Works of RK

I miss you, For infinity that lies in your eyes For the midnight that dwelves Between your manicured brows. For life and all its joys That you carry in your wake For happiness, and joy And chuckle and the silly fights For longing, and pain that is to come I miss you For the shades you lend to my shadows For being the reason for me to walk Into my otherwise empty tomorrow's. This little life And all that there is in there And not there.

It is not darkness But the absence of light Not pain But absence of pleasure. There are days that are dreary Days that are sad And I find myself looking up at the sky And begging for the Sun To just fucking shine. The heart that throbbed within me once Like cannon balls thudding around Now lies silent and forlorn, even, As a battle rages deep within. What the heart feels A poet can string to words Through slow mellow rhymes Silent in longing and love. But the Shakespearean silence of my soul I can never pen, Into words you will fully understand. There is no method my love, To my madness My madness is you. It is not darkness that surrounds me It’s the absence of your light, This life’s only true delight

Long train journeys make me sad. The gentle lyre that plays some sad Chinese melody in the background of our everyday lives, suddenly comes afore. The notes from their pathos drown me. As in a trance, I find myself staring at concrete sleepers and iron tracks, my eyes brimming with ancient tears. I have often wondered why this happens. Maybe because long train journeys remind me of my childhood. Reminds me of a life full of beautiful loving people. Some have traveled to the edges of these railroads and faded out of sight, some have merged with these tracks and what remains of them are the sounds from these clanging wheels of an ageing memory and iron dust. This rattling reminds me of a journey that all of us have to undertake. This long untiring unending relentless journey on iron wheels, hooting, halting, changing lanes, always running. I bid goodbyes to those who have arrived. As I hurtle towards my own destination, I take a quick look at those who i travel with. When my time comes, ...

I have felt your heart beat At my finger tips I have felt the heightened fluttering In your being From my being. I carry within me forever the warmth From that near embrace The moonlight that lends a sparkle To the glitter in your lashes Reminds me of that night When I first realized That the heart that beats near mine Is just as mine Only closer.

Before I knew you, I did not know myself. Before I knew you, I thought I knew myself. I did not know that a stray wind carrying in its fold a faint fragrance from yore, would make my heart miss a beat, stop time and freeze me in its eternal moment. I did not know that a laughter from a stranger would reverberate across an ocean of full of shackled memories, and huge tidal waves of your thoughts, could drown me into eternal grief . I did not know that I will catch myself so often, intensely staring at strangers in red, for red was your favourite colour. Before I knew you, I thought I had conquered love and were immune to it. Before I knew you, I was barely human.

My mamma speaks of the time when I was a four year old. One day, I jumped on one side of an empty refrigerator stand, and the other side came and hit me on my face. The stand was made of iron and I hurt my eyebrow bad. I went about playing until the blood started clouding my vision and staining the floor. It was then that my aunt looked out of the window and screamed out of fear and surprise. It was her scream that scared me. I started crying as well, rubbing all that blood from my slit eyebrows all over my face. It hurt bad. The doc gave me 6 stitches to get my brow back in shape. I still have them right there. After the stitches, mamma says that I would play around all day and occasionally weep with the pain from the stitches. I will sing, laugh, run and fight, and then cry some as well. It was funny, watching me hop around with a huge bandage on one eye, it was also heart rending for her. I was all of four years old when that happened. Mamma, nothing much has changed. The pain now, ...

TWO SHADES TOO BLUE I watch the empty window-side table closely. For this used to be your favourite place. Here you would sip your half cup tea And pout and look out of the window longingly. You will point to people going about their everyday lives,  and like a little princess, you will weave stories, and chuckle and laugh Your presence had a way of making my little house Feel full. It was as if you filled my walls with shades That made then come to life. As if suddenly, Being a dining table was an important achievement, And that wall hanging Would acquire a personality, and indulgently Glare at me; as if this were its house, not mine. I now look at the empty space besides my window. Baby , it was your favourite spot. And watching you My favourite moment. First published in Muse India, Jan-Feb 2017