Clouds in the valley...

Despite all the steps we take, There will be journeys that were never made Not because of want of shoe or track But because time had never enough said – Never whispered, that we won’t be back Not to that windmill on emerald hill Or those autumn-filled melancholy eyes, When wanton time, it never stood still   That unseen sunrise on an alpine lake Still wakes us on a restless dawn, That temple with Boddhisattva’s eyes still calm us When we want to cry, be reborn That little boat still waits to take us to the coral isle Where the sands are silicate fine, Unspoken lines in the bookstore wait That day, to douse us in our twin sunshine   These paths that we did not tread - Alas, seen only when we cross the bridge of time Eternal companions that will always rise Not because of you or me or anyone’s crime They are the souls that fuel our dreams The songs that guide on a cloudy day The colours that dusk our horizon To take one more step...

These shivering, chilly, hillside nights That mist in winter cold, Often take me back in time, To Lucknow’s days of old The early classes meant the warmth Of the blankets had to wait, The day would pass in page after page The dusk would come by late The nights ran long, with endless reads, So cold the books would mourn With a broken heater in a hostel room Fighting winter lone But the days would turn to weeks and months Time left quickly as it came, When life offers a track to run Who seldom stops to blame? Where came the warmth, I wonder now Was it just the speed of life? Or was there more, beyond the seen In the winters’ edge of knife Was it the warmth of elaichi tea? The salami sandwich strong? That the mess offered till 2 of night (Which even today I long) Or was it in the halogen lamps That fought with a retro light? Or the retired army men all strewn, Awake in every night? Perhaps more than all, it was the strength Of the friends there by your side Each soul in every ...

  This morning, I find I’ve missed sugar in my tea, And yet, there was I, Sipping it happily   What changed, I thought The fog this winter morn? A catharsis? An epiphany? Was I newly born?   But then I found the reason, An old, green shawl of mine, Tattered in many places Now left without a shine   And yet there was warmth In all its memories past, Each thread now a story That will sing, everlast   From the rare Mumbai cold To the days in Karur lost, And then Paris on the other end Draped in winter frost   From an island in the Pacific, Where the Norfolk winds do rage, To the Snowy Mountains white Or Aotearoa on a page   From winters in Lucknow To far the Himachal vales, A Coffee back in Calcutta Oh Just so many wonder tales!   The warmth of the winter shawl Was sweet with memories Transcending all to the cup I held, In the early winter freeze   And the day was ...

  Another Lucknow passes by, But no, not the green one you may know, That, despite the hot baking summer’s breath Has grown for years by the Gomti’s flow No, not the one where the winter mists Weaves dreams despite the shivering cold, Where the tales resonate for aeons and on And yet, those that never grow old   This one is a younger born, laced in ores of gold In red earth and dust, far away from home Uncovered only when you decide one day There’s so much left to vagrant roam Differences now can there be more? One, a drop of life, beyond the mountains Blue The other throbs with a sea of hearts A memory of all that once was true   Somewhere between, walks an author lone Who can flip from one book to the other, He who waits to read those broken lines That others won’t even stop to bother There’s more in his bookshelf, he smiles – A Malabar here, a Coromandel there All bookmarked with the leaves of fall - Pages left behind w...

There was age Written all over the basalt hill, Who would have known millennia ran Through the summer songs - The cicada’s trill   Caves of lore From the Silk Route days Nestled here, in this corner where The bustling city doesn’t know The backyard where it plays   The giant Buddha Takes my breath away – And the monastic cells, the chaitya halls Frozen in stone from long ago - Upon the sangha’s way   I think I hear Where streams of time converge, The tapping sounds, the chiselling hands Nirvana for the saffron souls Where all our sins can purge   Then bit by bit, The pliant plateau fills with caves, An ancient centre sprawls with lives A little Ellora wakes anew Upon the Arabian waves And I the artist, I have come here too Yes, I too have filled these rocks with life A Yaksha here, a Buddha there I come full circle in my view   Kanheri thrives Upon the Salsette of the seas, And I – have ...

At 2 in the night, The city looks fresh to the tired eyes – Dark as it may seem, The streetlights bring forth magical gold The fumes, the horn, the sea of multitude Looks like a story forgotten old   One single thread links the two worlds new The old chai-wallah – With his cycle, kettle and one hot brew Waits for moths like me, Who flit through time, And live and die as they pass through   H ot elaichi tea, thick, sweet As if a reward for staying up late, For a vigilante, when The criminal city has gone to sleep But who holds the dream, As the magical night turns golden deep   The chai wallah smiles I am here again, at 2 in the night He doesn’t know He sets the city in my fairy-tale free Perhaps he knows that I don’t know I come for dreams in a cup of tea…  

            For three nights now, the pirates trailed           The ship in Kalinga Sea,           There was word, it held a prize           From the rich Tampralipi             Kanalal, the pirate lord,           Couldn’t wait to lay on it, his hands           He wondered though what were the gems           Being sent to the Lankan lands             The most precious gift it was,           To Anuradhapura and its king,           What was it, the pirate thought,           Sceptre, crown or ring             The slaves rowed fast, and very soon,  ...