Postpartum Depression

All nights look the same shade of sorrow
The thoughtful gloom of a heavy heart
When hurriedly they, from their wombs,
Evict a dream conceived that day.

On-Off

Gave an ear, pined for the song,
For the lover's nothings she longed.
Then it comes striking a note!
It really did?
Or perhaps, it was only a thought,
A fleeting scene as the boat rocked?
The whiff of a pleasant pain, a sweet blank,
A bouquet of non-existent violets of love?

Erased

Dilute tears, in translucent
Curtains of thin thin red
Caves a pool, of memories,
Moments and a still-born.
“I won’t tell it belonged to you.”

Starry nights, but monochrome
Dreams of nude nude flesh
Guard a bed, with pillows,
Creases and a shameless sin.
“No these fingers don’t point at you.”

Cherry-eyed cakes, melted candles,
And a weary long long day,
Await a smile, less unborn,
More a guilt buried within.
“Be happy. Nothing happened.”

Pawn Shop

I sold my umbrella for a profit.
It used to accompany me
To beautiful muddy roads.
It used to guard me from storms.
I used to call it brother.

I sold my library.
I will miss the rustle
The books inside used to make.
It used to walk too.
I used to call it teacher.

Tomorrow I will sell a thing.
The cotton sari it wears
Used to soak in all my worries.
It used to make delicious food.
I used to call it mother.

Star

I lay awake in this paling night
Every second poisoned with light
Every moment closer to day
It is torture to know you are dying.
But before I leave the sky barren
Look at me O man!
Before I vanish and day comes
Before dreams wake up
Before the alarm rings
Drink in my beauty
Save a line of verse for me
Love me one last time.

Granny Writes

People! Each one a warring island!
Like kids they fight
But do they mend it like kids?
I know you are one of ‘em
You know something?
I am them too.
Come let’s fight and survive
The vulture beaks seeking flesh
The earth that thirsts for blood.
Let’s plot against each other
You are young and agile
I am old and wise
Let’s fight till one of us die
But be careful! War is never fair.

Indian Coffee House

Warm winters are here to be sold
Cool sun to be tucked in your purse
Take home coffee and lemonade.
Not for nothing old lady! Give
Paise, toothless smiles, wrinkled grace
And take our sweet lemonade home.