the wildlifer

a wanderin nomad,

no place to call my own.

in arunachal, i wouldn't recognize

the area between deban n miaow;

n when i return, bangalore'll be

a whole new town.

the balancing act on the move,

livin out my life in bits n pieces:

short visits home, homes everwhere.

n to lay claim on me, my ideas,

a few concepts n a study species.

chutney in bangalore

I often promise my feet

when trudging crowded streets,

dat ‘ll soon take ‘em places

far prettier than these.

But it’s nothing against seein u

rush for the bus,

ploddin ur way

thru the crowd thus,

dodging cars, crossin roads

jostlin thru the millin hordes.

U, who ought to be

in slippers, walkin a stream,

or in leech-proofs, a forest trail,

listenin for birds, smiling at snakes,

carelessly twirlin on the dewey grass,

as the open meadow u pass.

n though I’d miss u once u’re gone,

heart-rendingly incongruous:

it’s not where u belong.

the photograph

U sit posing with the one u love,

smiling at the camera,

grimacing in the sun.

N rt then the woman walks by

with a bag on her head;

It turns out to be a pic

of u n the bag instead.

It’s u alone

on a cold parapet stone,

n isn't that how it really is?