Face

A bare wall, badly broken – patches of white paint here and

There

There she stands with her world of worries in thought bubbles

Invisible

Inside her head and there behind on the wall to her left – a black

Broken square

Almost a frame to a spray drawn face – half alive on the wall and

The other

Exists somewhere else, not on the wall, not in the thought bubbles

Invisible

Inside her head but out of the black broken frame on the wall

Behind

worlds

your world, as you say, is inside your head
and the world mine, is inside the head, mine

the world ours -
is nothing beyond the worlds - yours
and mine

our world - is what we made
for ourselves - inside our own heads
and of none besides - removing us

from us, there is nothing else that
has to stay, but us

they are nowhere there, in there -
their world theirs,
made inside their heads

recreating our world, when we make it -
worlds - yours and mine
they have their own worlds - inside their heads

alone and together

stars

you can do it once again, tonight -
to look at the stars of this night and search
for your name or the other name -
the stars don't really care - for
twinkling is their duty and so they'll
twinkle on - the way they did the night before
or the night before that, when the world hadn't
changed much with you

when the sun rises and then when
the stars disappear - the names that you had
searched for, may become invisible for a while but
they never disappear - how many names could
one night write on its sky, with the stars and how
many could be searched for, and read?

names searched for in stars become invisible -
they don't disappear, neither are they forgotten
somewhere or the other

the night skies of waking moments - and the
night skies of dreams when you sleep
are essentially different but the stars
that twinkle - they always feel like they are
all the same, night after night...

a semicolon and the end of a fish

Pigs don't fly, they say -
But I've seen fish that do
Flying fish run across, flitting away -
Neon purple wings and fairy feathers
Sundays on to Saturdays and on once again
Tuesdays have always been full
Of promises of grand lunches -
To forget the profundity and then the profanity;
That ensued; time flew by - standing
By the fence, forty percent
On this side - with no room for a period
A full stop was only a possibility -
But not a hope - a semicolon has always stood
In between - separating parts -
Indicating pauses longer than a coma -
With one missing m, the state
Of prolonged forgetfulness, but shorter - than
A period at least seven years long - as
The dictionaries say and try to explain -
Fish fly and on to the other side
Of the sky, where flying fish are no miracles
With no periods and no stops that are full
There on the other side remain till the end
Are only a semicolon and the end of a fish

end of rainy evenings

late evening rain
writes a thousand letters
on the outside of a glass window

on the wall of every room

when seen from inside
the little bits of poetry from behind
can make one cry

or make one just ignore them

when in a hurry
to not think of many things, anything
and thus ends an evening

N

i can say 'nothing' in seven languages
 - i said 7 in seven different languages
they all meant nothing, like they should
 -  they meant what they should have meant
and what they could
 - have

38

some days
last a lifetime

some weeks
are seven years long

a life time - less
than years thirty and eight

the end
is a little less than a second

dreams last
only till he wakes up

the dreams last
only till he falls asleep

_*_

last page of my book
the candle dies
the end
no more shadows

i fall asleep

last night

i left my windows open last night
there was moonlight on my bed

i pushed my sheet away
i shrouded myself
in the silver light that spread
all over the bed

the moon didn't let me sleep
i didn't let the moon sleep

through the night we spoke -
me and the moon, i think it was
just us, who were awake
the last night 

talking about everything
that slept

june

so there has been a face change
'ah worry not, it's just a phase' i hear them say
what gently falls down from the tree is not just a leaf
well-worn faces, faces, faces they fall
it's june, like it was the year before and the year before that
it could have been may it could have been november
it just happens to be june
it's not just now, almost always - out of tune
pieces of broken faces lie scattered there
below the tree
they still say 'ah worry not, it's only a phase'
his face too, her face too, falls slowly, from the tree

now

i want it now.
what? you want it now too?
ok. we want it now.
but you do know that we won't get it, right?
come, sit here.
say 'i want it now!'

we won't get it, but asking for it never hurts.
say 'i want it now!'
i've been here since morning.
i've been chanting ever since -
'i want it now!'

go on, you say it too.
i want it now.
i want it now.
i want it now.

ah, if you get bored - somewhen in between
just look up at the sky, for a moment or two
and continue.

i want it now.
i want it now.
i want it now.

dbf

^o)

aimless fish fly the sky having lost their way
oh it's another day the restless dogs bark
bent spoons reflect your moon and eye
sit by the fence afraid of the dark
on Y branches near the junction are nests
inside which sleep little birds yet to fly
mother beaks with dead worms hover above
isn't it a song worth remembering
isn't it a sight worth a day past, to last?

XIII

december was long.
the fog blinded everyone when the head-man shouted for help.
january is not mine.
the sun shines hard and hot all day long.
february in the beginning is full of promises.
the rest of it is a war against boredom.
march only shifts positions to shadow venus.
pluto no more, not to mind neptune and uranus.
april would be a new thing again.
a flower is all i can make, call me god.
may the uncertain, make hay.
get a pen and a thousand new words for the world.
june, bring in the clowns and dancing monkeys.
that is only half of what one should expect.
july, should be the time for a breath.
time to see eye to i and say 'it's not me'.
august gathered dust.
stacked upon newspapers, time to let it be.
september will rust.
iron men, steel willed walk the streets of the forbidden city.
october goes so fast.
before one knows, the present is past.
november, thank you very much.
you can keep it for yourself, in bards we trust.
december is long.
read - read - read; white and red.

#732

it's the last droplet of coffee in the mug.
the news in the papers is nothing new, retelling the way the world has been.
it was the same sun that shone yesterday that heats up every window now.
silently i pretend to ignore the change in the air.
with the pretensions spelt out, nothing has changed.
the promise of forever waves its flag in the wind that blows.
a song scribbled on scrap bits of paper is the sweetest.
there is no single word for the end of everything.

@

when you know it's not a cat, where are you at
when you dust your door mat, where are you at
when you know not where you sat, where are you at
when later is now is nowhen, where are you at
when there is here is nowhere, where are you at
when there's a new question, where are you at
when you ignore question marks, where are you at

7C@9C

cloud nine floated through the open gates of heaven seven.
sitting on the cloud, he floated effortlessly.
cats that stood below looked up and mewed at the cloud nines that moved.
after the thirteenth cloud nine moved in, the gates of heaven seven closed.
she woke up and when it was time for her to peel her eyes away from her dreams, when she looked up it was too late when the gates had closed already.
one of the cats in heaven seven that looked up to see moving cloud nines was her cat, that had disappeared.
because the gates were closed and also because the cat had forgotten her, they both remained strangers forever.

##

ok, so we've got shining tiles on our floor.
after a few months of chasing deers we come home and when we open the doors, there is a thin film of dust on the floor.
the floor still reflects our forms standing at the door, reflections with hazy edges, like our images in some memory where we have already started fading.
last time we saw ourselves on this floor, we had lots of hair on our heads.
chasing deers can be very tiring and it makes people grow old sooner than they really do.
we walk on the tiled floor, leaving foot prints on the dust film and also let a few strands of our hair fall on the floor with every step.

#

I sat alone on the mountains
For a brief moment

The world had moved
Very far away

wait

let them fingers rest a while
when the eyes close to see patterns
in moments real or surreal that can happen
to one or many with no time to expect nothing
no more pointless stars, no more pointed agitation
sleepless days and nights over blank sheets of paper
built are my forts on real mountain slopes where you ran
playing screaming laughing crying flying your blue green kite
that once flew high and floated slow in my room gathering cobwebs
i'll wait a little longer than required, longer than usual, to learn our song

before we sing it

Telescope

An eye for the sun and woolen balls for floating clouds

She lost a tooth

“I’m done with all my youth and a tooth

Is nothing much to lose”

Said the old woman looking trough the telescope
“The stars have shifted a bit - and the moon has a squint

The leaves have wrinkles and the tree is more brown

Beyond the distant hills lies the time with my name on it

I’ll remember the first time I stepped in a brook

When the flowing stream looped around my ankles

That flowed to the sea and is now back again

As rain

I don’t care, I’m done with all my youth and a tooth

Is nothing much to lose”

She said, peeling her eye away from the telescope

escape

another night of cryptic words, the shape of cobwebs
floating all around, slowly falling
what could keep some occupied would keep one alone -
thanks to that, thanks to this night of everyone's preoccupation
3000 words in 5 minutes, 300 seconds
another five years from now, you should have learnt
to fly away, out of places you don't belong - away from places where
you know you shouldn't be at
cobwebs the shape of words would still fall
but wouldn't bother you no more

helpless

we left the sun behind us
and walked on our shadows
even the shadow
of my outstretched hand couldn't
stop the flower from falling

692

6 is the nine on its head
9 sits smug between eight and ten
2 more and then eleven
that about 692, enough said!

out here, now

out here, now,
a little more than a mile away from here
you are already an old person
the early winter breeze nods familiarity
and the yellow leaves that fall to touch your face
are already familiar
stray dogs at the corner of the street
do not stop to look at you with suspicion anymore
the world is the usual place as it used to be,
few sneezes ago, the same old world
as it is out here, now
where you already are an old person

chamutangete

he who was the king was a king no more
he who was the king was a pawn
when the winds of time changed direction
when the wind was locked up in cages
of black lines drawn left to right and top to bottom

he who became the pawn was a pawn no more
he who was the pawn was a horse
when there were people and things
to be moved from here to there or there to here
when the war broke out, when more was less

he who became the horse was a horse no more
he who was the horse was a bird
when the world grew smaller and their thirst grew large
when the cage wasn't big no more
to go out and look around when all was nothing

he who became a bird was a bird no more
he who became a bird was a looking glass
when all around was all of what was there already
in the shapes of the king, the pawn, the horse and the bird
showing everything that changed, without a change

tingle

i see stars, the skies don't hold any

they cut concrete and granite slabs
with metal blades that incessantly whizz
and zzzzzz making my teeth tingle

i can't sleep this night, the sky is
a leaky roof, there's rain on my face
and the clouds bother my eye

i see stars the skies don't hold any

newsqueak

plusgood - better
than better and the best is
doubleplusgood? that isn't
un-good! ha ha, un-ha-ha can
only leave me sad. "try" you say
and you is not i or not him
un-i or un-him? uni is not two and
that is the un-i-versal truth and it's not
prose. un, two buckle my shoe. 3 four
un-open the door. brr.
it's un-warm or un-un-cold.
newspeak. non-old-speak.
"newspeak?" is that the peak of news?
peak of non-olds? or speak new or
non-old non unspeak or
just plain new-speak? un-fat dictionaries
are thin. what remains?
brr.

stiletto

angels walked,
flew around my back-yard
their warmth, still warm on my bean-bag
the shape of their bottoms.

when gone i see
my floor littered, mud stains
the shape of foot-steps
in lost order.

i wake up
and one look around tells me -
that sure was one night i lived.