How do I fall asleep with you in my head?
Your voice echoing like the ending of Moonlight Sonata
Your voice shouting like crazy fans demanding encores
Your voice singing Here Without You
Your voice like silk stars between night covers
Your voice like warm toast and honey
Your voice like yellow buttercups
Your voice like dew on a cold cold grass tip
Your voice like that gust of grey wind before the storm
Your voice talking of dinner and stock prices
Your voice describing Love In the Time of Cholera
Your voice when you are laughing and can’t stop
Your voice speaking that one Italian phrase you know
Your voice when you came up and said hello
Your voice when you carelessly deny you care
Your voice exclaiming Tch when the guitar string snaps
Your voice when you remember Lennon or Trotsky
Your voice humming that irritating tune you have memorized
Your voice smiling that secret smile and being silent
Perhaps tonight I'll exorcise that phantom voice
Perhaps tonight I’ll get some of that elusive sleep.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Mahogany lane, cream feather cloud
White picket fence, no dogs allowed
A turnstile green, a kissing gate
Red columbines, a cat called Cate
A walk to the river,a seat of rushes
One-legged swallow, a nest of thrushes
Baby's breath, Love in the mist
A blaring foghorn, nautical twist
A seashore prance, merperson she
Rocks riding waves, a storm-spent sea
Two ships sailing in the night
A distant call, one out of sight
A letter faded, a long lost scroll
A heart which gave, a body who stole
A dance forgotten by all but her
Evening of glitter, night of blur
Eyes of stars which stopped seeing
Time moved, life sang save one being
Saturday, December 12, 2009
I wasn’t thinking of you
Particularly
The sun reminded me
While ending a cold winter day
Steeped in twilight
I remembered you called this
Our moment
That uncanny minute when
Word is obliviated from beings
When silence and shadows
Walk the aisle
Towards a transient union
The minute which I called Death
The minute which you called love.
Today I still found that moment eerie
Silence and shadows seemed
To dance to sinuous death
The gloom, unlightened by your breath
Seemed to separate me from life.
The minute passed but
I waited for the sun to die again
Now you call the minute death
I’ll know it by no name but love
Now.
Particularly
The sun reminded me
While ending a cold winter day
Steeped in twilight
I remembered you called this
Our moment
That uncanny minute when
Word is obliviated from beings
When silence and shadows
Walk the aisle
Towards a transient union
The minute which I called Death
The minute which you called love.
Today I still found that moment eerie
Silence and shadows seemed
To dance to sinuous death
The gloom, unlightened by your breath
Seemed to separate me from life.
The minute passed but
I waited for the sun to die again
Now you call the minute death
I’ll know it by no name but love
Now.
Monday, February 16, 2009
My Funny Valentine
Yet another Valentine's Day whizzes by and I have the funniest time instead of the most romantic. I wonder how difficult it must be to have a day set apart where you MUST romance your amour. I wonder the ardour does not cool thinking of other couples coupling the same way, getting suicidal just like you thinking of the most nouvelle cadeau to gift your pretty bird, crowding the same streets and promenading up and down together and visiting the same restaurants( Calcutta doesn't have too many options as it is) to order the same special -Heart on a Platter....Eyck! Sounds like spoils of war to me. However if you, Fresh Young Man In Love and all, ask me 'How in the name of all that is unholy would you know?' I would have to admit I don't. I spend Valentine's day ( or Bilious Red Balloon Day as I prefer to call it) with my friends. We promenade the streets too but to re-experience our funny bones instead of billing and cooing. We do get to hear a lot of that-billing and cooing I mean. Only humans being humans and not doves can't sustain the dulcet twitters.
'Oh Darling , you didn't have to get me this...you really didn't' flutters Miss Turtle swinging her long, ironed and soft curled hair out of the way to open a robin's egg blue pseudo Cartier box. Mr Turtle flexes his un gymmed arms, tucks his fingers in the waistband of his boxers (the waistband of his jeans are quite out of his reach unless he stoops) and adjusts his shades(a dirty blond, the same as his locks) while grinning sheepishly 'Anything for you babe.' Miss Turtle struggles with the box, snaps it open to find two rocks- 'Moonrocks for my Chand' coos Mr Turtle while ogling one of my friends (she is mighty pretty though inclined to get sentimental over PDA). Miss Turtle does a Didi( turns into Mamata/ the Kalbaishakhi without the wind for the uninitiated) while Mr Turtle does a Dada(turns into a Sourav post comeback and retires to nurse his injuries while declared unfit).
Of course the course of some lovers do run smooth. They are usually too handsome or too ugly to deserve better and are hugely satisfied with themselves. The handsome couple are debating whether they would fare better on Splitsvilla than Vishal and Shraddha (of course we will lover man...smoochhhhhhh....they surface...oh it was just for the air ....at it again soldiers and let me see more stamina this time!!). By the way the automatic spell check very sweetly gives me Buddha or straddler as the correct alternatives to Shraddha. The ugly couple ( and you shouldn't miss the girl's Goddess Kali like furiously curly and looongg hair, dazzling costume and costume jewellery a la Morjina of Ali BaBa fame) are debating on how they will fare on Roadies and how the guy (I call him so though humanoid owl would be better) will "bit the sheet out of Ragu). Not by his accent I hope. Then they smooch....you know how plungers are used to clean Indian style salle de toilets....well that is the drift.
Further still opens the panoramic view of schoolgirls with their shirts tucked out and their skirts a brief affair, best forgotten. They are waiting patiently for their boyfriends all of whom look surprisingly like Varun of Splitsvilla or Monkeyboy fame. The chinkiz stay true to their clan and attach themselves only to other chinkiz. They are so uber stylish they take our breath away till my friend remembers ' You know wait for another ten years when the girls will start looking like our momo aunty and the guys like the Karate Kid's sensei. This is as you might have guessed not my sensitive friend.
The malls and theatres are crowded and Park Street can hardly be seen. Victoria Memorial overflows with people milling to make out (I wonder the couples can distinguish their partners....or perhaps that is the attraction) and the Zoo sees more than its usual quota of animals groping. Yes Love is in the l'air. Well so goes the love day.....Break Up Day tags in the wake.
'Oh Darling , you didn't have to get me this...you really didn't' flutters Miss Turtle swinging her long, ironed and soft curled hair out of the way to open a robin's egg blue pseudo Cartier box. Mr Turtle flexes his un gymmed arms, tucks his fingers in the waistband of his boxers (the waistband of his jeans are quite out of his reach unless he stoops) and adjusts his shades(a dirty blond, the same as his locks) while grinning sheepishly 'Anything for you babe.' Miss Turtle struggles with the box, snaps it open to find two rocks- 'Moonrocks for my Chand' coos Mr Turtle while ogling one of my friends (she is mighty pretty though inclined to get sentimental over PDA). Miss Turtle does a Didi( turns into Mamata/ the Kalbaishakhi without the wind for the uninitiated) while Mr Turtle does a Dada(turns into a Sourav post comeback and retires to nurse his injuries while declared unfit).
Of course the course of some lovers do run smooth. They are usually too handsome or too ugly to deserve better and are hugely satisfied with themselves. The handsome couple are debating whether they would fare better on Splitsvilla than Vishal and Shraddha (of course we will lover man...smoochhhhhhh....they surface...oh it was just for the air ....at it again soldiers and let me see more stamina this time!!). By the way the automatic spell check very sweetly gives me Buddha or straddler as the correct alternatives to Shraddha. The ugly couple ( and you shouldn't miss the girl's Goddess Kali like furiously curly and looongg hair, dazzling costume and costume jewellery a la Morjina of Ali BaBa fame) are debating on how they will fare on Roadies and how the guy (I call him so though humanoid owl would be better) will "bit the sheet out of Ragu). Not by his accent I hope. Then they smooch....you know how plungers are used to clean Indian style salle de toilets....well that is the drift.
Further still opens the panoramic view of schoolgirls with their shirts tucked out and their skirts a brief affair, best forgotten. They are waiting patiently for their boyfriends all of whom look surprisingly like Varun of Splitsvilla or Monkeyboy fame. The chinkiz stay true to their clan and attach themselves only to other chinkiz. They are so uber stylish they take our breath away till my friend remembers ' You know wait for another ten years when the girls will start looking like our momo aunty and the guys like the Karate Kid's sensei. This is as you might have guessed not my sensitive friend.
The malls and theatres are crowded and Park Street can hardly be seen. Victoria Memorial overflows with people milling to make out (I wonder the couples can distinguish their partners....or perhaps that is the attraction) and the Zoo sees more than its usual quota of animals groping. Yes Love is in the l'air. Well so goes the love day.....Break Up Day tags in the wake.
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