Works of RK

For me you have been a traveler The one who rides the oceans and the big blue seas Seeking experiences That can be framed into postcards Of wonderful memories For a future  That is yet to unravel.  Your today's rush you Into your tomorrows  And in its wake Small boats likeme Would mostly sink Into long forgotten memories Of abandoned islands  Where you now live no more.  As I watch you sleep The glasses back on your face The little girl back in the rug The silent one yearning for a hug I feel you tug at my cuffs Ten more minutes,  you say Stay with me,  for ten more minutes... And then I am scared Of who you will be When you wake up.

Sometimes,  life drums itself into a crescendo. The high notes bleed you and the low notes depresses you  When you decide to change your skin You realise that you got it all wrong! You will hurt  Your loved ones will hurt  And you will see red,  Everywhere.  Who ever told you,   That it will be easy Lied to you.  Whoever told you That it will be tough Lied to you too. Nobody outside of you Will ever have a clue.  And if you pull through Whatever you go on to become May or may not be What you ever wanted to be. A puppet on strings invisible As you dance to your present death Everybody else out there Is just watching you And probably Having fun. 

It was a roller coaster life Until it was not fun anymore   Whirlwind tours Large, life changing projects Lots of love Lots of attention Until it was a party no more. When it rained And the grass was green again When it was springtime And the Vishu flowers Bloomed again I could sense her call In the increased longing Of my lines now gradually filling With pathos and loss I looked at the work-bay So antiseptically clean! The computer screen With a background That now had no new stories to tell! And I looked out of the window And saw a million cars Being driven To now meaningless places For now meaningless reasons. I closed my eyes and she spoke to me... Through the pollen and the petrichor Through the call of the fisherman And the song of the paddy field worker I could hear the evening drums from my village temple Now beat closer home than ever before The deity would visit me in my dream And ordain: Follow me home, follow me hom...

You appear more often in my dreams these days  Some really strange and some most inexplicable. Today, I saw you crossing A dark and lonesome wood Filled with translucent creepers  And monstrous trees with fangs And then the woods, they morphed And took on strange forms Of shapes I could not comprehend. And then there were other dreams. Here, I am holding you close, and there I find myself crying for you, as you suddenly turn into the wind and the rustling of the leaves and the fire from fireflies turning into dragons. Here I drown in your dark broody eyes, and there you look at me, from behind ancient ruins of broken homes and stairs that run into dungeons and mazes... And starless skies  And empty white spaces. I don't sleep well these days In me, you don't sleep well these days.

I don’t want to be here anymore The ageing paint and the dripping taps The fading chairs and the dirty Oven That now no one cares for Reminds me of you Their hellos, their smiles, And the way they look at me as I walk in And walk out Alone Burdens my soul… I don’t want to be here anymore And I don’t want to be there Where the table you sat on is And the plate I served you in Is Where an old safety pin Sits next to a lock of your hair And a book of mine From a time I do not now Remember I don’t want to be there anymore Not here Not there.

Hold on to the lean fingers Of your old young mother's hand And stop trying to make sense Of the justice in this all When the school bells ring Find a little pebble to break Go help your father Climb a hundred stairs Look down the cavity in the walls But don't fall, don't fall May your never experience hunger Let there be junk from the day before Served with the kindness Of strangers who offer The big lord, gold Cry little child cry Let the concrete in the Sethu ' s* site Never run dry. You cry. You cry. * A rich man.

I read that there was a fire in Andover, near Boston. I pinged her and saw the double tick An hour later, a message, I am safe, don't worry. The heart beats in such distant places. People die long before they are dead.