Sunday, December 26, 2010

On being asked where i lived?

I live in between the semblances
of ancient coastlines and mountains,
between an ethereal crease that appears
on a hermit's meditative face.

I live under a motor car's lamp,
Pilfering grease for their piercing glances.
I live in a garage of ideas, and chat messages,
of a book known for its faces.

I live above the snowline in the mountains,
when hunting season is about to come an end.
I live with foxes, and porcupines,
under the stone huts, counting flakes for a widow.

I live in a barn, reading Animal Farm -- often charmed
by the bovine's indifference to a printed letter,
I live also amid the shadows, threatening them with a light beam
from my electric torch, sold while they were 'loadshedding'.

(Pic: Chakratirth, Diu, India with Sanjana)

Thursday, December 02, 2010

Four phone calls = Four paragraphs

I need a source.
A mole or a deep throat,
someone high up there,
perhaps someone in government,
I need a source,
Then I would make four phone calls,
four phone calls = four paragraphs,
four different sides of same coin,
a story, perhaps.
I need a source,
not an inspiration,
I dont trust it,
It doesn't trust me,.
But we have promised,
that we will speak truth.
Connivance of comfort, if you think.