The moment

It’s in the moment that time freezes.

All our lives,

We all wait for the moment.

The moment when love will shine on us,

From the beyond,

From the horizons of the universe,

From the depths of our souls….

The moment,

When nothing is defined

And yet you find a meaning

Unlike you’ve ever met.

The moment,

When everything is distorted

And yet the shape guides you,

Protects you,

Ensconces you….

The moment,

Lasting forever in the depths of your memories,

Walking up to you unawares

And throttling you into a self you never knew existed.

That moment,

My friends,

Is what you and I are worthy of.

The destination set upon us by Time.

The movement held still,

The silence of voices

Penetrating the calm of our existence.

It’s in the moment that time freezes.

Opening Up To The Night

I.
Every night,
A tear waits to escape
from the well of the face.
There's nothing to holding it back;
There's free will and independence -
But for a ray of hope
in the brain that dries it
before it can make its escape.

II.
There's something about the dark.
Its mysterious quality is captivating.
Dreams are born in the night
And so is love and most of my poetry.
It hides fears and affection in its bosom.
It scares and comforts,
It pains and pampers,
It breeds violence and peace.

When all's bright, during the day,
There's all the life and the world to seek.
But it's the night that brings you out.
You stand face to face
not with another, but your self.
It scares and comforts,
Pains and pampers,
Breeds violence and peace.

Ruminations of lazy times

I.
Ah, the pleasure
of sitting in your balcony
on a bright breezy evening.

Conversations of neighbours,
barking dogs
and chirping birds in the background;
Greens of all hues
doing their little jingle
in the calm, soothing breeze;
Grey clouds hovering above
Tantalising you with thoughts of rain;
Hot black tea and snacks before you,
Pen and paper in your hand –
And your mind,
touched by simplicity,
Pouring its thoughts out.

Ah, the pleasure
of sitting in your balcony
on a bright breezy evening.

II.
On a quiet lazy afternoon,
I sit in the porch thinking of the moon.
The jackfruit, chickoo and mango trees
Serve to exaggerate the breeze.
A febrile ring of the phone somewhere,
Barking dogs and terrces bare,
Drive reality back into me,
But I deny to clear the glee.

Coffee, conversations, cigarettes,
Shabby clothing and colourful sets;
Life is a drama, yet unplayed,
Love is a farce, tackily displayed.
Far away on the horizon
A pariah kite taks a turn
And with no inhibition, no fancy,
My heart leaps for some lunacy.

I laugh at others' jokes,
I share another's smokes,
I work for someone I know not,
I clear the day for another's spot.
What do I want? The moon?
The river? The flowers? The shells? The silver spoon?
There's nothing but praising the dreary,
No joy but to thank my life's not scary.

Even as my thoughts traverse a light year,
My body's here, upon Earth's gear;
The trees still sway to the winds half-blown,
The tulsi in my vase is still half-grown.

III.
An early morning by the verandah
With birds tweeting gleefully
at the post-rain clime,
And trees all glad of being bedewed -
I sit again with a pen and paper,
Glad to be breathing the pleasant air.

Pretty-plumed birds,
Witht their yellows, greens and blues well pruned and glittering,
Give me company,
Tell me how nice it is to live.

The faint grey clouds are parting,
The sun awaits its chance.
The wind is just whispering -
too wispy to listen to its gossips.

My goldfish wants more space to swim,
The sprout in my vase is raising its hood,
My heart is yearning for a longer laze,
The mind refuses to let go of whim.

Far away,
A chimney barfs out black fumes
of urbanisation and modernity,
And the vague clamour of the highway ahead
Strikes the eardrum and breaks the peace.
Someone rings the doorbell
And life calls me back.