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My love cannot have the hold on you that it has on me. For a fraction is lost in the reflection you see and another fraction lost on its way back to me. 

Panic Waves

My heart was pounding all around me
Blind walls seemed suddenly closer
The ceiling whirred faster over my head
Words expanded till they blurred my vision
Forked feet lay rigid on the table
Tensely posing for a capture
The air condensed on my shoulders
Heavy arms made one last weak attempt
Put down the leaden instrument
And watched it drip and blot

Refrigerated Love

Even the dead buried
Watered give out brilliant leaves of rust
And great pale flowers of liquid gold
Waiting for an unassuming passerby
To be taken into the pretence
Of the intoxicating luxury
Of the warmth and the faint smell
Of refrigerated love

Jaago Grahak Jaago

Refrigerated love going stale in packets whose shelf life promises years of never ending intoxication. In between lines that rave about the ingredients in telescopic font is that which never gives them away. The best before two months from opening part.

A Happy Place

You're allowed to break here.
Magnificent wall stained, cut and bruised.
Freshly painted for daily use.
Weekend passes for the young.
Free for the weak, unpopular, unsung.
They've gifted me a crystal  for this special occasion.
Custom-made red cut glass.
Easy to throw, difficult to pass.
It has a quote on it,
Ironic enough to blindly hit the mark-
"If it were now to die,

'Twere now to be most happy"

Indeed, I smile 

As the dazzling diamond dust dims the dark.

The Young That Grew Old

Dropping crumbs on dusty balconies

Licking empty ice-cream bowls clean

Decadent post-retirement age

Preaches determined delusionists

To dance

Feeding dreams with dishwater

Untying laces, breaking watch straps

Gravelling through grimy mornings

Living sodden after sunset stories

And sleep

Once pebbles fell and did not break

Promises were made and fulfilled

Love’s dreamy nights ended on its knees

Names were engraved on stones and rings

The young grew old and lived the same dream

Of sighs that once were wishes

That children shut their eyes and blew

That fluttered into darkness

Trodden underfoot 

By the young that grew old

Dig now under piles and piles of regret

And miles of sand and sawdust

And through the bone dry surface

Grow leaves of untrodden faith yet

Gleam emerald-like in the gloom

Until plucked again

Maybe, maybe we’ll grow glass cases some day.

Court In Session

Wooden floors convulse at the approaching bands of termites

Restless curtains still to the broken thrums of the generator

Fingers leap on hot phones, shrivel and melt away

The forbidding air holds council with blank walls

Too old for decisions

Ivory gavel strikes for order

Bed and slippers stare mutely at the ceiling

Who will plead not guilty?

All rise.

Judge takes off torn, tired robes

Thrusts swollen feet into the same slippers

Breaks into the mechanical arms of the same bed

Leaves curl in heavy dreams

Waves of wires swirl in metallic grayness

Men bounce off walls and try again

Women press against glass doors that cannot budge

Children sit in corners and bite their nails

Judge’s eyes flicker and open dazed

Ceiling fan cutting and churning stale air

All there is to see.