from rivers and towns: fireflies and fish conversations those fireflies and rivers wanted to get to the roads over the banks of refugee shacks over tumbling tempo hoods over our embarrassed long and rounded vowels just to smell the

  13 Insomniac Moons Night ceases to be a sedative, a journey through wilderness, weary traveller’s hammock, her trailing footprints or that lingering winter breath. December, 3.01 AM   Night has become an unintelligible prescription,   January, 3.02 AM. A

  A River of Gold Where colours make sounds, Red for laughter, yellow for tears Red for love, yellow for longing This moment when sounds – still Motion – suspended – 39,500 ft in the sky – Captain something called

   Trust… My capricious fancies Meander as they will Through the clouds Volubly flowing through To you  Hope As the dawn Fills the sky The first light Intrudes the night Capturing yellow Pink with blue Darkness can mellow The past

  Drawing Room : Homely poems   1. Everyday father would return from office, sit down on the sofa, untie his laces and take off his socks. He’d casually drop them in his shoes, and let the feet slide into his massage

   Fall and Autumn Here, the leaves turn yellow first. Not the bright yellow that blinds the eyes, like sunlight, But paler, like life draining slowly from the hollow cheeks of an old man. Then the leaves fall Sometimes they

   Stone This hunger is no ‘humour’. My bread is freedom. This ought to be a sin; I am a traitor, Deprived of all belongings. The stones which I throw Once used to be my home. And the day I

   In the night of your cocoon There is a thread, Which ties me to you. Invisible, woven flecks of stardust; A twinned twine of intangibility and fear. Ancient yet alive. In the night of your cocoon, Filled with glowing,

   Hip-Bone Butterfly I want to wake you up in the morning and peel you off bit by bit till you’re parched and white.   I would like to see you whole, unblinking, watch you unravel like a sanctum —