Longing to touch

Longing to touch

Perhaps all matters of art spring from a hypnotic longing tending towards touching an inhabitance of sublime in our nurtured presence. Although sublime, by virtue of its differentiation in degrees, shapes itself into forms, that often of its character speak, … Continue reading

I found wilderness at the sea

Withdrawn in chambers of thought
Sat reclined, murmurs about
In peace we live the tale forgotten
As natural a way to life…

Must’ve known the pleasures kind
And pampers full of care
That I received at home
Those days of learning to fly

Traditional classic, the good guy blind
Juggernaut, grandfather word kind
From letters formed at school
Always knew left from right.

The ways already known
Just had to walk and profess
Stale, the desire is made
This season of flight.

Outdoors, when I ventured
Walked into the sea
Slashed one by one
Usual waters hearty.

Newness was born, the boundless song
Collisions of rhyme and rhythm
Break and fall back right again
Suspended the thoughtful movement.

Saline waters undress
Liars from lovers
Wounds all heal
But lies drown entirely

Then we realize for sure
Art of waves in tides
Never mind the dishonest affair
I found wilderness at the sea!






Boundless the waters parade
Calm by the sea choices to make
Must burn my skin red
Early temptation a fix
I seek until there is more
To put my heart at rest
By the shore I confess…

Have limited myself to screens
Blind and lost sound screams
Where holding on still
The desire so pure
Must not let go
Why? Must we always leave?

These waves abound
Keep reaching the shore
Like I made my ways to you
But recede back
Washing clean
Moist sands
Footprints I weave

Walks about in no need
None tasks to heed
Sitting around
Smile a little
Let breezes shape your hair
Sands curve your body
Eyes reaching wherever
No worries
Boundless is the sea.



Speak later when in town
Surely the old fashioned brown
Grey hair have settled just fine
Why bother morning sunshine…

Books all lay forgotten
Not collecting dust
Because girls would clean
Fresh hours of every day.

Market surges on papers
Here decorated this way or that
Daily jobs and cash
Evenings made domestic friends

A laptop would make things fine
If they would just repair
If they would sometimes care…

Who are they? I wish to know
Working away in midnight flavour
Still fresh after morning slumber

Laptops won’t boot again
Books won’t see your eyes
For we’ve all matured
To this slow decay…


Walking Conversations

All life’s a long walk,
Maybe or maybe not,
Dedicated to metaphors
Of forests and fires alike
Set afoot somewhere close
Who’d often tell tales of travel
Had mouths wide open
No words ever graced
Just appreciation and admiration
To hold and never let go…

You, I had met in season’s gold
When rivers surge and skies rain
The walk in forest comes alive
To streets and cities alike
A living it is, not a life
The walking-with I name
Yet, some chose other ways
Made my own, living as I learned
From waters to bridges
From cities to villages
Ways are not chosen
They are made…

To talk much like a walk
Silences and bird sounds
Motor cars to street artists
Some angry men to women
And rest pleaders of cases
Move around my ear
In motion, surrendered notions
And both of us,
Looked lost into the landscape…

Shoulder to shoulder,
The walk was made
In peaks of conversations
I remember at homes
Postcards and letter tales
Posted and collected
All have a secret corner
Yet nobody, like you, the walk
One I’d always talk
For if nothing at all
I have talked a few
Knowing what to say
Silence shall I share:

“If you must travel, keep yourself at home.”



She has come down upon us again
Made of skies in utmost care
When here on the Mall
Contemplated sat faces longing inside
In whispers most of us said no
Just so that we are right
Those who sensed kept quiet
Yet eyes unspoken gave it away
We knew she’s on her way…

We sat long into the night
Regular rounds to window curtains
But thunder, storm and rain
Forced back to beds
Where between anticipation
And warm quilted rest
The decision was made
“We’ll see what morning has in store”

Morning breaks, so does sleep
Still murmur on our tin roofs
Like the ones of November rain
Curtain drawn, the sky overcast
Perhaps not again this year…

Weather reports 5 degrees on the screen
Two clouds with teardrops as seen
Science knows best
Let me make to the everyday
Carrying heavy despair, we walked
Outside where all was wet
Coolies, milkmen and shopkeepers
Restaurants and Cafes
All the same, nothing has changed
Just another cold winter’s day

“Happy Snow day!”
Inside I was philosophizing
Working on letters at the desk
Yellow lamp and blowing warmth
“It is only raining…”

Desire once seeped in
Forgotten or Ignored
Enkindles every breath
I walk to the window
Calmer than silence
She was there!