Painting by Sampa Saha

WALK DAZED

I glide in a daze –
not knowing what to do with scraps of paper
that appear out of nowhere;
whether to wear them as fairy ribbons
in a mad woman’s hair.
Not knowing how to repair
the damages done by touch;
or how to swear in despair
on the litigations of a failed affair.

I swear it is dangerous
to move scantily, treating a chair
as turnstile; to wickedly sigh
and glide by
all the danger signs that scream –
‘Woman, you are done for! Dodge, woman,
dodge the table and chair
and pots and pans and pens and vapour
of nightly exertions; repair, repair! –
repair the pluralities of behaviour!’

MERRY BROWN

I trace my finger down
the water stains on
the wall of the yellow building.
Brown stains, ochre brown,
rust – a whole sunset on
the yellow wall.
And, in the crack, a blade of grass,
that I pull out, sniff,
and put between my teeth,
trying to see the green
of your jersey.
I rub my palms on the
rusty grills,
the corroding fissures –
frequented by grains
and melting snails –
white as teeth, slow as lazy, heavy steps —
Till the brown becomes
henna rings on my hand.

DRUNK MEMORIES

Boxed in a trunk in the corner
Sadnesses titter and gossip
At every slip of cup and lip

Nearnesses are guessed at
Near-misses also formatted
Like flies from nowhere, swatted

Drunk memories stumble out
Vomit empty pledges at the gutter
Keepsakes that did not matter

To you, a waste of time
A piece of bangle, handwriting,
Vagabonds chased by typewriting

INTO THE FOREST

Methinks this poem goes nowhere.
Once upon a time, it
set out, holding your hand.
Kissing the tips of your fingers.
Fawning on crumbs and words
you gave.
Silently wishing to throw tantrums.
Yet muttering gravely your thoughts to itself,
singing them like a
sacred chant.
Fronds of palm grew thick
across the winding journey.

A thicket springs today between you and me.
Words become waterfalls that
you forever spread across your mind
to hide thoughts from me.
Empty shining drops of
forbidden pleasures
seal nearnesses with
the touch of distance.