerged
by a millenia’s pyres,
carries life no more.


Unfit for consumption

Even the termites
boring through sheesham wood shelves
ignore my poems.


Been a while since this blog has heard from Thoreau. This was on my feed today, and it left an impression enough that I highlight it here.

We falsely attribute to men a determined character; putting together all their yesterdays and averaging them, we presume we know them. Pity the man who has a character to support. It is worse than a large family. He is silent poor indeed. But in fact character is never explored, nor does it get developed in time, but eternity is its development, time its envelope. In view of this distinction, a sort of divine politeness and heavenly good breeding suggests itself, to address always the enveloped character of a man. I approach a great nature with infinite expectation and uncertainty, not knowing what I may meet. It lies as broad and unexplored before me as a scraggy hillside or pasture. I may hear a fox bark, or a partridge drum, or some bird new to these localities may fly up.

From the blog of Henry David Thoreau.

Two Tankas and a Haiku


Friendless and lonely
He intensely feels the like
Of acquaintances.



A sheet of rain breaks,
Abruptly, the gulls descend
down to the branches.
Standing underneath, I soar
silently into their world.



Rescue me, I hear
Her eyes cry, as she serves me
biscuits and coffee.
I throw her down to the floor,
Watch a scream, “fuck, you crazy?”

When the Brahman stayed a while

A wise and ancient Brahman
Traveling on his time machine
Chanced on my digital footprint
In row 911 of his eternal database
And humbly asked me to teach
Him the secret of friendship;
But I am nobody, I told him,
Showed him a few others instead,
Stunned by all that he saw, he
Marvelled at our amicable age,
Where any which way he turned,
He found himself surrounded
By so many likeable people,
Sharing and chirping gloriously
All their favourite moments
Seemingly in endless supply;
“Ah, the age of enlightenment
Is finally here”, he announced,
Deciding to settle amongst us
He began to create with gusto
An assortment of new avatars
To rebuild the primal connection
He suddenly felt with this land
That he had for long renounced.

I messaged him a few weeks later
And he sent me a cute little hug
followed by a quote in Book Antiqua
“My friend, I finally know Maya,
and I much prefer it to a troll”.

Protected: Times Three

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Two Tankas and a Haiku


Full moon this morning,
Around, shimmering halo,
Yesterday’s last kiss.



Last week, a snake brushed
My feet while I walked alone
Wrestling with my thoughts;
Now, a rustling leaf, quite dead,
Scars that exposed memory.


No looking back

When I die, promise
You will incinerate our
Memories with me;
If there is a life after
It should be yours to restore.