Monumental Love

Its dreams and hopes


rising brick by brick

reaching the last possible edge

like the pyramids at Giza

and its intense conflicts with

norms,logic and self

fierce like gladiators

in the grand colosseum

fighting for life



the secret pleasures

delicate and intricate as the

complex lanes of

glorious Babylon or Jerusalem



and its passionate longing

similar to the desperation

for one last gulp of life

in Auschwitz



every word turning into poetry

and every carving a verse

like the singing marbles

of the legendary Taj



know this is

the monumental love

across centuries !


This poem now part of a beautiful anthology Musings : A Mosaic

COLONIZATION

Trees are poems that earth writes for the sky; we fell them down and turn them into paper, that we may record our emptiness. –Kahlil Gibran

There it was

in the neighbour’s compound

leaning against my backyard wall

the curious tree

peeking into many homes

with its unruly branches

whose strange fruit

invited the parrots

the sparrows and the noisy crows

the chew-chew-chew squirrels

running up and down

its coarse roads

the chatter that filled

many uneasy silences

and kept the kids and pets amused

the thick leaves like gossiping ladies

whispered and murmured

a thousand secrets

and then at dusk huddled

their green heads together

to sway with the temple bells

the breeze it sent forth

never claiming its due

in making hot afternoons bearable

the breeze inspiring songs

in these lifeless urban homes

now there is a stump

of memories, breeze, green joys

and so many little nooks

which were homes

The tree was guilty

of being uncivilized

of giving without asking

so now they have

asked for its life!

GRANNY (NAANI)

The stream running through
the apple orchard
the slate roof
through which
wafted her love
in the smoke
of mountain delicacies
she cooked for us

the cows grazing free
the stacks of dried grass
the no phone
no TV evenings
listening to her tales
of Sahabs and memsahabs
of the Raj

The tin roof has killed the smoke
and the recipe
they now have LPG
the stream channeled
to be a concrete drain
what was the pasture
is now the parking
grandchildren glued to
some electronic fantasy

no tales, no mystery
when my granny died
she took the
charm of the hills
from me !