Monday, December 7, 2009

Rat Race

Tomorrow will be yesterday again…
As, the sun rides low on the horizon
Silent witness of eternity…
Of what once was and never will be

And, we are quiet…
Forgetting the songs of silence
Violent in our devotion…
To false neon gods

We are all drunk…
Trying to find meaning in our self-created complications
And, we are all in mourning…
For, that which quietly died without us noticing

Yet, we shall kill some more
Ride on… Forward O’ soldier…
Success calls…and that elusive class…
While, the graveyard stands silent waiting for us to extinguish

Few madmen will keep writing…
And, some songs will be hidden deep within your breasts
While we run on in a trance…
On and on…over the edge…

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Rain Messenger's Diary 12...Letter to Annie

Dear Annie,
I am not sure who you are or even, why I am writing this letter to you. The things that am going to tell you today may not even make sense to you. You are liable to think am crazy yet I want to tell you all this. Maybe, there are a few things that remain unsaid like a quiet veil around our lives. Or, maybe it’s just that I miss the habit of sharing my thoughts with someone like I once used to with a person sitting on a certain bench staring at clouds, broken stairways and rain…
I am not sure whether you will ever get to read this letter, for I do not know where or whom to send it to. So, I will just float it in the wind and maybe, it will find its way to you in the end. Things always do come home, you know, no matter how long it takes.
It’s been a while since I last wrote to you, so I am a bit rusty and I do not even know what to say. You know, they say, that life comes round in a complete circle, but what I like to believe is that it shapes up in mysterious ways, kind of like the random shapes the rocks get under the constant battering of the sea. They are all different, unintentionally shaped over hundreds of years, yet they all fit in as if they were all meant to be there.
There is always this dilemma when I write to you, a tug-of-war between whether to apologise for reasons I do not understand or tell you that none of it was my fault. I have come to learn that it is a bit of both.
It, however, suffices to say that you changed my life, maybe even saved it. It suffices to say that am sorry that my love was not strong enough to keep even God from pulling you away. Yet, there is this guitar and every tune I play reminds me of a certain balcony where you used to sing to me.
By now, perhaps you are wondering what the whole point is behind this meandering letter. As, I said, I do not know and when I post it today in the air of a virtual world, it will be a message and a prayer. A message that my yesterdays are still a part of my tomorrows but, that am slowly learning to choose between them and there soon maybe a day when I will choose my tomorrow free of my yesterday. It is a message that, when that day comes, it will not be an insult or me forgetting something, it will simply be me embracing sunrise again.
And, it is a prayer that you find peace with this letter and love. A love that can keep you safe and calm the tumultuous wind that keeps shattering things within us. It is a prayer that when you gaze into the horizon at the sunset, all you think of is that if the sunset is that beautiful, how beautiful the sunrise is going to be.

With all my love,
rain messenger

Thursday, November 12, 2009

The Widow

The surreal fogs are back…
Her mind feels while waiting in her lonely balcony
She feels nothing…the mind cannot reach her…
She waits…grasping the railing…her knuckles white

She knows she has faltered…
Grasped by a sudden fear…
Of a dark winter… Of snow…
And, a dead body frozen in the cold…

She waits…knowing she will jump…
She knows, he watches
Silently…mockingly…the perpetual cigarette on his lips…
She knows he is dead and that, she betrayed him…

She wanted to leave him…
Having found love at a crossroad…
Yet, he didn’t give her a chance
He died…binding her to him…forever

And, she shivers…
Yet, she doesn’t feel the cold
And she thinks of the red saree…
And the missing vermillion on her head…

She waits…knuckles white…
Staring out…as the fog engulfs her…
And, a lonely poem…lost in the jungle…
Calls her…while she waits…knowing he waits too…

Monday, November 9, 2009


She saw the star…
And she searched…
The heavens and forgotten stairways…

The broken dolls and the glass marbles she lost
The child whose hand she let go…
Amongst the crowd, in the race…
To reach the stairway to her dreams…

The suffocation of happiness
And, her need of love…
Something, more than what her lovers gave…
Something, they don’t understand, neither does she…

Yet, it is the stairway…
That holds her down…
And, the forgotten piano is played again

Her, escape from all that is…
Tearing apart all those who loved her…
Different…Lost…Hated…by choice
She dreams of heavens and forgotten stairways

Wednesday, October 21, 2009


Playing a melancholy tune
While the winds whisper in her ear
The language of unheard music
And the dreams of a liar

The lost purpose…
And hidden fears
In the vain quest
For knowing why she is here…

She seeks…she stumbles…
Wishing she understood the reason…
Behind the blind, eternal chaos
Crying in vain…desperate to clasp life…

Live-wire and life in the fast lane
Restless life and a sleeping volcano
Come together for a concerto…
And, play while she waits for epiphany…

Violins and wind chimes…
Singing in the distance…in the distance
And, a late night call…left behind…far behind…
She knows yet forgets but she wants…a reason.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Rain Messenger's Diary 11.... Ma

Clouds float by my sight, appearing like frozen smoke, as if someone just froze time to capture their fluid motion upwards. I had come back to the city of my soul again for a brief sojourn along the banks of Hoogly. As, I fly back, I reminisce but strangely I also remember the stranger city and some strangers who have started becoming otherwise.

I do not claim to understand the meaning of these fleeting neural responses triggered by unknown hormones, but nevertheless we live our lives learning to trust them. It is this paradox that I grapple with, flying 37000ft above sea-level, in the land of clouds where fleeting thoughts hold sway. As, I look out of the small window of this huge aircraft, all I can see is the Himalayas stretched endlessly along the horizon reflecting the red sunbeams of early dawn in its snow-capped peaks. Morgan Freeman in the movie The Bucket List also does something similar while flying at night and exclaims that stars has to be one of the “good-ones” among God’s creations. Being an atheist however I cannot totally agree with the creation aspect but honestly similar emotions flood my mind as I watch this majestic beauty in all its glory. It is an immensely humbling experience, as I feel my worries slipping away before the immensity of what I am experiencing in this routine flight that I am sharing with almost 120 others.
However, in spite of the presence of so many people I am isolated, safe in my anonymity and the advantage of being mutual strangers. There is silence. There is the whirring engine. There are the Himalayas catching clouds in its peaks. And, there is me. I always find an intriguing presence of a sort of pain in every solace, or rather a bit of loneliness in every journey, and this one is no different. I am no longer sure of my emotions, for I no longer trust them. Yet, it is trying to tell me something which I am pushing away, as long as I can. I will not survive another brush with the past, tangible or intangible, and so I hide scared from the one emotion I had sworn to live by.

Most of you, who has bothered to read till here and yet hold the desire to read on, must be wondering about the excessive and continued use of ‘I’ in the previous paragraphs. To be totally honest I do not exactly know myself but all I do know, is that it is but natural to be lost in the streams of consciousness and lose oneself in the world of memories. Yet, another puja arrived, bringing with it, like it always does, the intoxicated dance of kashful and the heady beats of dhak. For me this festival has always been something much, much bigger than just another Hindu ritual. It remains special not just for the grandeur that we associate with it but what it stands for, the ultimate woman. Bowing before the woman who is the epitome of power, peace, motherhood and much more is not very difficult even for an atheist like me. Having started to live in Delhi, for the first time I realized how much I really am attached to the pujas, and how much it really meant to me. And, as I embark on my journey back to Delhi on Ekadashi, the day after Ma left, it seemed strange that the macrocosm of the society felt the same way in bidding her adieu like my family was feeling bidding me goodbye after the same five days. It really is amazing that so many people feel so strongly about just another puja. Ultimately it really stands for bidding our daughter goodbye, and it’s poignant and poetic that so many people across the world invest their emotions not just simply to fulfill or perform some religious duties but simply to be a part of a nostalgia called “home”.
I do not know if it’s symbolic that I witness the Himalayas on my way back where Ma has returned with her kids after the brief break from her heavenly duties, but I do know that for so many other Ma-s it signals the return to their mundane, unappreciated lives. At this point of time, a particular puja in Ballygunge, South Kolkata, comes to mind, who based their puja on the real Durgas, the one who fought the day-to-day asurs, the ones who stood tall and undaunted in the face of seemingly insurmountable adversities. It also signals the lonely sighs of so many mothers whose children are not with her and remembering that her lonely vigil in front of her bedroom window is about to resume.

People say it is now the time of the emancipated woman, the woman of substance, but what we may have forgotten is that it has always been the time for the women of substance. We ignored them because they let us and as soon as they have decided to stand up and be counted we have been forced to take notice. I started this article with my confusion over trust and I find the answer in the one word that stands for the five days of festivities - MA. This monosyllable defines trust and stands for it and maybe it is this word that we will learn to respect which ultimately will transcend into the acknowledgement of women across the world. For, ultimately it is not Indira Nooyi or Vinita Bali who are the only names that should figure in the power-women list but also the faceless multitude of women who redefine courage by just living everyday.

Durga Puja for me is my salute to these women, my kudos to the real women. This puja has come a long way from the Akal Bodhon and has increasingly aligned itself with necessarily being the victory of light over shadow, and has aligned itself with social issues and as long as we continue to bond for these reasons for this festival, the colours will remain bright, every year when Ma blesses us.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Late Monsoons

Autumn retraces its steps
As yellow turns green again…
And, rolling landscapes seen through a speeding train
Helps me find a friend…

My soul clutches on to a new support
As, new rain meets the old tree
And, she surrenders herself
In a bid to finally be free

The moon-washed smoky verandah
Made dreamy after a couple of pegs
As, rains flood the floodgates
Of hidden pains…

We force time to march on…
While watching the lonely bulbul atop the windswept tree
And, feel the last strains of ektara
In, the vaults of lost memories

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Love Revisited

Trying to make sense…
Of the hazy world without glasses
And, understanding that beauty is…
Because it’s ugly otherwise

The beckoning of the faraway horizon
And the memories of an old friend
Drawing me back to an old snap
Forgotten between yellow pages…

The flying lampposts…
And, the cold milestones
Reminds me of a solace
In my distant past

As, I write into the sunset
Of yet another dawn of love
I remember you…my rain
And, the paintings on the heaven above

Friday, August 21, 2009

No One's Watching

The sleeping face of eternal rest
And the finality of peace
When the sun’s ready to set

Everybody’s angry...
Every one’s sad...
And no one’s watching us tonight

And the sky mourns
As, it hides its stars
Behind a black blanket

And, I look up
When it’s raining again…
We are all alone…no one’s watching us tonight

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

The Man Inside

The quest for a smile
Has led me through a thousand tears
And at the end of alleys of love
Lay many-a-heartbreaks

Yet it is life
That inspired the dawn of new poems
And captured restless thoughts
Like a new fire in an old fireplace

The illusions enticed the dreamer
As he saw beyond the green
And lost himself in a world
That made him an outcast in this one…

But, he saw time
And felt it to be a time like no other
Stood still…
And like he is. The sea is. The sky is.

The man that should have been
Yet ain’t… The man inside
Whom I lost in my vain quest to belong
That always ended in trysts with loneliness

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Summer Rain

I am drunk again…
High on the smell of wet earth
As the burnt earth
Rejuvenates and sways with promise of life

I look on and wait
To hide in the warmth of your breasts
While the sky celebrates
The timeless exultation of life

The solitary green bench…
Under the shade of gaunt trees
The lonely witness…
To the masterpiece on the eternal canvas

It is time again…
To dance as if no one’s watching
And live…
Even if no one cares

And all is set right…
As, rain washes away
All the accumulated tears
And pent up pain

So, I embrace you again, rain
My love and pain…
And I wait. Look up.
And walk on as my rain embraces me.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Out of a Window

The day melts into evening
Of a cloud filled day
And the trees wait
For another night

The lonely bird
Looks for a way back home
And, I watch…
From the impersonal window

Life flies by…
And the trees stand silent
The eternal listeners
Of troubled souls like mine

I wonder, what I seek…
As, I dream of flying
In the slice of sky that I see
From the cold window of my class

I remain the lonely wanderer
Of my hidden dreams
In the realm of my sky
Made mine through the impersonal window

And, as I move on…
This window stays open
And the evening embraces me
And I merge with the sky from my window

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Reaching Out To Smoke

I drive along deserted roads
Music and the purring engine in my ears
As, I watch the black cloud covering the moon
I see the silver lining

And, on a rock-top
At the dead of night
I watch the skyline
Of a merciless city

Yet the shadows
Calm in their solidity
Reassured of existence
Soothes my frightened soul

Still I am rejected
Left out on a cold, dark, eternal night
As, I walk alone
Grappling with conflicting emotions

Frozen strands of time
As, rain comes back
As, if she can guess my mind
And, though I hate it…I find solace

Am tired of walking
Tired of wishing for something I do not want
Yet, deep down reaching out for smoke
I light the next cigarette

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Ashes and Grey

The arrival of rain…
Greeted by a poignant departure
Of a stumbling madman
Who dared to live…

Born again to eternity
Embracing the pure black
But…again, he is just one more hero
In a world that doesn’t care

The fire keeps on burning
As, men become food for worms
And ashes are all that is left
As elements embrace us

It is hard to bid adieu…
More so to a friend
Yet, I bury you my soul…
Waiting for an answer


Tuesday, July 7, 2009

New Flight

The idle breeze teases me
As, I walk down the narrow lane
And the green canopy
Gently protects me from the sun.

And, I brush away my dreams
While running away from reality
Looking for the vaccum
Of my self

Lunacy is what I have
An armor against the world’s sanity
Yet the fear…
Of anticipating a new beginning

I do not seek the forward step
Yet, it has to be taken…
So, the bated breath preparation continues…
To fly out of the cocoon.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Let Darkness Fall

The wind whistles past
As, I drive on...
Among the wilderness
And cry those dry tears
Which lose their way to the eye...

If only the burden could be burnt
The sweetest melody returned...
To the smile of a guy
Whose passwords
Remain a forgotten name.

Yet, so it shall be
As, I wait to win a battle
That was never fought
And the parched land
Keeps awaiting rain...

To, thee, who pass
And take ages to wipe out
And come back
From unexpected follies
Please, let the candle burn out...
And, darkness fall.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

A Stranger's Blues

As, the evening
Stealthily approaches my reverie
And, I look up to find the day waning
It is the stranger’s soul that I seek.

And, while the shadow lengthens
In this austere room
I, stop to start...
To seek the abandoned hope...

Maybe, I am welcome
Or, just an intruder
And the wine of the night
Just tolerates my insolence...

A long road unfolds
As, I stand at the edge of the chasm
It is not the plunge that scares me
Only, that I may falter at the edge...

Monday, June 1, 2009


Words may you be
The soul of my journey
The beginning of an end
And the ending of a beginning...

Words may you be
The soul of a stranger
The death with closed eyes
And an open heart...

Words may you be
My strength and my weakness
And the smile
Of a life lived for myself.

Words may you be
The dream of eternity, or
The flames that do not burn
Yet preserve my identity...

In the end
What does it matter...
For its time ...
And I must say goodbye.

Rain Messenger’s Diary10 ......Choices

A journey has to be started and I am the one taking the proactive step forward for maybe the first time in my life. A conscious decision to leave the city being the first step among the series of steps I have planned for myself. Sometimes, I wonder whether it is escapism or cowardice that propels me. I reflect on the transference a person can have on another person. It is as if an indelible impression of every person we meet lies within us, some more prominent than the others. Somehow, I have started to believe that our entire lives are spent in a manner that is closely entwined with these impressions. It is as if our choices are never ours or rather we, never do have choices just an “impression” of it. It is, as if, our choices are nothing more or less than a cumulative and complex (sometimes incomprehensible) reactions to the circumstances and the people around us. This, however, does not go to suggest that we, homo sapiens, are mere victims of varying circumstances, it means, simply that to understand our choices we should understand our circumstances and more importantly the impressions that people have left on us.

It is this journey that few take and therefore few are ultimately happy with their choices. They are a rare species who stand and say “...I took the road not taken and that has made all the difference.” You do not necessarily have to be a path breaker to love your choices but sometimes it is of the utmost importance to be at peace with your decision and this particular journey is what brings me to this juncture today. I suffered long and agonised a lot over whether or not I had done myself justice by doing what I had done all my life through my various choices. I have heard it said numerous times that you were capable of more and I needed to understand that I had lived not merely existed. As, I see it all of us get a few occasions in our lives when we can stop and look back and weigh the pros and cons of the road travelled so far and judge ourselves. I decided now was one such time for me. Standing at the threshold of starting a new journey, of leaving behind all that I had known and grown up with I wanted to stop for a while and ponder about those that made me choose.

The very first discovery that I made while trying to make this journey is that not all of our choices rather none of our choices are always due to positive reasons, there is always a negative influence somewhere in it. However, that does not make the choices wrong, it is just how it is, “grey”. Now, I know most of you who know me must smile at the mention of the grey with those here-he-goes-again faces and I must admit that it is not an unwarranted reaction. But, every time I have tried to make sense of any aspect of life, I have invariably hit my head against this colour. So, accepting that basic premise to be correct I found peace in my choice to leave this city of my firsts, the city which will always be closest to my heart. I know a lot has happened in the past few years and I have grown up a lot too. I have had to go through the grindstone to get back on my feet again after being fouled. There have been numerous people some who have become friends, some whom I met only once who have influenced my life and today I feel an immense gratitude towards them for I realise the sweetest revenge is to lead a good life.
The point of this essay was not to say that I am at peace with my decision to go to Delhi but just an outlet for me and as for those who care to read it, a way in which they might want to slow down for a while and just review their decisions. Ultimately, it is the peace we find within because of the trust we develop on ourselves that we will choose what is best for us and that above all we will respect the gift of life that make us what we are.

I had loved once upon a time and all my choices seemed simple then since they were all made with one objective in mind “her” but now they are again simple since they are again made with one objective in mind “I”.
After all the sacred word is – EGO.

Sunday, May 10, 2009


Can you let go…
Of the umbrellas
Or the mad scramble
For shelter or the closest exit

Are you afraid to follow…
What maybe a mirage
Or your journey to the jungle
Where freedom awaits…

Again, freedom…
Well, a forgotten idea…
Imagined and smelt
An instinct from when we lived in the world…

Will you take the journey…
With me to unlock
What maybe an illusion
Or discovery of where you belong

Ultimately, it’s your choice
But it is my time
To give you the chance
To discover freedom

And, as you smell rain
A man among the animals
You know, it all boils down to the instinct
Of self-preservation and family bondings.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Adieu Tilottama

As, I flow along the sticky banks of life…
Memories try to cling on to me…
But, the only one I remember
Is the only one who never asked...

And, as I drink tea
In this deserted station…
I think of you
And all that will stay behind…

All I remember…
Is the music that was never played.
Irony, it is that I find your soul
In this moment of departure

Yet, I treasure it as my identity
As, perhaps you will remember me
Like the millions who left before me
Silent soul mate of my firsts…adieu Tilottama.

Monday, May 4, 2009

And Rains Came

Flying bits of memories
That got stuck on my windshield
While I rushed past
On the highway to dreams

And, the taste of coffee
And the acrid smell of cheap smoke
Invigorated my senses
As, I turned away from fantasies.

And, the storm came with the prelude to rain
As, the city heaved a sigh of relief
And, the wind howled
While grey ruled the eternal canvas…

I stood.
Watched. Smiled. Cried.
Then, closed my windows…
And, rains came.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Let it Rain Tonight

The sun rides low on the horizon
As, the birds search their way home
And, the aimless wanderer
Finally finds a perch.
And, I think it’s gonna rain tonight.

I see the infant
Sleeping naked in the street
And I watch the men…
Dying alone in the heat
But, I think it’s gonna rain tonight.

I see two lovers
Exploring the new world
And, the barren land
Finally bearing flowers
And, I think it’s gonna rain tonight.

I find the old man
Strumming on his guitar
The song of open dreams
And the open roads travelled so far
And, I think it’s gonna rain tonight.

I also watch the dawn of new dreams
And see it get shattered…
Yet, I observe the human spirit
That still listens to dreamers.
And, I think it’s gonna rain tonight.

O’ let it rain…
Hard and long
Let it rain…
All night, for many nights
And wash it all away.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

All That Matters

I held you in my arms
As we watched the last plane take off...
From the lonely airport
And in my embrace lay hidden…
A thousand words of hope…
For your future

And as we woke up early
To welcome the white steeds of the Sun
I held you in my eyes
And in my gaze
Lay a thousand apologies
For the unkempt promises

I had discovered you
At the end of a journey
As you entered my life
Like a gust of wind…
In this sweltering heat
And made me smile again…

But, the relentless Sun glared down…
And sucked your kisses out of me
Leaving me dry and lifeless
And, though I feel you in my arms
I am blinded by the sun
And can’t see your smile

Nothing is as bleak as the future
Except maybe for the past
And, I lie content in your arms
In the cool shade of our present
As the world burns
In the merciless heat waves

Is it Nature…
Or the fire within?
As, I burn the question haunts me…
Yet, under the bough of the gaunt mango tree
You are still here in my arms
And that’s all that matters in the end.

Note: This poem owes a lot to the conversation I had with a friend of mine. So, I dedicate this to her and her gift.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Rain Messenger's Diary 9......Fulfilled Desire…a short step away from Disaster

A journey has to be completed and, no matter what romantics say, the finishing line decides destiny. Ironical, though it may be we compete with even the ones closest to us.

In this unending perennial race of existence and in our desperate attempt to prove Darwinian survival of the fittest philosophy, we refuse to slacken our pace, or maybe we cannot. If we accept this as the desired way of life with the rejection of Camus’ Meursault, then we may as well judge its virtues objectively and face it with fortitude to be able to win. Even though cynics or romantics (whichever way you see it) may tell you that you still remain a mangy rat of the rat race, what is the harm in being the winning rat?

The greatest hurdle of a winner it is said is easy victories as it brings forth along with the black pestilence of complacency which pushes anyone, no matter how great, to the brink of disaster and sometimes even over the edge. Bertrand Russell had written in his book The Conquest Of Happiness…
"The human animal like others is adapted to certain amount of struggle for life and when by means of great wealth homo sapiens can gratify all whims without effort, the mere absence of effort from life removes an essential ingredient of happiness."
We could easily add to it and say that this absence or lack of effort, when one gets what he wants heralds doom as it leads to incompetency and vanity which are merely escorts to the gate of ultimate downfall.

Life is not always a bed of roses and thankfully so, because if we did not have the thorns we would not have appreciated the petals. We would be ingenuous enough to take things for granted, for complacency is not always a venial crime. If you are born with a golden spoon in your mouth or you inherit one, it usually breaks a man. It makes you forget who you are and then you want to be far from the “madding crowd”, but we forget, that it usually is the society that decides our destiny, it is the society who makes or breaks a man. As, Camus said, if you do not play the game by their rules you are an outsider and its disastrous, you are condemned with blasphemy.

As, the sun rides low on the horizon, it is ultimately the extraneous challenges of life that grants us the masks to survive, the necessary skills to steer clear of the infinite abyss of disaster. “We have the knack of choosing precisely those that are worst for us.” said Albus Dumbledore and we see the curse of complete fulfillment of every desire is something we all wish for but should avoid like a contagious disease, after all it is the final undoing of any man…his Achilles’ heel.

But the question remains, whether you play by their rules or yours...
What do you choose dear reader Meursault or society?

Saturday, March 21, 2009


Time came and passed me by…
And I watched her eyes
With the guilty pleasure of desiring
What was never mine…

And as the wind blew…
We took flight on eagle’s wings
Just for a short while
In the land of lonely dreams

Regrets, there are none
As the world brushes past me
And I run along…barely keeping up
Yet waiting for the promised summer

Somewhere in the restless slumber
You beckon me
Waiting for me to draw near
So that you can draw blood
And I let you…its better than my soledad.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

A page from the Journal of a Soldier

Did I tell you “I love you”
Before I left you by the door,
Our baby in your arms?
Did I tell you that you are the best in me,
And the one you hold is the best gift…
I can’t remember
The sound of bullets don’t let me think.

Another day.
I have survived.
To see the next day
When my luck may finally run out...
As somebody else’s did today.
The blood made me puke
And I puked…as I shot one more down.

My love
Politics or policies I know not
I fight for the man next to me.
And you. And our cherub.
Orders have been given.
So we go on…
Into the night.

And one more falls.
No one’s a hero
All a fallen son.
But, then again, they are heroes
A forgotten star on some wall.
Yet I don’t give up…
I can't forget your face by the door.

I can’t remember how long it has been
Since, I saw you last…
These bullets don’t let me think straight
But, I fight.
The man next to me. You. And him.
Is all I remember now.
Tomorrow I go again…

So, remember to kiss him for me
And, give yourself a hug
I don't recall whether I said it before
So, I say it now
I love you and him.
And everyday’s fight is to survive
So that, I can see you.

Friday, March 6, 2009


The storm came silently
Almost apologetic
As if trying hard not to intrude
And…wreaked havoc.
So, came love.

And waking up in the aftermath
In the land of blue skies…
Pure and free
Silent, sparkling raindrops
Words graced me.

And, then there was life
Begging to be discovered
At that time,
When I reflected on a lonely bed…
Sick and confined.

And the cliché fell flat
As time refused to fly
And I went to sleep
For the storm to come.

Friday, February 20, 2009

By Candlelight

The ticking watch
Reminds me it’s late.
The match flares to light the candle…
The flickering flame
Of a nervous heart
And the darkness hidden in the heart of hearts

I take your hand.
As the shadows dance on the opposite wall,
We drown in a violent tide.
The blood rolls down its sides
And the pain is numbed
By the light

Your face rests lightly on my chest
As my fingers lose themselves in your hair.
And, we listen to a distant train
Ripping the night…
While the white sword
Promises to remain bright.

And, as our lips meet again…
I draw the strength from your tongue
And the candle flares up…
Before the final plunge into shadowy nothingness
We lock each other in the eternal embrace
As, the blanket of night watches over us.

Choosing To Live

The road bends beyond my sight
And I am stuck again…
The dangerous but irresistible pastime
Lures me to forget the ill-begotten pain
The sunlight peeks through…
While I wonder about the flight
Of a lonely eagle over the green mountain

The candlelight flickers…
And as I watch it burn out
I light a fire from the dying flames
And I choose again to take the road oft taken
Just to show it can be walked a different way
And I wish I could make all my mistakes all-over again
Just to get a chance to live through them.

I smoke on…
Till I burn my lips
And as the remnants of the smoke swirl around
I keep driving…
On the endless road to ecstasy
And the old music
Presents a new escape

I finally move the stone
From a rotting sorrow
Letting the sunshine wash my tears away
I await salvation…
On the unnamed street
In the sweaty room
Of a faceless prostitute called life.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

The Walk Back

The sun hiding from
the blaze of your naked beauty.
The heat dimmed
in respect to your passion
My-‘self’ long lost
somewhere in the shelter of your breasts
I am finally coming home.

The buried yet remembered sins
call for the final reckoning.
And shards of broken dreams light up my way,
as I walk back to a crossroad left behind
I love to see you as my final destination,
somewhere in the lap of forgotten times,
Waiting…forgiving…encompassing me in an all powerful fire.

A full circle has been run,
and I return home.
To the place where you won my blood,
the battle…lost before the first rumble of war
yet, fought to win the right of your nakedness
and…then, deserted in pursuit of an unknown fear.
A choice wrongly made…and I turn back
to the crossroad that stole my home.
Wait…please, do wait…am coming home.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Last Song

The song sung
under the shadow of the last sky,
trapped beneath the ashes
of burnt threads of time
and few lonely hearts
that stopped beating.

I knew what you were saying
but surely I knew wrong.
I heard what the world was saying
but surely I heard wrong.
The mistakes of my music
hidden by the blue veil of night.

And you are lonely…
While I lose myself in pointless poems
The words entangling and suffocating you
In a mesh of senseless sound.
As, you struggle…I watch
And immerse in my last poem as if it’s my first

The world appears hard for you…
Deserted in the darkest of winters
And, here in the moon-swept rooftop
of the forsaken mansion
I wish I could share my fears.
And, as you go behind the horizon
I write yet another song
of another dawn in the world we left behind.

This dance is yours as much as mine
And as we let the music wash over us
like the disrespectful waves
on the majestic shores.
I sacrifice myself every time
as if it’s my first.

The strength that made me weak
Left me waiting in the world of words.
Shivering, waiting for your blanket
To be hidden in your arms.
Time has come to break free again
Freedom bought at the cost of my last song
The song written in tribute to my first.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Rain Messenger's Diary 8...Death Watch

Waiting for the last breath to part as everyone waits for the inevitable is a feeling that no one might understand before actually experiencing it. The pallor of death lies low on the faces and the walls and everyone except the person concerned seems to be terribly agitated.

This most unlikely vigil is what I experienced when I was called to be present at the deathbed of a distant relative as was expected of me since I was now considered “grown up”. I felt sickened at the expressions of the people there…I could feel the hidden current almost a bated breath expectation of death so that all necessary preparations of a funeral could be initiated. I had never felt so cold, it was as if the life of that person had ceased to matter as if the transition from ‘she’ to ‘it’, ‘a person’ to ‘a body’ had already been made and all that was left was the irrelevant detail of actually taking that final step. What was more irritating was she didn’t seem in any hurry to take that step. How very inconsiderate…doesn’t she know it’s a weekday, people have to return to their offices and their respective run of the mill rat races? Nobody had all the time in the world.

They say one shouldn’t talk of death as it bodes ill but then what about that collective unsaid death wish for the person who was once the home maker and was now so annoyingly holding up all the work that needed to be done after she died.

As, everyone showed up they shook her and called her as if to wake up their own spirits and just pat them back to sleep while telling them “we did our duty”........the endless roll-call of “Jethima…ami…ami Swapan”, “Jethima..ami…ami Gadai” and so on and so forth made me want to throw up. It was the ‘society’ and the ‘social fibre’ that we are so proud of laid bare for me to see. They had come…as was expected, as was proper and civil.

Why the hypocrisy, I don’t know but nobody minded. Nobody wanted to celebrate the life that was spent, no one reflected on it. Everyone concentrated on the death and the inevitability and helplessness of it. No one cared for life for there was no human being in that room just mortals doing what they were “supposed” to do.

Then…she died.