Flight

Midway through the flight from Delhi to Pune,
an epileptic bulge seemed to push me deeper

and deeper into my seat.Figuring your maleficent value
in a coach full of two hundred people, at twenty thousand

feet above the ground is extremely challenging.It is
probably less challenging however,to do it wrong.

As I murmured to myself-never again,the coach
rumbled-emanating from both sides a sound of

debilitating horror.Animated gestures of bladder
activity can make you nervous:so can the darkness

beyond the little window with faint lights
visible in it,probably as some consolation,

for the vague point of reference.I vicariously
closed my eyes,blacking out the immediate

area of danger,and unfocussed I reveled
in the thoughts of being untouchable by past

misery at such a height.

Last in heaven

It has not been more than four months,and vital signs of life
can often be found affixed to the refrigerator door.
There will soon to be the delineation of spaces to
walk in-settings of a law-a new kind of law.
The decibel levels are set according to mutual
disagreements,a routine for the wind to follow-almost
as strictly as mine.The windows chosen out of invalid
discourse may eventually misshape our lives,but chances
of that happening are as vague as my concern for them
in the first place.There is no better way to stay in line,
than drawing it yourself-everything but that.The writing,in
an acute sense,is really never on the wall-rather a deafening
silence of incredulity,of refusal to doubt.The sun alone
tips the edges of this flower brown.Within,it is all red and bare.
There isn't another place I would rather be at, for
a million years,as replacement value becomes
a metrical injustice.In between addresses of the mind
and heart alike,postal and poetic threads intertwine.
Her lips pour,triumphant words like "forever",
when in her mind she travels as far as "now".

The summer bucket of love

Clouds
shepherd-
we are
    in thoughts;
hopefully not 
         outnumbered,
       by relaxations.
Along roads and windows
   we have rolled,
 some with broken
   glasses,broken skies
where to the
 wandering trees
         we were stars