Poems, while thinking of S.

Lust Never Sleeps

Lust never sleeps, It dreams of you Your face in my head Questioning me, confronting me With those big conquering eyes Prodding me to be straight And honorable, to you, to you alone Squeezing the last breath out of me...

Revenge Poem

How long are you going to smile a public smile when you see me Sweeping me out the door of your kindness and grace How long am I to go on feeling a private guilt when I see you Hoping one day you will see the chains you...

Afterlife

Yesterday I realized From the white-knuckle silence She wouldn’t let go That I am still unborn A point of no focus Not ready yet For her words that ring love May never be ready yet For that chuckle from her eyes...

How We Die

Do I not see in your face The growing pointlessness of me? Did I not get used to you Not even trying to ignore me? What then is this longing still, For a feeling for home, For an uplifting of moods? I must announce this...

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Recollections

Her Secret

“Show me your house,” said she As soon as we opened the door Now, on the eighth day The house is empty Mute, quiet, refusing to Wave goodbye It was my house She arrived at But in her departure, She left our...

Heart Ages Ago

I write to you pretending I wrote to no one in particular; as though we are strangers at last; Why then my heart is heavy when you replied, as though we will be strangers forever? One from the vault, scribbled heart...

After Separation

So bright you are You said Too bright for me So sharp you are You said Too sharp for me So much love I have You said Too afraid to say how much Too much to speak in words Staying back You shine Like those vitreous...

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Poems, when crushed by B.

Are you happy now?

We were blind once. We didn’t speak once. We didn’t know once. Then. Then…? We spoke a lot, First to ourselves, Saying “Is this real?” Then to each other, In whispers. I said I am nothing...

Would be nice

It would be nice To touch those hands To press those fingers To take them in my hands To take them in my fingers To kiss them Feel the damp sweat of her palms on my face Would be nice To put my arm around her shoulders...

To B: When you go home

It is four in the morning. Endless hours of flying, Brought me from sunshine to sunshine. Brain on autopilot. Disconnected. Still. Experiencing, The newness of the old. Opened the door. House woke up to the sound, As if...

Weight Off My Heart

For tomorrow I must lose this weight off my heart Pry it out of your vise grip of silence Somebody holds the key to this living, and its not me When nanna died, I cried at the mere sight of the birds When amma died, I...

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On Translations

To N.

Our six year-old

“Did you notice?” You said once. “How I don’t address you by name?” “Did you wonder why?” Then we smiled At each other … We then leaned Toward each other “Did you...

Macrolove – N

First cold hands, then warm you Soon sheets of macrolove Enveloped me and you Like a front that’s come in “You silly,” you said “It doesn’t die,” you said And now, fat raindrops Fall...

On the Shores of My Grave

A wave of somethings appeared out of nowhere Thoughts, recollections and some debris Some, questioning if my memory is true Others, smiling with kindness at me— but still unhappy at my worries That I didn’t create...

23 and You and Me

One look, one word
And I died everyday
I didn’t kiss you
Now, after 23 years
I still live
For one word, for one look
And for one kiss
To encode life
Into my 23 pairs

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With Amma

On "All Things Unforgiven"

Road to Brooklyn Book Festival

Sometime in the middle of 1978. Old city of Hyderabad burned with Hindus and Muslims killing each other, and the police killing everyone. Early May 2003. “Characters should behave unaware of the future that lay ahead of...

Sources Of Inspiration

Going through my notes, it is clear that I am inspired significantly by literary criticism. George Steiner, Richard Blackmur (R.P. Blackmur), John Bayley, Edward Wasiolek, R.F. Christian, Richard Gustafson, Gary Saul...

“It Is The Story Of …”

July 8th, 2003 It is not a story of characters where it is clear immediately who is in the wrong, with dark evil intentions and good intentions. No. It is the story of helplessness in the face of one’s own...

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... and the rest

Saaranga English

After an intense 2-month work including a complete front-end overhaul, Saaranga Magazine is now relaunched, with a new English section. Magazine here, and my article, How will they receive me, for the inaugural edition.

p80 “Oliver Twist”

He wandered over them again. He had called them into view, and it was not easy to replace the shroud that had so long concealed them. There were the faces of friends and foes, and of many that had been almost strangers...

Mundane Words

When people gather together, the first thing they do is to tell each other the purpose of why they are there. They begin by reciting their purpose, and the very reasons of being there. This exchange somehow moves the...