Nobody Knows

Nobody knows,
Not even myself
As to why a green leaf
Fell apart from the mighty tree.
Some say,
The trunk was tender.
Others say,
The villain was the west wind.
But everyone was silently sad
To see it lost
Among a plethora of dry leaves
Tossing their heads below
On the swollen sod.

Nobody knows,
Not even myself
As to why suddenly
My vision got blurred
And I could not locate
My favourite starlet
Through the window
Even during starry- nights.
My mom terms it
The handiwork of an evil-spirit
That eyed on me.

Nobody knows,
Not even myself
As to why the poet
Stopped composing
The last couplet of the great epic,
Some say,
He has gone crazy
Others say,
His fountain-pen
Was broken,
Yet some other say, that
His heart was broken.

Nobody knows,
Not even myself
As to why the cuckoo went dumb.
Some say,
The Spring ditched him.
Others blame it on Winter
But all wondered
How was it that last year
He sang deep-throated
When there was neither Spring nor Winter ?

Nobody knows,
Not even myself
As to why they parted
Supposedly on a fine morning
With throats choked and eyes moist.
Some say,
They parted silently.
Other say,
They did mutter some words
Of the nature of suppressed whispers.
When she turned her face
And he looked downward.
Everybody looked askance
But nobody asked.

Flowered

Placed in the midst
Of a twilight zone
My vision went hazy,
My fancy disoriented,
And while my failed dreams
Were in desperation
I had a glimpse
Of the loveliest of faces,
Under a white veil.

I stole a glance of the loveliness
Of the countenance benign,
While lamenting
Over the distorted reflections
On the fragmented glass remains
Of my dreams
Of phenomenal dimension,
Which I had fondled
And renewed over the years.

Through your white veil
I stole a glimpse
Of a fascinating amalgam
Of beauty and compassion;
A flowerbed
Of exclusive red roses
Of dewy-freshness,
Clad in a thin pall
Of a late winter snow
Of Kashmir Valley.

Through your white veil
I had a glimpse
Of the last oasis
Of my life,
In the midst of
A harsh and fiery desert.
Through that white veil
I rejoiced the sight
Of a gorgeous painting,
Drawn by a ceremony
Of profound colours.

Under the white veil
I again had a glimpse
Of a fairy of Ajanta fresco,
Full of exquisite tenderness
And love of beauty.
Yet, always with a suspicion
Of something deeper
And transcendental.

Beneath the white veil
That embellished your face
Like a patch of snow cladding
The upper reaches of your abode,
I had a glimpse
Of your soil and scenery
Of reflection and reality
In full bloom.

Sun and Shadow

Under the shadow
Of the sky,
I neither fancy
Nor relish
To ransack in vain
The ephemeral magnificence
Of a pied rainbow
Drawn on a broad canvas.

Under the shadow
Of the same sky,
I am not ecstatically thrilled
To hear in futility
The music of the drip-drop clouds
Emitting an earthly odour.

Rather without a grumble
Of any hue
I love to brave
The mid-summer sun
Of a blazing sky.

While I damn care the sun,
All along I endeavour
To keep the shadow
In good humour
For, I know the shadow
And the shadow
Has the celestial potential
To eclipse the sun.

Nothingness

Carefully crafted schemes
Seem to sink like a load
Into an abyss
Of weird anxiety.

Ephemeral excitement
Seems to get extinguished
Like the fluttering flicker
Of a dying match-stick.

Dream of a day
Like a dry leaf
Fails to take off
For, a clumsy evening
From nowhere
Overtakes it
Before the real sunset.

The Disjointed Kite

Spring winks from the icy-blanket
Of a long slumber,
Mildly tickling
The benumbed roots
Of a budding red-rose.

Eternal mirth seems to peep out
From an elegantly packed
Chocolate box.

From the deserted grove
The Nightingale
Echoes a happy note
For a one-time change.

The brook murmurs.
The mountain breeze hisses.
And all species
Vegetative and winged
Seem to smile and flutter,
Whisper and gesture in the language
Of a virgin love-letter.

I could definitely hear
Everyone, trivial and profound
Announce in a language
Loud and clear,
That on this Valentine Day
“Love is in the air”
And I thought
I should ground it.

Fool that I was!
I grounded it and Love nosedived
Like a disjointed kite
On the blades
Of a thorny shrub
Grown on a rocky land.

Untitled

Can you recall?
The hard words spoken,
The stern glances exchanged,
When you pinched me
Most uncharitably
On the left side
Of my chest?

Then it caused nothing
Beyond a minor scratch
And I lost sight of it,
For during intimate moments
I was lost
In the togetherness
Of a cut-piece moon
In a starry-jungle.

Do you know?
This Winter
The scratch reappeared.
The pain, revived and
A deep wound emerged
On my hairy chest?

Because you were at it,
I have been taking extra care
To hide it under a fine skin
Like the hidden yolk
Of a hen’s egg that has
A regenerating potential
Which recurs in solitude.

Unnamed Biography

I am transfixed
Like a spider
At the epicentre
Of the web of a bunch
Of beaten moments,
Untouched by the reality
Of time and space.

Quite often
I find it funny
And deeply ridiculous
To unknot and tidy
The same beaten moments
That lie like a heap
Of tangled threads
With invisible beginnings
And no visible ends.

I know not why
A statuesque calmness
Has rendered me speechless
On a ruined panorama
Of succeeding desire and despair.

I have been treading
Through the time present
With a rhythmic synergy,
By elbowing aside
The lived past
Into the black and white pages
Of an unnamed biography.