A postcard from summer

April,fly
to the sun
Why burn here?

Sands

Stagnant by the tree
the water's poise,
Sitting in a desert
smoking dry leaves
asleep before their fall

A moon of this world
not known to man
flickering and flying,

Counting stars to be less,
from below empty pales
The thirst of a dog
the blackness of the blind.

Beside the umbra
of the glowing tree
Dry sands,with little
feet,blowing away
with infernal winds

Trains

Red wagons scuttle by every now and then
Heading for places on the other side of day,
Wavering like a leaf in their storm,
I would jump with my hands highest
above my head,piercing the trembling air
trembling with fear of my reach
With each passing of the day into nights
Those places rose with cold hands,
pushed me to the tracks again,
My train may have run its last
I hear only echoes of  last night on the tracks,
They keep running in dazzling places

The autorickshaw Diaries

 

photo by Lian Chang

By the road

An apple grows fatter on a tree
Newton has slept for years
The nightbirds sing in alliance
I extend my hand to the breeze
which is sticky from surfing over rainwater
Night is arriving like a falling star,prayed for
A tree stands alone,out of place
by the road ,spitting dirt
It watches these mysterious capsules
rush past,with nothing but figures moving inside
The 'tuk-tuk' reaches a raging high
As the road passes through sheer silence
Where are all the women?
Two concrete marvels stand
Their faces made to look at the other
They probably smile
or cry,when no lights glow in their bellies
There are red and blue bulbs bouncing
off their heads,
The sky it seems is pleased
There is this infinite space to look out to
But clouds pretend to be the sky,
Do they mistake me for
the weather man,only he could tell
The chuckles of my rickshaw
send me to sleep.


Takeover

The sun burns with palish delight
Flesh under the sun,erotic
My arms ache of ironic hugs
Has the road been straddled to a horse
I have bounced more times
than the dog i command,
He must be somwhere
Another yellow chariot moves alongside
A face hiding behind a black veil
looks at me,the sun bickers
My rickshaw slows to a halt
I want to move on,run
The life in me is leaving,
has left


Endless

The gusto of early mornings has died
The draught has dried up and coughed
blood,of birds that can't fly beyond a rock
Pigs move restlessly,They could be better clowns
But clowns live endlessly,The faces behind faces
never alive,never die
I'm heading somewhere,the fatality of things
has held me by the throat
I spew dust,trying  to break free
The driver asks for directions
I've been down this road many times
Clueless,Names have never been my idea of love
Ideas have never made it close to love
i'm not stupid,i just end up being
Stop here,This seems like it
There are a thousand windows
prompters of great work,i suppose
i don't do good work,Move on
The meter is running within itself
maybe strapped to a rat
The rat is me
Run you rodent!! The ticking is the clock,
Your heart has one too



'tuk-tuk' is the sound that an autorickshaw makes,
in some places the rickshaws themselves are referred to as
tuk-tuk's

also read..this

Talking to elms

Walking by the trees
the necklace of the sky
glitters like windows
with shocked eyes

the water in puddles
lies dead like sleep
somewhere nearby,
a dream shivers quietly

Of sleep

Lights cross
under the bridge
of the sleepless

in nights

The street alight
shivering to leftovers of the night
cold and calm they stare at, kiosks
loved by hunger and talked to
by dogs