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.

Conversations of a night

I.
Why, darling,
I'm sorry
I slept off before you finished your story.

What were you saying?
Oh yes, your father died when you were four,
Your mother was raped by his best friend
And you,
Yes you were sold to Thailand.

I am so sorry about that.
But I'm glad I came to Bangkok -
I saw such beautiful sights,
Such ravishing women -
And met you.

I had such a great night, thank you.
I'm going back to India tomorrow.
You take care.

Darling, you were awesome.
And so sorry about your parents.
Especially Mother, Yes.

II.
Did you dream today too?
Forget it.
This is it.
No moving forward.
Honey, the darkness is all you've got.
Enjoy its soothing, personal touch.

Your darkness is your alone, isn't it?
Find me a day that's yours.

No, don't aspire for it.
Stagnate.
There's bliss in it.

What?
You choose to move on?
And leave me alone?
All right.
Let melancholy be mine alone....

III.
The dawn brings promises
Of more memories, good and bad,
Of new acquaintances and relations,
Of fresh rays of hope and peace.

A cup of coffee in hand,
We savour the promises
and promise to do our best.

The phone rings.
Your father passed away
peacefully, in his sleep last night.

Suddenly you dread the dawn of the night
And the end of the smooth darkness.

Picking up pieces

I.
Mirror reflects my being,
But where do I look to find my soul?

Somewhere within the walls of this body
It lies maimed and shattered.

Picking up pieces after a massacre
Is not easy,
Not motivating.

Will you help me,
I ask the mirror.
And it stares back at me in silence,
As helpless as me.

I look around again,
And everyone is picking up their pieces.

At least, I'm just one of them.
Not alone in my misery.
Heartening.

II.
Her life’s in a mess.
And she plays Freecell,
Wins the game,
And assures herself she can conquer it all.

She goes to the Church,
Looks at the imposing Christ before her
And sheds a tear,
Apologises to her men,
And pretends to be strong.

Alone, at home,
she smiles into the mirror,
Which too scorns at her.

There are tears of grief somewhere,
That struggle to break the steel armour.
But if she lets it break, would she be happy?

No.
She has to live her life.
She has to clear the mess herself,
Pay for it through her own karma.
She smiles again at the mirror,
And it smiles back at her.

Right.

Shakespeare effect

I.
Yonder goes the heart
that slayed mine,
And I, the greater his slave for that,
Fall at his feet
for mercy or refuge;

What pleases it,
Shall please me fine,
If it be love,
None so great,
And if slavery and mock,
I gently assent.

II.
Why, what drives thee hither, O peasant!
What makes thee crave for things pleasant?
Dost not thy field feed thy stomach?
Wouldst thou not be pleased by roast duck?

Thy hut, I swear, is the safest shelter,
Thy hospitality, an iron-rod melter.
Thy wife, whose smile can win a tiger,
Is worth more 'an ton-pounds of pure wheat fibre.

Alas! I can do noth but scribble,
In auld tongue, all I can do is dribble,
Thy life is unmatched, O pretty lad!
Forget the city, palaces, brilliance - and quit the fad!

Let me love

I live in their dreams,
And they in mine;
My men, I love thee all,
You abode in my heart's shrine.

How shall I say
Why, how and how much I love thee?
For each of thou are mine,
And yet not mine,
All love's labour's are free.

My body knows thy touch,
My heart feels thine beat,
Each pore in my body
Stands up as thou retreat.

It's not thy kisses,
Not hugs, nor the love-making,
It's the warmth in thy smiles,
The peace I feel when in thine casing.

Scorn me not as a whore,
Deign me not the vamp -
My love's as pure as the morning dew,
As the blue flame of the night lamp.

I care not for the worldly fares -
The lawful names, the legal knots,
But love me as thee shall,
And let me feed my love back unto thee.

Love

We dig into each other lustfully,
Displaying no shard of love.
In the bare greed of the body,
We seek each other out blindly
And hack and pant endlessly.

In the end, you rest your face on my chest,
And the corner of your eyes are wet.
There I know you love me.