Sahitya Akademi anthology, Sudeep Sen Ed.

I had two poems selected for a Sahitya Akademi anthology being edited by Sudeep Sen. Due to reasons of space, this was later cut down to one. 'Learning To Wear a Mekhala' has earlier been published in an LGBT newsletter, published from Guwahati, Assam called 'Xukia'. I will put up the text of the poem here only after the anthology is out, which it is expected to be in March 2018.

Six Seasons Review #It Will Have To Do

'It Will Have To Do' was published in Six Seasons Review, November 2017 issue

It will have to do

And perhaps it is enough to imagine you

Sitting open haired by another window

This evening, with some soft music

In the background. Perhaps it is enough

To lie languidly with a book and imagine

You similarly reading, without fixing specificities

Of what you read. Enough to know that you write

Without the urge to read each one you ever wrote.

It will have to be enough to know that you smile

That you are still sometimes as beautiful, and as

Brusque, without the need of me being there

To see. It will have to do to imagine you all alone

In the strangest of places, poking around

With that camera. It will have to do

To think that you probably have good reasons,

Because questions will have to remain unasked

Throttling my throat with their scorching dust

 no water in sight. It will have to do,

It will have to do, as I sit poring over a pile

Of assignments, to imagine you with another such bundle

With similar shrieks, with just another bunch of faces:

Curious eager bored mocking uncaring. It will have to be

Enough to know that you ARE, without knowing where

To know that you are loved, without aching to be the one

To love you. From now on, imagination and memory

Will have to suffice, unspoken apologies will have

To suffice with a prayer that you understand the wordless.

Perhaps the idea of you is larger than you, or the colour

Of your orange nailpaint or your mekhala. Perhaps the idea

Of you stretches to birds on trees outside my balcony

To the salt tears I lick with my tongue, perhaps it pervades

Objects in this room which act as reminders, perhaps

Similarly sitting, similarly reading, similarly similarly

Similarly finding connection in absence, in difference

Perhaps this migraine connects me to you, my hair,

my kohl, my dailyness connects me to you, perhaps

A poem, a sketch, a bird, a dream,

 influence, desire similarly similarly . Perhaps,

 the idea of you is here to stay. Perhaps,

it is enough to thank you and set you free.

Six Seasons Review #I Love You Better Than I Know How To Write Poems

'I Love You Better Than I Know How To Write Poems' was published in Six Seasons Review, November 2017 issue.


I love you better than I know how to write poems

I tried to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees

but I am not Neruda and when I speak

of morning suns and birds and the wind in the trees

it feels like I have marbles in my mouth

like I have three legs instead of two

the notes fall flat and tuneless and off scale like jarring clichés

but that is not the way I love you, the way I love you is not a cliché

I can think of beautiful poem endings

but no beginnings nor middles

every pore in my body has dried up longing for you

it has learnt how to ache patiently

but sometimes it forgets and it aches madly, desperately

and then I must learn to be still and more patient

I try to do with myself what spring does with the cherry trees

I love you because I know that I cannot live and not love you

I love you better than I know how to write poems

but I wanted this poem to be better than the way I love you

I could disappear and become only a voice

a voice that surrenders itself entirely to you.

Six Seasons Review #Toerings Anklets

'Toerings anklets' was published in Six Seasons Review, November 2017 issue



Toerings anklets
a bindi, kohl
hairpin earrings
and a stole.

I look pretty in the mirror.
I feel pretty in the sun.

Why do I do this? Perhaps
to show that after defilement, after shame
and scars and marks
after accuse and guilt and sorrow
I can still be beautiful.

Six Seasons Review #Rainstorms in the Mountains

1.       'Rainstorms in the Mountains' was pubished in Six Seasons Review, November 2017 issue.

        Rainstorms in the Mountains

                        

“Rain in the Mountains” ~ Ruskin Bond

“Mountains make love to the sky” ~ John Denver

The sky goddess wears a grey skirt

The blue and white hem grazes

the tops of mountains, until

it disappears, leaving the grey skirt

its voluminous swathes enveloping all

The folds of the grey skirt then turn white

Enclosing and trapping all in its impenetrable

Mist, its hugging white clinging moist embrace

Like a lover who demands more, more, more

A sudden wind whips up, leaves us huddling

Pitifully in our sparse, bare shawls, shivering

Scared of being blown away, seeking refuge

In a tumble-down shack. The rains in the mountains

Are sudden and swift. The street lies strewn

With fallen branches of deodars and tufts of pines

The telltale remains of an extravagant revelry

as I walk back to my tiny pitch black room

wooden staircase, wooden floors,

Wooden ceilings, and a lone candle flame.

Six Seasons Review #Kasauli

'Kasauli' ( originally 'Kausali, 22nd May) was published in Six Seasons Review, November 2017 issue.

1.      Kasauli

There are things that we cannot believe

even when they happen. When wild

and crazy whims turn to fruition

we are stunned into disbelief. I have often dreamt

of going to Kasauli like you—my mind says with you

but you will excuse the Freudian slip—

but I never dreamt of doing it like this—all alone

and on your birthday.—I wandered over the hills

collecting pine cones and branches of deodars

paying little heed to stares of amazement and disbelief.

I imagined you walking over all those paths

that I walked on. I saw some birds too,

though I could not click them—having an erratic

and moody phone camera—I met

a bird photographer too but that was yesterday—

I saw two greenish birds and a tiny little one

with a red tail. I saw another tiny one

taking short flights of fancy, perhaps

longer flights of fantasy. I saw sparrows too

which are mostly extinct now. I clicked lots

of pictures but perhaps destiny did not want me

to click the birds—although I do not

believe in destiny but perhaps in signs—

The poem—and my mind—wanders

And digresses as much as I did.

It is such a quaint little town

with its pretty churches, “narrow streets of cobblestone”,

and fascinating wooden and wrought iron toys.

Though the Indian army posters

do not make it any prettier—but perhaps

they are a necessary evil.—I had beer

 and apple stew for lunch. And I missed

the last bus back because I sat watching

the sunset too long. I imagined you in buses,

with cameras and birds and people close to you.

I celebrated the day in countless tiny little ways

as I always do—but I have embarrassed you

too much already—the poem

is devoid of artifice because it is too intense

with emotion. Writing the poem, like watching

the sunset is only a way of making myself believe

that this most beautiful day is real

and so are you. I want it to stay,

but this most beautiful day, like you and the birds, is slipping away.