How it ends

Flowers come to mind for some reason

poppies, cactus in December

spaces silted with darkness

I didn’t know I liked the Sun

Until today

     A multi- coloured chart without boundary

The day

Not quite dawn.    The plain white stare.

          I go out for walking

somewhere along with my loneliness

narrow streams running through

decayed tooth

River water mixed with my eyeballs

Somewhere is

Someone

saying my poems?

Traces that stir

the waves of an old affair.

All day is stoic,

At dusk i wake with eyes wet.

I carry that and go off to bed again.

Growing up

I realize I am growing old

with my mother’s home prepared coconut oil,

pressed flowers on the sheets.

I sleep next to her

almost like a ritual now,

I realize

when she mumbles softly in her sleeps

the childhood was different-

It was full of prayers, folk songs, odes, laments.

I see her sleep walking now-

abruptly between the noises in her head

amidst the empty pale rooms,

Circling

Walking

Sitting

I see her sleeping with deep breaths,

a hard name to remember-

I realize, I am growing too old now

to witness the melancholy,

to paint my fingers in the sea of dementia.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Thinking of a Christmas gift? My poetry collection is receiving all the love for which I am truly thankful to each one who supported it. I produced my book out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here-

Crimson skins

Crimson Skins- India

A Four Light Window

1

the first is a spot
through which a night shines
the first is a mouth like a spot
or a spot like a mouth,
this confusion happens to me through the atrocities of words,
the glass beads
of unspoken talks

2
The second is blurred.
a garage of broken lives.
broached interpretations
mark of a garden path,
pale figures of God

3

The third is the grass

you sit here in the colony of ants,
through retractive light,
hopping and walking across centuries,
you become like a shape- shifter,
a brilliant one.

4
the fourth is an Elegy
through the thick of fabric
of the night, you become so bright
suddenly, not any sad song now.
Not anymore.
And you slip from the corners of your mouth,
slipping like an elegy
slipping like a song
Cities are of no one
and I too have no place.

Partially inspired by-`Agnes Nemes Nagy