A morning must bring a poem

A morning must bring a poem

along with the sun

and a night must end with a story.

My grandfather used to say this.

The day he went in search of a pond

inside the bright fullmoon,

stories inside me

oozed out from the pores of my skin

and poems dissolved

in my tears.

For many days and nights,

I roamed this mortal earth

like the cursed son of Drona-

a guilty warrior,

devoid of any pain or pleasure.

When I returned,

I saw a tuberose in his garden

spreading wings every night

to reach the periodic moon,

perfuming my heart.

Contented and tireless in its efforts.

Night watches tuberose's ascent

to embrace a distant dream

and the morning bee hums

love drenched sweet songs.

This morning,

after years of musing,

I felt:

I must bring you a poem

to tell the story of a tuberose

in the garden of my grandfather.

Rajnigandha / Raat ki raani / tuberose

A DEATH POEM

I prefer a comfortable death

a nice, cosy, lazy one.

Say, swimming naked in a pool

and the light in the champagne 

leaves the glass.

May be, I would like to go for a short walk

and see things around me.

Some "hello",

some "how are you"

and death would catch me in a cough.

I don't mind a little excitement though.

Like in movies,

there should be a surprise element too.

I prefer a meteoritic death,

a holocaust. 

Something sudden.

Clear and clean.

I prefer a comfortable death

a nice, cosy, lazy one.

I would like to die

looking at a painting,

staring into Monalisa's smile.

A little ache in my heart

and I change my glance

outside the window.

"There, there goes a humming bird."

I would stretch my arms,

lying on your lap.

Blue eyes.

I take a deep breath

and the ocean engulfs me.

Your face fades

like the ashes of a love poem.

I wish for a younger you,

no grey hair please.

I want the ending perfect,

beautiful.

I prefer a comfortable death

a nice, cosy, lazy one.

I prefer lying on my bed,

eyes closed.

An empty clothes line

hangs on the roof top.