Keepers

People with memories,

Primarily sharp, but also deep-

Repositories of histories;

Forever close, we must keep.

 

He happened to be,

At an old spot,

Where they used to sip tea;

A monument, long lost.

 

He feels some things,

As if it were all happening live,

Oblivious of other beings;

Although, he wasn’t high.

 

He notices though,

A plugged speaker,

In place of the usual radio;

Takes the phone from the shopkeeper.

 

Types something into the phone,

The song ends abruptly;

He stands at a corner alone;

As now hums Ghulam Ali-

“मुद्दतें गुज़रीं पर अब तक वो ठिकाना याद है”

 

Whoa! What words!

What life! You beauty!

What times! Those hearts! 

What setup! That tea!

Makeshift

 

Art is birthed in solitude,

As everything good needs

People who can first see,

Inside their own souls,

And then pierce others’ veils.

 

Rarely but surely,

That solitude comes,

When we are not alone.

Being at peace within,

In someone else’s presence.

 

And in rarest of rare cases,

Art is birthed in turmoil.

Like torrential rains,

Forcing the unnoticed moving,

Of an arm on a shoulder.

 

But where are those rains?

Those people? The time?

The rain and the people-

Outside our control.

Time, we must find.

 

Time’s been scarce here,

But intuition says,

It’s only a matter of little time,

For time to arrive- with solitude,

So, we can reassess who we are now,

And our relationship with words.

To Hope

 

A deadly silence,

Shrieks into my ears.

The music of the rain,

I could have felt,

Had you been here.

 

Reminiscences of,

A phase back in time.

Two mates, like

Sworn brothers in arms.

Tales of our glory,

Days of our prime.

 

Where are you now?

Gone without a trace!

For too long, may I say.

With unshakeable hope,

I wait here nevertheless.

 

It’s been an unending night,

Without you my friend.

But I raise this toast,

To a life of bliss for you.

And the hope of meeting again.

Amen!

The Merciful Master

With a 1/12 probability,

Only one had to resent home,

For the hypothesis,

To come undone.

 

And yet here we are,

12 /12 have done it now.

The reclusive master,

Smiles at last, and how!

 

His absence construed,

As weakness by lesser ones,

The lives they’ve breathed,

Allowed by him, for once.

 

The cuffs of the material world,

Only he can evade.

No one else can lead you there,

In his embrace, must rest your head.

 

Fuck all the good inside of you.

The only fact that keeps you alive,

Is that, no matter where you go,

You will eventually end up being mine.  

 

But then, here’s this one,

Always mine, but yet so sad.

So close, yet apart,

Like those chambers of the heart.

 

I conclude stories once I see a happy face,

Nothing else I ask for.

And even if I let my heart run wild for you,

No one will ever know it; no one has before.

 

Never doubt my abilities dear, just ask,

I am as pervasive as time.

If I say there be peace bestowed on world,

Peace becomes your right divine.