Maths.

“I am walking at a speed of 6 kilometres an hour.  You start after ten minutes and walk  At a speed of 8 km, How long will it take For you to overtake me?” Those sums  Were your favourites. Along with the tank  That rarely got filled and sometimes  Overflowed. How I hated that morning…

To the crow

I used to hate crows, scavengers of the earth squawking, snatching, swamping the skies when one died, shot by that stray bullet frightening us into the house. But then you said that crows were good that when they eat the food offered to the dead it is as though the dead have returned. Since then…

No poem today

I will write no poem today I will just chill, not fret about meter And spend the morning Nursing my coffee and Sudoku. I will not write a stanza today No deep thoughts to construe, No yearnings to express… No quatrain or haiku. I will binge-watch a TV show About haunted houses or spies And…

The poem I was writing

Died a senseless death The body waits In the crowded funeral homes For the rich In lime covered mass graves Of the poor Tortured and twisted In the agony of birth Breathless and blown By gathering storm clouds The cadaver awaits A decent burial.

In praise of women

Who is she?  Who is she that shines at night  Glittering, as upon a stage? Who is it that braves the crowds  Every day on the local train?  Who is the lady who hides a breast  Under her sari as her child feeds?  Who is the woman wildly reaching For the alms you throw at…

C: COVID-19: Lockdown

Even as I slept I dreamt about the poem I’d write Today. In the silence it comes back to me “How to make a garlic sizzle”. Of course  You melt the butter and let the pod hiss  In the pan. I realise of course it was just a dream Who writes of garlic and everyday…

A: Amusical: Tone Deaf

I would give and arm and a leg To play the piano for you again.  You would lie back on the sofa  And my little fingers would pick out the tune.  Alas my fingers are now too soft The notes just squiggly shapes  Music beaten out of my life By choice, or was it compulsion?…

Z: Zephyr #NaPoWriMo

When I die scatter my ashes Somewhere like this. Where the morning creeps in On the wings of a whistling Thrush. Where night jars Ballet with the call of the frog Where the mist lifts Long after the day has dawned. Where blue hills stretch away Eternally. There let me be Blown in the wind….

Y: Yielding #NaPoWriMo

That stone you trip over on your way out Is just the tip of something buried under Our marriage eight thousand odd days old. I know each arc of your words You know how I bare my soul. That stone will not be dug in our lifetime It’s where our eight thousand odd habits lie…