Tuesday, April 24, 2012


That smell of vanilla optimism,
Mixed with the cramped exotic air,
Evades, swindles and steals
A second of quixotic thought.

Rolling mountain greenery,
Stray sunsets over rivers, backwaters,
Narrow roads with religious direction,
A pointless path leading into darkness.

The winds betray, but I cannot understand.
The glass doors of civilization
Tainted with beetle juice stains
Stand in service, till a protesting stone can be hurled.

The seasons move on, forgetting the past-
A million years of history; yesterday's crop prices;
And yet a glimpse through a translucent pink curtain,
Of an uncle's marriage, a God without a visage.

A dawn breaks, trumpeted by freaky birds,
Like an insincere prayer told with a half-opened eye.
The world crawls in a space never seen by you,
As a dam opens to flood thirsty lands.

The wicker baskets hold flowers of worship,
Camphorous, the anger builds- pardons, songs-
Beat yourself till redemption,
Cry for what your God hates.

A sun bird beats its wings
Like an exorcist swaying with the spirits;
A yearning for heroic tales,
Of sacrifice, things that they hail.

A strange town sleeps covered by night,
Like veils on beauty. The sea miles away
Yawns a bit louder,  trying not to say,
When and where the monsoon shall break.

In this somewhere,
Where soldiers once fought,
A festival car moves slowly
Through the streets of veneration.

A bell church, an Adhan,
Parked scooters, fray beedis,
Wrist watches that don't work,
Belief in unseen things.

The smell of a settled home;
A land of turbulent past, now calm,
Hedged by a new generation,
Smiling through illicit condescension.

The Light Shines The Brightest

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