Canopy

Layers of body

I yearn to shed

Or at least explode

Explode into a glittering dust

That of blue, green and red

A desire to be one

One with the droplets of ocean

One with grit and grime

One with the air you breathe

One with the fire you drive

Until then,

You must be my canopy

A musical dive

An infinite depth

My favorite sky.

Sounds

Blood river sway in my veins

A trek to the heart

Drunk, swaying and singing.

Towards lap of the heart.

I am hollow.

My ears only greet music

Birds chirp beneath my skin

The cells in my feet heed to it.

If you were sound, you’d be flute and drum.

Or that of the gushing sea.

And if your sounds crumbled into ash,

I’d smear it on my ephemeral body.

 

World

World, a mirage

Inflamed with bitter nonsense

Can I see that I am in knots?

Trapped first under skin

Then entangled

In the ribbons of thoughts

Perspectives. Of all and sundry.

Questionable reality.

Is sound not a dimension?

Seventh, maybe?

I am drugged.

A heaven though. Certainly.

Now repositioning me

Have you ever by chance

Tripped upon this realm?

That I am presently at?

Only moving silhouettes

Oblivious. Silent. Funny.

Do they know I am away?

In case they see me?

I am liking the seventh.

Are there more of such?

For I’d love losing my way

Seeking You.

I don’t see another dimension. Not yet.

I am hallucinating. Indisputably.

For what I see,

Is painted behind my eyes

Not around me.

Amla

Fingers sway on earthen pot

Rhythm from nothingness

Empty spine of a flute

Whistling bliss

Luring me into a brilliance

Could anyone touch me?

Like fingers on that clay?

Could anything soften me?

Except the flute he’d play?

Like dawn beads on grass

Effortless strings of Veena visit

The company of flute

To appease my ears’ thirst

Mischievous energy

Cheerfully tease me

I sanction its spirit

To indulge me

In trance, head sways

Eyes shut from the Earth

Smile carved by lips

Peace exposes its worth

Drenched cheeks

Beats weaken

To the groaning fan

My ears reluctantly open

Mora

Mora means rhythm. Mora means poetry.

(Inspired by Anoushka Shankar’s rendering of classical Indian raga named Jog)

Sitar strings surrender to fingers

Fellow instruments orchestrate

Melding tradition and now

Stillness overpowers the mind

As the descant resound

Pounding to reconcile with the Mridangam

The lone commotion is that of the heart

Drifting miles to meet mora

Eyelids do not part

Chuckles dance on lips

Corner of the eye a loitering tear

White stone flicker when her nose scrunches

As he plays it by the ear

Mora, before now exists

Mora, is not bound

Mora, can only be discovered

When one touches the walls that bleed sound

Video link: https://youtu.be/-wra4p4zARw

Coffee, music, rain…

The last sip

I begin to think

I have always wanted to write

Put my feelings into ink

So I sit on the terrace floor

Hugging my knees

All I want is nothing more

But another cup of coffee

Droplets splash on my face

Unconscious smile

In tune with the music in my ears

There is a lot I want to realize

Why can’t we end lamenting?

And smile more often?

Complain less and enjoy more?

Take away maturity and be innocent more?

Why is that we were more imaginative before?

Why can’t we spend some time for ourselves?

And ponder less about another’s existence?

Where is the verve? Where is the energy?

Where is all that that made us smile?

But life can be so unfathomable

The more I try to comprehend

The lesser in truth I do

And the lesser I’m able to put to words too

All I want right now is this moment forever

Allow the music take over my spirits

The aroma of coffee

A gush of cold wind

The whiff of love

I take a deep breath

And put my pen down

When I can think of nothing to replace

Coffee, rain, music and love…