Angela

1. A Room in the rain

lights that shimmer in pain,

your anklets stab the silence

your face cracks down

in cinders of snow

as my smiles go up in mist

and we are floating again,

in a song-boat

on the fringes of this night

Angela,

these tunes are false

that snake in through your window

with the soot of the city

your hair streams down

like the raging skyline,

your sleeves are dripping with rain

your fingers scurry with joy

for a last shelter,

as I document your touch

in peace

Angela,

let’s burgle these clouded doors

that stand between us now

like night patrollers

and unhide the soft contours

of veiled delight

let reflections change forever

as we manufacture love

in this rain room

and when the night shrinks in sleep,

you shall search for a poet

who lives in songs

while I travel

through old diaries

for the ruins of your smiles

2. Last Station of love

Angela,

what was bothering you that day

when you took the night train

at the last junction?

light years in thought;

we lived a month on missed calls

and nothing else

whatever was left in the city

except the ghosts of a few poets

and nude strangers?

Angela,

we’re waiting

at the last station

of love

we’ve been waiting for years now

and colliding at times

in dream

when time breaths

in tiny splinters of sight

like another illusion

or the river curls up

at the solstice of vision

Angela,

we shall then meet across the waters

of this tiny blue opera glass

and try to read our past

in the fast headlight

of some passing vehicle

we shall glide on sounds

across the harbours of this city

we shall haunt

the windows of sleep

this December

as the moon

like a snowrose sickle,

hangs from her hinges

An evening in mercury

- For B


(A sequel to 'Parting at Park Street')



-1-


you’re standing by the window;
insomnia


you hear
the soft breath of the city
entangled in winter mist


inhale the silence
inside the heart of the swollen river,


and feel the pulse
of the broken sky
throb with flickering thoughts


as the city slides
on fragments
between a poem
and sleep


-2-


what are the women doing
in the rain?


draped in thunder
and songs,


as my fingers
lick the silence,
exploring the ruins
of her sari


why does the bed
smell of lost lovers?


-3-


nights of prayers
and sweat,


as we exchanged glances
in the taxi on the VIP


talking in fits and starts
or polite whispers


and you kept complaining
that it was getting late
but the traffic kept us waiting


your thoughts in a dream
and the rim of your skirt
on my naked toes,


I savoured every second
of the uneasy silence


-4-


rain girl,
it’s been nine winters


since I left you standing alone
at the crossroads
in Park Street


and I have lost your touch
inside the catacombs
of this fragile city


I always expected
one last letter,
but I never really bothered
to look for it


-5-


dance of the moon
in the embrace of the river,


the bridge swings
in tension with secrets


the night once again
talks of uncertainties


as lonely streets
drunk with mercury lamps
recede in the mirror


and melt
in the voyeur of smoke


I succumb
to the meaning
of touch


-6-


staring through the blinds,
you strain to detect
the last traces of sound


those sad evanescent whispers
from sleepy apartments
as stars sulk on the horizon


one by one
you count the lights,
as they go out


inside the ebony spaces
of this dead city


and you know
it’s your turn now

Parting at Park Street

"In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michaelangelo"

-T S Eliot


-1-


9:30 pm in Park Street,
goodnight


the shadows spy with furtive looks….


the shadows spin
beneath the street lights
and create a sonata in smoke


is this the way
it should all end?


is this the way
we should part
and promise to stay apart
till death brings us together again?


-2-


rain girl,
I’m walking away
all alone into the night


beneath the storm
and glass doors in the wind,


let’s travel the night
through stallion dreams

your dreams to my dreams
to our dreams……


and dice our destiny
on a board of chess


-3-


riding in a bus
that moves through sound
and time,


I discover
barren gypsy men


men who carry bombs
in their songs,


and songs
trapped inside glass coffins
in the rain


as the pendulum melts
at the refractive points
in my poem


-4-


rain girl,
you are sleeping in snow
beneath the September moon


rain girl,
where is your dream?


‘I have lost my dream
to my heart!’


rain girl,
where is your heart?


‘I have lost my heart
to a man!’


rain girl,
where is your man?


‘I have lost my man
to another girl!’


-5-


rain girl,
let’s hide the evening
in a kiss and sandpaper


together again,
let’s sail in moonshine
along the Ganges


on the banks of Kolkata


when the buildings rise
like stone serpents
or policemen walk in sleep


and the ash
of a few smoked cigars
builds a Romeo in silence


let’s drive all night again
along those yellow streets
of vapour


glancing
at the rain-stained windows
and remembering Eliot’s verses


-6-


a waiter comes to me
with a neck-tie
and a breakfast of bones


the necklace in blue
throbs in my wet coat pocket


rain girl,
I’m still standing alone
at the crossing tonight


waiting
for the lights to change