Mountain and brook

we walk with a longing for rain
in silence and gurgle
like the mountain and the brook

The clouds huddle up whispering a drizzle
The wilderness celebrates
with a strong fragrance in the air.

The mountain and the brook
celebrate in contentment
in silence and gurgle.

Inward

Have that inward smile
As every one debates
What I write.

I see them in that chaos
and have that askance of a child
who cleverly hides his toys
And silently enjoys.

Curtain

You used to hide behind the bedroom door
in much anticipation to surprise me.

Now, in the same room
you lock yourself up and surprise me more.

A silence hangs in the air
like that curtain (full of tulips)
mutely wavering
under the ceiling fan.

Fire side

He was the lonely survivor
of a great war.
He wanted to collect some sovereigns now.
(Mostly inanimate objects )

Wading through the silence
he managed to reach an altar
kicked a few gods
and picked up a metal tablet.

Fire side stories deciphered the hieroglyphics
forming new symbols
out of the dancing flames.

It was warm on the fire side
As yet another story
charred to conclusion.

Little lights

The distant little lights
grip us into a gaze
Not too near, not too far
Like hopes they glow.

In a design that is discerned
only from a distance;
they light up the sky around them.

There is one thing near though
On this side.
The image of the lights
And that longing for hope in our eyes.

Far away

From the signboard of friendship
we are running in opposite directions
towards the endless horizon.

An askance now and then
to check the distance covered

But we are running;
Away
Far away.

Apartment

Different rooms and different lights
In an empty apartment;

Different stories, in each room
All packed and tested
before they enter other(s') light.

Dark rooms are special
The noise is also muffled
there are no faint lights even
(to see the shadows on the walls)

When inquired, you shrug
But the anxiety of a key holder
Shows up in your eyes.
In the other rooms
In different lights.

No-where

A sign board reads
Cremation ground->

A well laid path
Towards anonymity

Figurines

He chiseled our souls
into graceful figurines.

Some days
He concentrated on that danseuse
Trying hard to capture the moments.
Some times he just sat brooding.

He gave a final look that day
And with a sigh he left.
Later, we heard people whispering
(different people each day)
about a bloody battle
beyond the river.

It was moving
but how would we react.
We waited for him
to chisel some new poses.

One day
there was galloping of horses.
Before the sun went down
We lost our nose rings and the grace.

As the dusk fell
There was much clanking near the river
Swords were cleaned up
in the darkness.

Slowly, weeds grew out of us.
And the river flowed
Carrying itself.

Too busy

Today the poet seems busy
He said he would come up with a new metaphor
But till now there is no news.

The last, we've heard of him
He was tightening the tense
And striking off non-sense.

He would take us all
to a known place
and we shall discover it
the first time

Such were his powers
But today he seems occupied.

We wait
like the passengers;
for a delayed train
munching whatever we have;