Second breath

I found my second breath
the day Bombay almost died
at 2 am on that Friday when blood and anger dried

Marathons are run on the 2nd breath
and might take a while to find
Its right after your lungs burst with the pain
which then frees up your mind

The breath was long coming old waves hitting the shore
but a tidal wave that night that took me over the threshold

Right after you’re best speed
when pain and panting peaks
and you start running for the sake of running
hours days or weeks

All the anger’s spent
grime of years and some before
protests, cynicism and helpless paralysis
resurrected as a drive for more

Can’t leave it to others
Nothing left to leave
So much lost and broken
and not enough tears to grieve

A pain in a vein in your temple that throbs and throbs and throbs
no ranting, no music, no writings
and no alcohol that blots
Just a cold stale leftover reality
that you’re where the buck stops

So I’ll run the next long mile
on the this 2nd breath I’ve found
no goals no short term prizes
for to running now I’m bound.

Death of a poem

Blood-spill on paper
droplets of words
seeping out emotions
flooding to an outburst

Hard, honest, heart wrenching
holding nothing back
brutal, cruel and hurting
cutting none a slack

The helplessness and hopelessness
the senselessness the tragedy
the wicked twisting dance of fate
set to a painful melody

The aria the crescendo
in a mismatched tempo
of uncompleted verses
hanging out in limbo

Of demons and dragons
and unsung heroes
of victims and villains
and a sum of zeroes

Of hearts on sleeves
and egg on face
of ideals crashing
and losing the race

Of glorifying loss
and alters of shame
of unconditional love
and its claim to fame

Of catharsis
of rejuvenation
of finding hope and roads to salvation

Of walking the path even
or just getting there
but never a line about
a ‘life without care’

Never of smugness
or of debauchery
for once you’re happy
happiness kills poetry:)

Clearing cobwebs

Clarity comes, creeping up
on a lame afternoon
in an unexpected place,
clearing a cluttered space
printed in an old cartoon strip

It’s not what ‘I must do’, but what do ‘I need’
a question that is often ignored
The moment the question is pondered upon…
clarity hits for the road

To be or no to be

Hope peeks from under the stone
where it was buried deep
Covered by moss and creeping weeds
now all set to leap

But a moment of truth now it should face
Step out at risk or stay in safe ?

Hope

Jump, wheeeee,…dash,...ouch
Jump, wheeeee,…dash,...ouch
Jump, wheeeee,…dash,...ouch
Jump, wheeeee,…dash,...ouch
Jump, wheeeee,…dash,..ouch
Hmmm, jump, weeeee,…dash,..ouch
???, hmmm, Jump, weeeee,…dash,..ouch
Smirk,???, hmmm, jump, weeeee,…dash,..ouch
Frown, smirk, think, ???, hmmm, jump, weeeee,…dash,..ouch
Hah, frown, smirk, think, ???, hmmm, jump, weeeee,…dash,..ouch
Nah, hah, frown, smirk, think, ???, hmmm, jump, weeeee,…dash,..ouch
Noooooooooo, hah, frown, smirk, think, ???, hmmm, jump, weeeee,…dash,..ouch
......................................................................................................
......................................................................................................
......................................................................................................
Jump............................................................................................Wow!

It’s all but a dream
A joining of dots and make believe
A willing of ways without a footprint even
The illusion between here and forever

What’s to be built on a look, a sigh or a feeling?
other than wispy dreams sure to be dashed to the ceiling

What’s to be made of hesitant lovers?
who yearn, long, and die, all under cover

Not even an echo through the wells of time
unheard, unseen, forever ignored...

The heart reconciles
Willingly the last sigh dies
Unexplained, unexpressed
Hidden behind masks
Without reaching eyes
And passed as a smile

Stars were dust too...

Little bits of Sparkles, that sparkle now and then
Bright enough for you to sense them, but not enough to confirm

Little bits of sparkles that so need a hand
To polish and clean and hone them
till each side looks all grand

But, in the land of the fireworks, sparkles go unseen
for until ur big and mighty
It’s all a waste you see

So brave little Sparkles, fights till it can
And lives on with the pain
of being called a flash in the pan…

Cab ride to work one rainy August morning

The rain falls, the traffic stops...the magic of Mumbai unfolds
umbrellas mushroom in popular shades,
buildings and flyovers become hills and glades,
tis true I tell you not all up made
‘imagination Watson’ if you still are staid

Cabs like safe islands…flow with the go…
kids like pixies frolic in the pour
while you sit tucked in enjoying the tour
in anticipation of Bharat’s chai for succor

The damp starts to warm and musty is the smell
and the warmed seat spots your nether side can tell
the dripping raindrops that you can’t dispel
but still the rain ride holds its spell

Tulsi pipe is all choked up
No path to the left, right, down or up
That’s when the magic seems to rub off
and some choicest words in my throat well up
but suddenly the pipe is all set free
and driver and passengers rejoice in glee
till we join the next melee

Its Kamla mills now
and over the under
one place we all have to just surrender
no prayers no reiki no might no right
can push us through a jam so tight

From the side I see the regular beggar kids talking
and the uninterested beagle (dog) that hates walking
ironical that one should be let free and the other disciplined
who wants to be free and who wants to be disciplined?

Through unnecessary pontification I arrive at the great Peninsula
where Lower Parel becomes all ‘cooola’ (cooler)
where security check means a piercing nod at the passenger
because decent looking sorts can’t be arsonists remember?

Leaving them to their logic it’s a queue to the lift
new rules post the last big gut
people holding breath, tummies tucked in, if the eyes meet a hesitant grin
not so for lack of warmth but for preoccupation,
like the muster will go and what will be the explanation

All is done to the best we could
and now we’re sitting just where we should
a cup of tea to warm the soul
and checking mails to get into the role

…The weeks beginning couldn’t have been better.

…an ode to the many we meet

To the hesitant,
The petulant, the shy, and the arrogant,
The indecisive, the analyst, the non confronters, the polite,
The disappearing wizards, the phobic, the insecure, the yes men,
The conformists, the safe, the boring, the thrill seekers,
The planners, the strategists, the risk cutters, the know it alls,
The do gooders, the martyrs, the just like that’s, the drifters,
To the confused, the convinced, the confident, and the wreck,
Have a nice day and get on with the trek.

…an ode to the many we meet

…an ironic gift of the Magi

I said lets pretend to be butterflies
He was stuck with the difficult metamorphosis of the caterpillar
I said lets flap and fly
He wanted to know the right wind speed
I said lets pretend we’re raindrops
He refused to flow without a direction

Years later he figured caterpillars effortlessly turned to butterflies
And that all directions converge to one
By then I was fascinated by caterpillars and maps

…a box named me

Don’t open it my darling
Let the ribbons sit pretty
There’s a lot inside my darling
Will get difficult to fold back in

Tuck it away…behind the old vinegar bottles
Let the dust gather and termites eat some
One day when you find it…ribbons faded, dusty and dirty
Open it to see sepia memories
Moth eaten, faded, faintly resembling what it used to be
Bin it then
It won’t cost a thought.

…a box named me

The significance of being a ‘nobody’

Clap clap clap, and they all clapped
Sing sing sing, and they all sang
Dance dance dance, and they all danced
Without knowing what the song and dance was all about…