This World

In a world

where cackling is

nation building,

where progression is 

an unending résumé,

where hollowed out 

mountain is development,

where truth-telling is

unequivocal cheating.

In such a world,

life is a hearse,

stuck in a traffic jam.

Waiting (dedicated to Doctor Uncle)

The earliest and the faintest memory

I have of you, is you listening intently 

and diagnosing your patients

in your meticulously set medicine shop,

while I'm waiting 

on a wooden plank by the counter.

You handed me a mint candy

and promised

that if I wait calmly,

you'd take me to your home, 

to which I smiled like a patient 

relieved from a latest asthma attack.

Decades later,

things have changed drastically.

The shop is no longer there -

neither are you.

However,

I'm still waiting on the wooden plank,

in the middle of what is now a road,

faking to unwrap the candy.

Starvation

The Manna Salwa

that was, yesterday,

drone-delivered 

reeked of mould.

We had to sift 

the breaking news

from the legumes.

On visiting the Leper Colony

In order to reach

that scintillating part

by the lakeside,

one needs to cross the leper colony.

Isn't this what Farrokhzad taught us?

A leper imagines 

God to be a leper as well.

How sublime!

Isn't this what religious scriptures teach us?

On our way a leper

raised his hand.

Was he greeting or 

exhibiting to us his ailment?

We could not make 

any sense of the gesture.

Thereafter,

capturing random photos around,

gossiping and fiddling

with our smartphones,

we left the spot

ready to brave the world once again:

we, the conscience lepers.

Walled Freedom

I would have loved you more

Eclipsed any romance in folklore.

But on a wall is freedom written.

I would have happily grabbed a placard

And swaggered it through a protest hard.

But on a wall is freedom written.

I would have blabbered about progress 

Meticulously drafted a beautiful mess.

But on a wall is freedom written.

I would have advocated a pogrom

While greeting everyone with a Salam.

But on a wall is freedom written.

I would have shed the thorns of hate

Transformed my careless sorry state

But on a wall is freedom written.

I would have surrendered thirst for blood

Yielded the exacting power of thud.

But on a wall is freedom written.

I would have…

Alas! on a wall is freedom written.

Pondicherry Beaches

The ocean waves,

like a skilled fishmonger,

whet the stones feverishly 

boning winds into 

air pockets

for tranquil breathings.

Amidst all this,

a flood of scorched tourists

continue clicking 

the ocean in its workplace.

Bad Weather

At some point,

on a random tuesday 

in the history of climatology, 

we, self-centered ecologies - humans,

termed rain bad weather.

Now and then,

the villian splashes 

our civilized souls.