Can you still hear me?

If I could reach out to you
Through the crisscrossing noise
Of the crushing static undertones

You would hear your name
Read out aloud
In every prayer I let out

Into this now empty universe.

You are in the crackling
And the sputtering
Of breeze stricken diyas
From all Diwalis past

You are in the daily din of life
That is walking by
Without looking back at the souls
Stranded on cobblestone pavements
And left behind in time.

If I could reach out to you
Through the dense fog
Of distant minds and angry hearts
You would hear my heart beat
With the same erratic thump
That you left behind.

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Spiral

Come Let us slice into each other With fine surgical precision You slash me here I slash you there And then When the storm is done I will patch you up And you tuck me up You bring the bucket I the mop the blood And together we will cleanse Our ancient hurts Our guilts And our fears Until we start again And over a cup of coffee You tell me My dear Just how much you love me And I shall tell you Just how much I love you.

Our Kind of Music

Together We might never dissolve fully Into each other But we will flow my love Like rivulets through paths untrodden And we shall make music Like pebbles rolling And water flowing And birds calling There are all kinds of music And such shall be ours.

Clowns in a Circus

The circus came to town I could see the posters of acrobats and hippos and giant wheels On shaky ancient auto- rikshaws Driven by incorrigibly happy Poor people. For some years now, I have felt like the joker Looking at a gallery full of fools Wanting to believe That what they see And live Is not sheer drudgery But liquid entertainment. I think Joaquin Phoenix fucked my world view Forever. And before that, there was the Matrix Or even, Joseph Heller Or maybe it was Gabriel Garcia Marquez Or even The Bhagwan who declared In his infinite wisdom That the infinity of our souls And the divinity of our beings Are sullen By the circus Of life.

Works of RK

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