Tattooed

My heart sways in wilderness as bizarre moon departs.

Surreal and shorter seem incense filled, insane hours.

Bound in your spell, a lava unleashes from the cell-

sizzles thru each vein - on my soul your tattoo engrafts.

On A Pier

Outstretched I lay on a pier wide, square,

gaze up at the sky which stares down at me.

When the dusk-sun, a different colour wears,

and eve-winds aid a flock of birds to flee.

Deeper, the long white sails lazily sway-

a romance with blue waters as they waltz.

And my mind saunters away from the bay-

if only the sand in the glass would pause.

Far, the sun dips further into the bowl.

Wonder if you too are seeing it from miles.

I look up and watch the dispersing clouds

to find your face flash and sparkle a smile.

Nor distance nor time can untie the lace,

forged by your memories - a boundless trace.

The Floating Village

Rolling over the foams of a river,

in a catamaran I cruised along.

To the beats of my heart chugged the motor,

and wind blew away the hat I had donned.

The sun shimmered hurling the yellow pecks.

As I sailed, the waters seemed to widen.

I dangled my feet over the front deck,

and looked farther to the blue horizon.

In the distance lay stationed a herd of boats

which housed children, families, numerous pets.

With schools, hospitals - a village afloat,

and people traded in floating markets.

Bare-chested young kids raced and sprang around

waving to each and every passer-by.

Their faces glowed with energy abound,

and I watched them with unabated sigh.

How well joy streams in thru places unknown,

and fills up those silent, unaware gaps.

My catamaran whistled with a moan-

signaling the time for our final lap.

The Willow Bows

Tonight, I might need a stronger heart.

Who will belt those red cherries?

With every thumping beat, it will ask

was it a myth, his art, as the artist departs?-

The willow bows, and I’m off guard.

Now, just a tale to cherish.

Lonely would be those twenty two yards.

The Shining Scar

On the deep forehead shines a bright scar

from her helter-skelter days-

etched by a bicycle and wild hours.

I touch the bruise, and muse, fills me with amuse.

And depicts the mischiefs of her youth.

Shy not away from it’s gaze,

it hoards old memories and the truth.

Scuba Diving (Ko Samui)

The sunlight pierced the deep blue waters

as I waded through the flaps of the sea.

Trudging, I hung onto my instructor,

who, with skill, glided along patiently.

Stomach churned with butterflies as we dived.

Soon a shoal of fish rapidly shot past

creating a ripple as we arrived

at their water kingdom - beautiful, vast.

Species of colourful kinds zipped around

those misty waters, that corals lit up.

I smiled but hissed out a gurgling sound,

and all sorts of images conjured up.

We descended into a narrow ledge

that spread like an underwater jungle.

Shafts of light cast shadows on the sand-bed,

and my instructor blew big ring-bubbles.

I touched the soft sand which escaped my hand,

like the blazing fishes of aqua’s pride.

Gradually we ascended to land.

And I felt the fear in me subside.

Refulgent Eyes

There is dance in your brown eyes today-

wonder what music they see.

Bounce, and sparkle, and my heart they slay.

Pure, unfazed, and far beyond can gaze, untraced.

But when their colours fade, I tingle,

and deep down tears blur me.

Would an ice cream bring back that twinkle?

A Dog Called Scotch

A stray dog dozed outside a palace

of a king unmatched in fame-

unaware of fate that blessed His Grace.

People thronged all day long, Scotch merrily yawned.

Events transpire within four walls-

wild, and if known, would defame.

Scotch blinks, shakes his head and lolls.

Khichdi

One winter morn Akbar went for a stroll,

along with Birbal, his witty counselor.

They approached a river, it’s water cold

which dared and tempted the old emperor.

He climbed into the river for a bath,

few dips down and the shivers forced him out.

Defeated he stood, and frozen each part,

complaining to Birbal with grief aloud.

‘How can one stand, let alone bathe here?

I will give five gold coins to anyone

who can spend the whole night in this river.

Is there such a person in my kingdom?’

After many attempts turned failures-

a poor old man took up the challenge.

He stood whole night in cold so severe

for an empty belly growled in revenge.

Finally, with dawn’s first light, he conquered,

and approached king Akbar to claim his prize.

Akbar was happy but he still wondered,

‘How did you do it?’, he asked in surprise.

The poor old man said, ‘Jahapanah,

it was a long night and water freezing.

All I did was stare at the lamp afar

which so flickered and kept me from sleeping,’

Akbar announced that the man had cheated

by getting warmth from the lamp, though remote.

The man cried injustice, felt defeated,

but Akbar was furious and stripped him off gold.

With no choice left the man approached Birbal,

lamented his tale to the sound ears.

Birbal listened then imparted wisdom

for which he was famous all his years.

The old man now, promised of his reward,

returned home to work on their devised plan.

And few days later as per their accord,

invited Akbar for luncheon so grand.

Akbar with Birbal finally arrived,

and waited for the food to get ready.

Hours later his patience was agonized

at the delay in making khichdi.

‘Why is it taking so much time to cook?

Show me how you are making it’, he frowned.

Khichdi in a pot hung high on a hook,

on a tree, and a small fire aground.

‘How can khichdi cook with fire so below’,

Akbar bellowed in hunger, in sorrow.

‘The same way, Jahapanah, when a lamp’s glow,

far away though, on a night cold, warmed me so.’

Akbar perplexed but soon burst out laughing.

‘You shall get your prize, my good man’, he aired,

glanced at Birbal, should have guessed it coming.

‘Now, I shall make khichdi ‘, old man declared.

Ahas

Suhas :

I recall the time when we first held hands,

walked the quiet streets with first-morning rays,

talked till the glass got tired turning sands-

Shorter seemed the hours of black and white days.

Anant:

Yet again we stand on this wedding stage.

You are still hot, and I’m so breathless.

Mistake this not and bill it to old age-

our golden years of togetherness.

Hunted/ Hunter (Shadow)

Hunger as intense as chase,
night when hunter stalked.
Longer eluded trail that blazed.
Fright conquered, prey baulked.

Kanha

Makhan dripped from the matki hung above,

hungry turned the eyes twinkled with mischief.

When the river bathed gopis with love,

He whisked away the clothes- a prank, a tease.

The Pandavas lost all in a gamble,

His presence halted a shameful disrobe.

Then came the time of preordained battle,

tricked the Kauravas, rightful side He chose.

Now the warriors were shielded with wisdom

against a mighty army of unjust.

When surveyed the foes, Arjun stood frozen.

Would a fight against gurus, kins be just?

Then Krishna enlightened the path unknown.

Pandavas thus armed, and the conch was blown.

Woman/Wine (Shadow)

Calls she if times sorrower-

sponger that I am.

Sobs invite and tempts kindle her.

bearer unveils glam.

Champagne

Here it lies so docile and casked

awaiting a chance to woo,

and display the fire that is masked.

Like an emotion bottled up, unshaken.

But when the bubbles rise, the cork pops-

a molten lava bursts through.

Kindles all senses with sparkling drops.

Swing

Feet dangled, long hair brushed the tiled floor.

When winds whooshed through the windows,

back and forth I swung with outstretched toes.

A purple dawn reigned as the sunlight streamed in.

Nature donned a colourful art piece.

A quiet lake, the hills rolled.

Swing - a pendulum of memories.

The Violnist

On the bridge of a railway station,

head bowed immersed in music-

violinist in meditation.

Notes hushed in this place awash with human rush.

Most seem unaware of his presence.

Some drop a coin once a week,

and those who pause are his audience.

The Yellow Flowers

From afar I see the yellow beds

over the road that goes deep.

But not before I scent their freshness.

Scattered they lie, and smile at each passer-by.

I wonder where would they look sweeter-

in a vase or on a street?

Then a girl braids her hair with a flower.

Heat (Haiku)

The leaves agonize
Sun spreads like a hot towel

Hope for a trickle

Chaas

The fired-up sun spread like a hot towel,

eclipsed the glories of a long winter.

When intense heat poured forth from the bowels,

a jar of iced-chaas shall whip the swelter.

Cry

Every morning I ask the mirror,

“friend, please reflect and tell me,

am I what I seem to appear?”

Too proud to express, too blur in else’s dress

is the lame image in which I hide.

Glass looks for I cannot see.

But the truth is truer in a cry.

Talacauvery

Amidst the mist dwells an old temple

on the hill echoed with green,

where the wind drones like a disciple.

Cauvery river starts its journey here.

The bells hum their presence in the haze.

Priest chants. I feel the unseen-

take a dip in the holy amaze.

Rainbow

Heart swelled as passion rushed thru the veins.

Inflamed each fiber along,

and a flower bloomed of a fine grain.

Over an ivy, and its freshness heady

Vast, deep and beyond the illusion-

in the dark ocean it dawned,

on wings of spiritual wisdom.

The Red Mustang

The wild horse galloped with nostrils flared,

the hoofs barely touched the ground,

and golden mane flowed over his head.

A rare breed, a vagabond, gallant in speed-

Appeared to have donned a red robe,

alert to dangers around

that his fiery eyes scanned and probed.

The Boss

In his dark den he plotted each move.
The combat-filled young years
poured wisdom over rhythm and groove.
Now, The Boss shunned the limelight and its chaos-
Under his watchful eyes, fighter trained.
Old counsel dispelled fears.
And in the brutal ring, boxer famed.