original fun

Faith in belief,
A big anger in a gun,
Cutting everyone
Until there is none;
Or cloning all bipeds
Into an insipid one.

One is not so easy,
Yet it is the original fun,
When differences don't blow
And sense begins to flow;
We will have begun
To see the moon in sun.

Trace

Her steps are not so tall,
Her face like mirror, round and small;
She came to me in ecstasy,
To show me what I want to see.

She sang when the sky was with the moon,
Danced to the leaves with a tender tune;
I was covered in a place so pretty known,
Lied on the root much overgrown.

One step up she sang with me,
My heart was on her dancing face;
It mellowed well through the breezing tree,
Her joys had left a little trace.

Date

You were there the other day,

I had a wound I dared to say,

It is there and yet to heal,

When to date I don’t see still.

I call a number to book the seat

Don’t know if there’s a chance

For us to meet!

Would roam around without a glance,

No meaning there without you,

Come to me come anew,

No words breathe, and none asleep;

My heart abounds a loving beep

I can’t listen and I can’t see

My part apart from all of me.

Catharsis

Audience is there inside the play

It is also there outside,

When Hamlet was cutting it out

With eyes on the gauging mother arrested from a side.

When sets don’t match,

A lookout screams for a third,

To catch the clue, and perhaps also understand

Need is to listen to the mess in the herd,

With a mind aligned, without a stand.

Amidst what is it to pound and what it is to hiss,

The flow of fear is far from near trapped to loosen catharsis.

In the gloom scattered in the room

Stage is done with pride.

Audience is there inside the play like an unwanted groom

Eating it all, with eyes outside.

stance

In the world outside, change is in the air

In the world inside, it’s the constant affair.

It's little strange

I don’t need to change;

in my garden, the same old tree

was there before my birth, will be still after me;

the same food, the same place,

same friends, the same dress;

if I remain the same,

I like who’re unlike me,

there’s nothing wrong, no shame

if I just let me be.
Like days and nights, fruits of the season I eat
Do not but repeat.

In the world outside, change is in the air

In the world inside, it’s the constant affair.

The instrument

The cream of crime

is when it doesn’t rhyme

The beauty of bliss

is when it is amiss
thinking of that or this

and sleeps, wakes up out of time!

They are so everything, in everything

Rhythm that comes from reading

Tune from the heart

words can merely part

from the most outstanding art…

For it is they we see, recite and sing!

nameless

When everything’s in fire,

unstable in the wind of ire,

it comes out of me.

When everything’s cool,

there’s a yearning owl,

It returns to me.

I see it, hold it all the time

it can sing, it can rhyme,

with the whole of me, I taste

find a place for it to nest,

it’s not for sale or hire,

There’s for it in it a desire.

trail

From the moving train a pair of eyes,

Saw a white trail running away;

From the middle of an unkempt meadow,

The grey trying to free away, from the heavy head.

Holes in the nose smell of cow dung,

Ears are full of sounds of wheels.

Body shakes and the mind flies,

It goes outside to find a way;

Clouds fall as snow as though,  

Cotton drops with words unread.

Moving to act, unseen unsung,

All at ease when it heals.

Where to build the surest den

Speakers in crowd shouting aloud;

It stops a little so we can plan,

Strangers around to comfort me,

Concealed thrills for times it went,

Of what it thought and what it meant.

Nothing’s known as I can see;

Nowhere to go, nothing to span.

My train’s name has made me proud,

Of a trail that fell on the grass again.

support

I wake up this morning to find me hanging in the sky. It has come down and the earth has gone up, now unreachable! It's hanging like the sky used to! It is so far, far away. It seems we had taken out so much from the earth that it had become too light to support human beings. All other living beings have moved up…heard later from one of my friends that she was crying while dropping us off.

Now that we are in the sky, we should be happy. Ah no! Far from it. We can’t walk, because we don’t know how to sailwalk, sailsleep, saileat and sailive, we don’t know how to make cloudcloth, cloudhouse, and cloudbed, and have cloudcrop. There is a lot of learning that needs to be done. New words are coming in, but we are still struggling hard to keep upto the tenses without a ground. We can’t sit, sleep, eat without the feeling of falling off. And guess what...we can’t even do that…simply because of lack of support...we need some support for heaven’s sake…either a wall, or a sofa, or a bed, or the kitchen island, or a ground…here there’s nothing to support, and we are perpetually falling off. Who could have ever imagined that living in the sky could be so painful.

However, the most difficult thing we are facing here is that we are unable to make boundaries. Some intelligent people have even made cloudguns. The easily offendables have not forgotten who offended who, but we can't demarcate them out, keep the likes in, and the unlikes out. How to do that without an out is the question! There is no out! The cloudpoles are of no use because they are just not staying in one place, and we learn that under the sky we have more of sky. We have other serious issues to think of, like what to do when there’s thunder, or lightening, or when there are no cloudcrops…but making boundaries seems to be more important for us at the moment.

It is not the law of gravitation, it is the support we are missing here. We look up with frustration. Those green meadows, rocky mountains, tireless rivers, and the blue blue seas and oceans had supported us all through the years to help us make boundaries, dams, walls, and even procreate. The sky for heavens doesn't support.

Homeland

Seated by the window of a plane… waiting to take off. 

Ground reality is my homeland. My house I can’t see, but I know it’s there somewhere.  Everything I can see is so real. Looking up. Clouds are adding on to the weight of the sky. The plane is preparing to take us there. It takes off. In some moments, through our stone deaf ears, my eyes realise we are up in the sky. Looking down. Can’t make out which is a hut and which a sky rise. All are dots now. The clouds are real. They have started melting onto the earth now. It has become lighter, clearer, cleaner, brighter. It is space. Is there conflict here? Well, earth is also space, and so is the space between the earth and the sky. We have one sky, one earth. The plane is moving I know, but I can’t feel it. Not at all. Just as I don’t realise when the earth moves. It appears as not real. That which is flat is round, and that which is still is moving, and space which is thick with things is also space. So what is real? Is the conflict I see real? Is the killing I see real? The sky which was not real from the ground, and the ground which does not seem real from the sky! Both are real or nothing is? So is it the distance that’s causing the shift from the real into something it is not? So will the conflict seem unreal with distance I wonder. It’s worth making the effort then.

The plane landed. People speak, eat, dress, and even think differently. The language I use in my land is not real here. Nothing is real and constant. I see conflict here too. What causes this conflict in a place where nothing is real. I am away from my home, away from my food, away from my familiar smell. But I see conflict here too just as I see in the land where my home is. I feel at peace here. Nobody understands what I speak, so I am in conflict with none. I find this strange when people here want to know about my land and go there. They say they are tired of conflicts, and that people are bad there. Strange, because I have seen people saying the same thing in my land too!

Like this I move from land to land. And everywhere I find that people are tired of conflicts, of their own people, and they want to travel to be at peace with themselves. So it is the distance may be! Not sure, there is a may be. Or is it the way of looking at your people as if they are not yours, to be able to imagine that you don’t belong to the land where your home is makes all the difference.

I am on the plane again. I am in the sky. I am seated in an aisle now. This is my home… this space is my home. I have imagined similar roads, tea shops where I drink tea with friends in the sky. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there somewhere.

My plane has arrived in my homeland now… can’t wait to reach home. I see me telling myself that this is not my home...it is elsewhere, in a space where there is infinite peace. With this I reach my homeland and I see my people running into me to say hello.