Monday, 25 November 2013

I dove deep down yesterday, under a pile of books
Looking for a poet who had been lost since days
I found her hidden in a corner, behind a page
Chewing on a word- ‘lonely’
She had tears in her eyes
She too had been searching for me.

I sat with her for a while, on the edges of her book
Our backs resting on the walls of a poem she had written
I was with her, listening to her tales of sadness
Of words that had left her
Of feelings that no longer inspired poetry
Of the ache she didn’t want to write about
After a while, she sang to me old poems
Those that were written
during a happier time.

When I was leaving, I picked my poet up
Thought I’d keep her in the front pocket of my shirt
Right in front of where my heart was
But her home was in those pages, her soul in
those words
So I settled her on a nice cozy bed
of a brand new page
Promising her happy dreams
And a dose of hope, to help her write again.

Monday, 18 November 2013

I know ‘right before the exams’ is a crazy time for me
Sometimes beautiful and sometimes incredibly difficult
Sometimes all about poetry that flows through my blood in those days
Sometimes the hollowness of my room, sometimes of my thoughts
Sometimes the emptiness in my heart, and sometimes how full I feel
because I took more time than usual in finishing a meal
that would otherwise be over in less than 10 minutes; the slowness comes
in the avoidance of books that I love but hate because I have to glance
through them fast and I can’t taste them slowly and swallow them with
joy; the way I enjoyed my food today.

So I glance at them and look away, at the choices I have made
Of distant poets and story tellers and lovers of words whom I love
and I stare at their lives so deeply with tears in my eyes wondering
if they ever feel the way I feel sometimes; and if I will ever feel the way
they do; and if ever somebody else will wish to feel the way I feel
And whether the hunger in my soul and the thirst in my heart
will ever be quenched by my fulfilling the promises I keep making to
myself every now and then.

The book continues to stare at me and I continue to smile at the computer screen
telling myself that there are more important things
and that this time here, my laptop and the candle right next to it,
and the fire it holds, is much more important than learning I will forget
the day my exam gets over; though I hope I don’t.

Friday, 15 November 2013

The Boy Who Creates Music

Right across my room lives the boy who
creates music; dham dham badampam dham dham
giving me wanted and unwanted sounds all day
dham dham dham dham; and inside the room I can see him
his specs staring hard at the screen, his face wearing a
smile; dham dham dhadam dham bam
“Would you like to listen to my new piece?” he says
“Nahhhh, I haven’t got the time”; dham dham
“aacha chal jaldi se suna”
He’s the guy who gives background music to
my life.

But this boy who creates music doesn’t really know
that he creates so much more.

he creates joy for those struck with sadness
and laughter for those who have been serious too long
he creates sparkles in eyes
he makes complete opposites stick along
he creates food everybody loves
and the best chocolate coffee I have ever known
he is everything that is right with me
and everything that is wrong, corrected, and then rolled
into one.

He is crazy plus innocent
like a recipe made of chocolates and music,
psychology and sudoko, chicken shawarma and momos
a pinch of french fries and chhole bhature
and of every random tasty street food
the streets of Lajpat Nagar can produce.

The boy who creates music
gives rhythm to my heartbeats
and a base to my life
a tempo to the speed of work
and a sound to
make everything alright. 

Happy birthday, Sid. You are loved :*