we were never similar
about as different as
could be possible yet
somehow we managed
to figure it out and give
each other the space
respect and love to blossom
always there for each other
two parts of a whole
one expert identified the sneaker treads
another testified about the blood spatter
a producer of “forensic frenzy” took notes
it was a perfectly purulent television matter
a hostile witness reluctantly took the stand
exhibits a to z and everything else in between
the jury was either excused or sequestered
objections and overrules peppered the scene
the judge was in no mood for shenanigans
the press was excluded, not knowing why
it was a once in a century rare type of case
a call for justice for brazenly swatting a fly
When rains lashed Chennai
city in India,
floods washed children
and offered tears to them
so that they could weep
again, for sorrows of their
ancestors
and the city slept peacefully
after that, as after every holocaust, there is baleful silence.
No one is talking about it anymore.
No one is weeping,
No one is interested in knowing what floods can do
to ordinary people.
Chennai– extraordinary city.
I love that image
love it, not mine
not yours, I love that face
which in the hidden artifacts
of poetry is mine, yours.
What do rhythms say, speak, in that image
is there a visage shattered
contemplative, like a thinking sage?
In that image, what’s yours
mine, breaking distances
that image is a shattering piece of hope.
Time cannot travel,
nor the image, mine yours.
The image speaks poetry besotted with love, it writhes in pain at the smatter of the word, or the pain of blood.
The image is requiescent
and hidden, it stares me
in my face.
The image voices so many
rainbows. I am in love with it.
Not me, you.
We are but two strangers
Across a distant shore
Who share hello
and nothing more
Yet, still… there is
beauty in this
My sometimes friend
My sometimes muse
My light within
My soulful truth
Alas, of this-
You know not-
for I keep it secret
Within my heart…
If you
were to
give us
feedback on
our cultivated
and sincere
ideas we
would sooner
starve to
death rather
than swallow
one bite
of your
outside and
unwanted mediocrity
that you
always attempt
to poison
us with.
