Lost Spine!
One day, I noticed the lines on my palm resemble the lines on the sprouted leaves,
Soon we gather strength and dash each other across the misty glass window!
The furrows on my forehead speak the language of the barren landscape see from my window, grey and numb with few green patches,
My fingers on the viridescent money plant beg for oxygen from an unsoiled tree pot,
In juxtaposition, memories float by to four decades back,
Playful arrival of savage summer afternoons,
Baba and I watering the soil to dampness,
Ah! The petrichor!
Our humble mud house plastered with cow-dung,
Dressed like a damsel with green and orange pumpkins as its crown,
Brass round thalis with the aromatic coconut dumplings,
Eaten by hungry children arresting their bones to mobility,
Mobile scurry climbing of the mango trees with panache,
A fall from branches of the tree then merely a play activity,
Wounds healed automatically by stirring a haldi paste and applied by dadi,
Nature moved in and out of each corner of the house swinging in my arms,
Suddenly the money plant left me with a thud!!!
Our mini world crashed on the concrete floor,
Limping to find their familiar anchorite!
Such is the dilemma of my plants,
Dying lines of the leaf match my fate lines,
Both of us clasp our weary threads,
Gardens, greens, cobwebs of emotions!
The language between us is lost!
Au revoir!
Leaves
Go fetch the grab of a magician,
Everything except reality needs an affirmation, The more theatrical the created magic,
Higher your stakes as a winner,
Rubble lying on roadside hide the sapling that has taken birth,
A little while ago,
A unusual rain crashes on the parched ground and even lesser mud,
There is hope when the leaves grow in opposite directions,
Turning dark green from pale purple, Swaying from side to side,
Shedding the whorls of extra seeds, Behold their magic,
The smaller shadows in ochre summers and elongated grey puddles of spaces under their branches,
Lie down!
Supine on your back, close your eyes,
Can you hear the sounds spiralling from the homes of the magical jester?
Calm your nerves,
Drive yourself from loneliness to absolute stillness in the sacred corridors within,
Five senses, five elements, five fingers,
Vistas of illuminated cascades,
March on in the journey towards the magician within you!
Early morning
Flavored rituals of birds on their nameplates on trees,
Devouring the flames of high emotions and demonic voids,
I jostled into the world of the animals without speech.
Understanding the length and breath from
One corner of the spacious garbage bin,
Helpers parading their brooms, cutting knives and watering cans,
Blankly look up to you, seemingly lifeless, yet with a soul-stirring music in their eyes,
As you find yourself amid-st historic monuments,
The facade of the crooked zig zag withered stones.
Many love stories burnt to death, many untold.
A young mother grooming tiny steps on the green lawns,
The baby jumps as it watches the ducks in the pond,
The banyan tree and the neem trees talking their heart out,
Mocked at my little knowledge of their world.
Gruesome murders of teenage hormones, their hatched under-belly,
Watches the drama day in and day out,
Who are we but mute spectators?
Standby lives, backed up algorithm,
Spotless blossoms dazzling like uncut diamonds,
We leave our scars and bloody hell within, fresh air gushes into our lungs,
Smell of wet mud fills the senses!
