Between Spaces

Between spaces of noon and dusk,

Gazing at two opposing horizons 

Of coloured vastness,

We sat center to hues of green civilisation 

And riverine blues.

Between spaces of word and memory,

We drew heavy breaths

Playing foul to the games of cold breeze,

Keeping ourselves warm.

Between spaces of talk,

We heard the river flow

In echo of the evenings arrival.

Between spaces of silence,

Sitting by a tree

We shared our histories. 

Between spaces of touch,

We looked into the eyes:

The transient universe.

Between spaces of thought,

Lay frozen memories in frames.

Between spaces of matter and time;

The sun against our faces,

In terrains of sand and rock

We raced an afternoon.

Between spaces of individual being,

We built our stories. 

Between spaces,

Did we mark another day

And flipped a page. 

The Algebra of Time

Born in yesteryears,

As variables in finite world

We voyage through time,

To results of coincidence.

With signs, symbols

And meanings,

We equate people and places,

Adding them to memories

And multiplying their presence. 

We subtract our loss

And share joy,

Inking divided paths of our relations,

While turning pages

And marking chapters,

Doing the algebra of time. 

To each, their own,

Simple and difficult choices

Held by the exponent of hope

And the constant of time.

Time travelling,

Across integrated experiences

We construct our equation of life,

Without any right answers.

Listen

Of the battles in my head,

Of songs that stretch time,

Of the thoughts that never left

Listen to me, will you?

For you are not family,

an enemy or a friend, but a wholeness.

You are both, the man or the woman.

Yes, you exist.

Of the day light rants,

Of the dreams of thrill,

Of the sleepless nights under vigil

Listen to me, will you?

For you are not the Spring or Winter,

Fireplaces or the beach banter.

You are both, the lover and the stranger.

Yes, you exist.

Of the waterfall inside me,

Of the trapped angst,

Of my depths: shallow and hollow,

Listen to me, will you?

For you are not the young or the old,

A youthful joy therapy or the wise mentor.

You are both, the age and the ageing.

Yes, you exist.

Of the happy summons,

Of the wet monsoon shoes,

Of the movie lines on loop.

Listen to me, will you?

For there is a happy too

And not only contemplation.

Tales of old games and silly arbitration.

For you are both, the light and the shade:

Distant, spread and present,

Making way towards our acquaintance.

Impatient I await our audience,

In a world that speaks more and listens less.

I will empty my cup in you,

As you empty yours in me or someone else.
For it is finding comfort; not necessity.

Listen to me, will you?

Because we exist.

The Intimacy of Silences

From the dewed leaves of the morning,

Whose wet layer did her fragile hands meet.

To machined lands of dry spell,

Whose fate did the farmer bear.

The smoke from chimneys in cold winters,

Whose warmth did the family share.

To the petrichor of the wet blazing suns

Whose feel did those parchments lack.

Welcoming the new born in cold arms,

As he awaits, mute; to his manufactured identity and belief.

To parting ways with the dead in flames,

In whose remembrance the living gather.

The decreasing unhappiness of a plastic world,

The diversity of whose engagements multiplies.

To the increasing animosity between humans,

Whose diagnosis fails to be prescribed. 

Of the wife who weeps of cheat,

Remains her, the residue of their marriage.

To the uncle who trespassed his pants and scarred his past,

Blesses him on his wedding, unapologetic, for the future.

The world is a blanket of intricate threads

Of different colours and sizes

Dyed with emotions in skilful art,

Woven in the intimacy of silences.