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Delhi, Delhi, India

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The Snake



You recounted the
Snakebites of love,
The rivulet that flows
Through the veins,
Diffusing blue into blood,
The white angels of heaven
Who longed to embrace darkness.

Birds that take wings
To the frozen hills of death
Sang the last hymn to God,
The little rainbow
Went missing in the Ocean,
There began the flood
And we began searching for our blood.

When the earth splits into two
We would bloom in love,
You dreamed
A lone tree in the wasteland
The unborn chick that
Drives its bill
Through the shell
To the wide universe

Then on and on you
Swam in the little ponds
Of forgotten times.
Rowing down the
Spectrum of memories
A lone star glittered in your eyes

In the stillness of time
You hatched forgetfulness.
Through the darkness
Of your slumber
A little snake crept
In search of deserts_




She said, the meridian of zero,
Where there is no east and west
But mist and snow,
That looked like the grey beard of Santa Clause,
The invisible straightline
That linked us; like two poles that never meet
The geography of the null, vacuum,
Where temperature is never marked
In the narrow line of mercury
The pressure always evades
The throbbing heart of barometer.
She said once she had seen a red, red star
Over the sullen skies of Greenwich.
Someone called it a bad omen,
While the others hailed it the divine birth,
The birth of the son of God.
Then, an old carpenter was
Busy giving the finishing touch to a cradle.
All of a sudden it started to downpour
And Greenwich became a valley of flowers.
A little girl plucked all those blossoms
And traced the red star to a deserted barn.
Greenwich was the backbone of our time.
Had there been no Greenwich
Our time would have been static and stagnant,
Said our geography teacher.
No sun rays to greet you good morning
No golden sky to bid you farewell.
No snow, no rain
Change of seasons forgotten to come.
Our dreams of eternity and spring
All you see is blossoms and birds.
Once I thought of flying to Greenwich,
Dreamt of playing in the snow
"No," she said, "don't go there,
It's the end of our dream,
The last spot of green."
So we went to the womb of the bed
And slept there like two embryos
Dreaming of our rebirth in Greenwich;
Greenwich —
The last of our dream
The spectrum that peeps through mist.

Crossing the river



When you come into mind
I dream the river that longed to
stream back to the foggy mountains
and the snow hut of Santa Clause.

When you come into mind
Gushes in my heart the sudden downpour
in the misty Christmas eve
and the lamb that was washed off in the flood.

One rainy day, you told me that
wavelets are the ECG of river.
Like the feeble heartbeat
nailed between drought and flood.

You said one can hear the music of heavens
While touching the ECG of river.
But what I heard was a deep sob
(Was it from the depth of your soul?).

There is a river between you and me
That we never dared to cross.
Like the arrow-line between the hunter and bird
Like death never be put off.

When I read the ECG of river
I feel the wails of an unseen soul.
The bleeding heart that was once
Crucified to the dissection board.

When I place my feet in the river
I see you, full moon blossomed in darkness.
And I freeze in the river, a statue of water
Like the unspoken word that choked the throat.