haiku

barren, brown and parched,
they stand. bereft of any life,
no leaves, just dead roots.


written now. in the moment.

what will be?

unknown fears
have a habit;
they creep and crawl
into crevices reserved
for love, for other things
like wishes and prayers.

they sit upon the heart,
refuse to budge
and settle,
uncomfortably within.
and then they creep up
toward the spine,
and find a home in the mind...

they snuff out rationality
smirk at logic that allays
fears that will not be
they tire every thought
that passes by
until sleep descends...

minutes pass...one by one,
and quite suddenly,
the heart screams
in futility,
pleads the mind to behold and see,
fear take on a monstrous form
never before seen


of course,
the mind has known fears like these,
hover around and disappear,
not this time...
for this time,
the fears
speak of darker ills

the mind knows then
that there will always be
a lump in the heart,
that will never cease to be,
for it reflects the state of humanity.

o! what have we come to be?
what more can we come to be?


written now, in the moment

it's never goodbye

some frayed photographs
are among the last few
remnants of what was,
of where you once belonged:
to my world
that, and a handmade card,
with your name on it,
speak to me
silent verses,
full of voices,
that only my heart can hear.

is that all that is there?
for me to remember and share?
is there no more
than a faint fragrance
of your love,
no more than a faded shade
of the greying shirt
you wore many a time?

is there nothing at all
to claim that you once were
my dearest friend, my confidant and guide?
is there nothing at all
to dim that pain,
each time i remember
your words,
the many lessons,


there is nothing perhaps,
than a searing memory,
and
eyes that well,
each time i see those photographs and
handmade card.

and yet, sometimes, i see
that beautiful face,
come upon the mind's eye
as if to tease the heart
into believing
the nightmare will turn sweet,
that you will walk
into my door one day

the doorbell rings...
my heart rushes to open itself
the mind laughs at me,
such a child i have become,
since you have gone...



written now. 3rd death anniversary of my father. couldn't make it to bangalore. and the thought hit me. suddenly.