Is the fighter dead?

There, by the red woods,

under a Silicon canopy

that exudes, attracts power,
I saw its steely desire
to climb up...

Creeping along the

bare, brick canvas:

the world as we built it.

Blinded by the lustful flashes

of the one with might,

reaching for the source

of his power,

the upper balconies

of the city

where Lodi reigned,

Modi reigns.

And, in the dark

I see,

lies justified by hope,

I behold a mission,

a questioning vision,

I find the return gift...

A fight still remains in me, but is the fighter dead?

The Young Son

The father,
a man,
the alpha of their world,
sweats and toils,
scavenges for twigs,
dry leaves
and some spirit
to light up
their lives...
For the son, angry,
will set in a bit.
The sun will leave his home,
chasing flesh,
in the dark recesses
of his fiery
red mind.

wallpaper.free-photograph.net

Blurry Love

Can’t wipe it clean,

my vision,

to fathom the girth of

the pillars,

the depth in 

those bleary eyes

that watch over me;

I guard ’em too.

But they look distant,

I strain my neck, I can’t see...

The morning mist

smudges my roots

as I fight lethargy,

and a stiff ego,

to look back and capture

the trio shimmer in

the golden yellow

wash of Sodium.

Much before the gold

showered by the sun 

reach a shopaholic town,

it’s Onam.

I leave in haste n waste,

as the blurred 

image of my genes

remind me of karma,

of honesty,

of the simple beauty in love.

The Bad Son

Like the helpless
roots I crush,
with her gift,
they bleed tears
for the deceased,
my soul...
 
Boiled and strained,
a pale, lifeless
piece of ginger;
it adds spice,
yet the bad son leaves;
a bitter taste, all that's left...

That bad son
I can never be,
but the bad son,
indeed, I really am!

Pic courtesy: One Bad Son, Canadian rock band

Mother Eternity

There, far out there,

in the verse where

their eyes meet destiny,

at the edge of the known world.

There, where they walk gingerly,

cutting barriers,

to meet God,

deep inside the expanding

unknown... Their ether, eternity;

and they find bliss!

I, while I walk gently,

crossing a shifting hedge,

to meet mom,

deep into life’s only constant,

her love... My ether, eternity;

and I find bliss!

Home Free!

He measures it all in miles,

the commutes,

the revolts,

the rebukes;

the mad rush

for affinity,

for love,

for creating music

for his muse,

for her amused lips.

A pilgrim now,

he finds his home tiny,

miles become mere metres,

but their smiles are
beyond ’em metres,

or ’em rules, grammar;

for their joy n spree are free, 

like the waves
on a lake infinite,
a song in free verse!

Pic by Sreetama Bagchi

Hide n Seek

Hiding between clean,
ironed linen;
I delay the inevitable,
blocking the pouring love from
pals, aunts and the known skies here,
from touching those
few faded yellow pages
of a kindergarten colouring
book I kept safe 
between quantum mechanics notes,
biographies, Playboys and some
paperbacks I’m yet to open...


I fear that bond
and its strength to
seep through the tiny
pores of my now
thickened hide and into my heart,
holding it home, sweet home.
Away from the dust and storms
I seek now... Shalt receive now!