lies, all

"i feel neither hurt nor regret

 my nostalgia is without algia

 and i’m never beset

 by jealousy or the fear of growing old"

 with fingers frozen numb, she said

"and my hands are never cold"

matters of the heart

a minor infarction in the left of the heart sent him

back on the ventilator and the dialysis machine

it’s always hard to say at his age, so

his chances are slim

and then it’s a matter of the heart

but she’ll pay her way

keep him like that for another day

life support may only seem to prolong his agony

but how can she ask it to be denied him?

it is after all, a matter of the heart

3/5

the fifth night we were on the same bed

that fifth night, i think

we hardly ever slept

the third night we tried to sleep side by side

through the bumpy ride

your feet tucked under my thigh

that first night you saw me sleep alone in my sleeping bag

with my hands folded on my chest

like a mummy you thought, dead

on love ll

as in kite-flying

the one who lasts

is the one with the string

steeped in broken glass

a year ago, in bangalore

i cycle past cows munching on rotting marigold garlands

in the garbage dump

it is time taken off to paint though not a single thing is made

apparently i am in a slump

it rains and the streetlights all become shower-heads

where the termites come to die

i see an owlet on the wires and write a poem about it

i’m told it made someone cry

i wake up thinking i’m in your bed, posters of pearl jam in my head

and somehow, quang duc, the vietnamese monk

you invite me to the party and i make a fool of myself

it seems i got really drunk

memories of a winter evening walk

the setting sun glows orange reflected

amongst the green shoots of the watered wheat

watered for the first time at about three weeks

and waterlogged for the first time in months it’s a feast

that’s attracted a dozen egrets pacing the skewed square

criss-crossing each other with measured strides as a pair

of lapwings watch from the embankment and a couple

of kingfishers one on a wire and the other on a supple

low branch on which to beat whatever is caught dead

sit bobbing eagerly now their tail and now their head

even some pigeons and doves and some noisy parakeets

scour the nearby grassy paths for something to eat

having been attracted to the spot by what looked like a treat

a scraggly mongrel ready any moment to beat a hasty retreat

approaches an ibis who comes probing the fields before it

and ignoring the dog carries on earnestly with its wings folded

behind its back. the mongrel thus disregarded goes

back to looking for rats flushed out of their burrows

and a pair of starlings - passing migrants, they’re early – groom

sitting close together on the neem by the overgrown tubewell room

with wet-mud-socks the collared resident now comes by on his rounds

and freezes at the sight of the trespasser with his nose in the ground

then silently rushes forward empowered by righteous anger

to maul to crush to take down the insolent intruder

the pond heron that’s been staring motionless and wide-eyed

now suddenly comes to life in a brilliant flash of white

and the poor mendicant alerted just in time to the attack

barely has time to take in the barbed furball as he looks back

but takes to his heels tail tucked without a moment’s hesitation

which seeing the ferocity of the chase was a wise decision

and thus he’s chased past the lapwings - who circle cursing after

them - and over embankments with much splashing of water

right across the sun’s reflection that’s now a shimmering band

all the way to the refuge of the distant sugarcane stand

an ‘armless little miss-you note

the grass is baked a pale brittle metallic hue

the soil is cracked, flying up in dust

come now, a downpour

is it too much to ask for?

an innocuous power-cut

the young delinquent

since his smoking became more frequent

added to the late night excursion on the terrace

a pre-bath smoke before the mirrors

trusting the efficiency of the exhaust fan as well

as the rich aroma of the new shower gel

but then one evening his luck ran out

there was a rather untimely black-out

and in the dank smoky darkness sank

in the realization that the exhaust fan

was not connected to the inverter battery back-up

they wouldn’t open, the windows were stuck

the smoke mixed with the shower gel

gave rise to a smell you just couldn’t quell

and just then his mum began to shout

calling him for dinner without

his mind was blank, what excuse?

that was when all hell broke loose

with a shrug

i’m going back to the chequered hills

steeped in vendettas

that’s where my heart finds peace

amongst the pale poinsettas

piss off

forgive me

if i find your righteous anger moronic

it’s just an honest opinion, i’m not trying to sound sardonic

when i say that i find your rhetoric too lame

we’re all entitled to our sentiments

however dim-witted they happen to be

so i see why you get so worked up but forgive me if i fail to see

how you're so sure about who’s to blame

and trust me

you want to leave me out of this coz if i lose it and decide to go

on a rampage, you never know

whom i’ll leave mutilated and maimed