A Soul Wonders

There is a hint of smoke in the air, 

it has been a few hours since my smoke

I can see myself lying face down on my pillow 

Its soaked and hid my tears for far too long

The pillow covers have crumples, 

I never got to ironing them after all

Someone will probably burn them 

At some point when they see it

Not like it would matter to me, 

it is my favorite pillow though, 

yet it won’t, I won’t need it, 

I could never hold on to people or things

Things broke, and people broke me

You are people too, intermittently 

Yet you mend me, 

Your hurt brews my coffee

This translucent me pours a cup

I sit beside me, run a hand on my head

I wish I could wake me, talk to me

I haven’t talked to me in ages 

I stole my own time to speak to you

You heard my voice, you heard my words

You read them, you held them too

Out of context, often than not

I wish I was you watching me asleep 

In this permanence, clutching my phone

With the last dialed number being yours

In my last sleep before I hit the call button

Would you love me then? Or curse me?

Maybe either, but I could have a little of you

Or maybe have a little of you before it ended 

Maybe I could have wished you one last time

A gentle Good Night, and the Sweetest of Dreams

Holding on to tonight

I have often prayed, for my love

For it to never make you weaker or morose

For it to never bring you into shades of anger

For it to not cause you discomfort or dissonance

But I have never prayed to make you dependent

I have often caved, in your absence of you my love

For it makes me resentful of my helplessness

For it makes me reprise my past mistakes of self harm

For it makes me wish for a sudden release from life

But I have never cursed your absence due your association

I have often wished, for an undoing of our first meeting

For it has brought you nothing from me except  love

For it has brought you only constant interruptions

For it has brought you nothing but my failure as a lover

But I have never felt you to be my failure nor mistake

I now sit sleepless, for my eyes fear the closure of today

For I saw you for the last time this evening and you left

For I heard you for the last time today as you spoke to me

For I read your messages for the last time today 

But I shall never let my heart heal, for you have it with you

Be 

Be better

Be benevolent

Be  beloved

Be

If not mine, yet

Be

Tum phir nahi aaye Shyam

Shyam tum, jaise ban 

Reh gaye, ban chhod 

ro baithi, mai soch

aaoge tum, apnaye prem

jaise varsha, baras sookhi

prem mera, umadh rookhi

tum aate, ched jaatey

mai roti, tum hasaatey

peedit hriday, mann maari

preet meri, virah bhaari

tum shyam, mai raadha

mere pran, shesh aadha

yamuna sun, daudi aati

kadamba jhoom, bahut rulati

Ab virah, sirf dauraati

Radhamukh ashru, mein nahaati

phir aayi, aaj vrindavan

baith gaya, mera mann

anth aaye, ananth aaye

maakhan chor, maakhan khaaye

------------------

Title : Shyam tum, phir na aaye
(Shyam, you didn’t come (again))

Shyam tum — — apnaye prem
(Shyam you are my forest, you are also always coy)
(You stay back at mathura, leaving brindavan behind)
(i sit , i cry thinking of you)
(you will some day arrive, accept my love)

jaise varsha — — tum hasaatey
(As the rains , shower, and dry up)
(My love for you rises, yet a hopelessness emerges in me)
(you appear vividly (in dreams — implied), tease me)
(i cry, and you make me laugh (remembering your antics)

peedit hriday — — shesh aadha
(My love for you rises, yet a hopelessness emerges in me)
(My heart is in pain, my mind is now lost in madness)
(you are shyam/you are the fading of the day, i am only Raadha (implied as only a mere woman you know)
(you are my life, you are the only half of my life left, the other half of me is dead)

yamuna sun — — mein nahaati
(Each time i hear yamuna flowing, i run to its banks)
(Kadamba trees sway, you are absent though, it makes me cry)
(the only constant in this is my separation from you)
(my face is bathed in my tears, i bathe in them too)

phir aayi — — Maakhan khaaye
(Today I have come back again at vrindavan)
(You are still absent — implied, my heart is sunk deeper now)
(I wish for an end to this suffering, yet i see it is unending)
(You shyam have always been your playful self , running amok, eating butter without a care)

Suno to, khair jaane do

Kuch dil ki baat karna chahta tha aaj tumse

Par ab to wo saadgi bhi nahi rahi

Socha tumko yoonhi milkar kuch phool de doon

Par mere haath ke phoolon mei woh taazgi na rahi

Socha ki bin bulaaye tumhare ghar ke saamne ruk jaoon, tumko pukaar loon

Par ab to tumhe mere awaaz ki pechaan bhi nahi rahi

Ye waqt jo aaya hai hum tum par, 

Aaye na kabhi kisi aur par meri dua hai

Hum aur tum is kadar milke bichde

Tum , tum na rahi , Mai, mai na raha 

Absent Mindedly is the both of us

Monday evenings, those post-work video conversations are often inclusive

We could be talking about how work often riles us up, talking brings us comfort

I talk to you as I am making coffee. The phone screen, touched by a hint of steam, fogs it up

I wipe it absent-minded and sometimes end up disconnecting our call

You call back, knowing how I do that, and hear me ask why you disconnected

You smile and say nothing, and I realise it was me who had

As you walk home, you sometimes hold the phone close to you

In between glimpses of your printed tops, I get a glimpse of the alley leading to your home

I see a few familiar faces. I sometimes wave at them, absent-mindedly then realise my folly

You snicker at my silliness. You know I get all loose in my head with you on the line

You mention someone, stop and talk to them too as I hear some bits of your conversation

I hear you laugh at something. I float into the realm of gentle clouds of happiness

As you reach your home, you pause to gauge if all is well and if you could stay on the call

Some days you are in no mood to argue, you send me a kiss on the call and hang up

On other days you pop the phone into your pocket and wander around still on phone with me absent-mindedly

I hear your talks about if there is your evening tea, as you suddenly realise you haven't changed

During such I catch a glimpse of you, half bare, I interrupt and let you know I can see you still

You look into the screen and blow me a kiss, ask me to wait for your call, and I wait

A hitch in time saves no one

Hey would you like me, to toast your bread?

A crispy brown, or maybe a rare firm

Some egg slices, a few strips of bacon, or maybe a few turkey loaf slices

Mayonnaise or melted cheese, or maybe cheese slices

Would you like me, to bring it to you

Would you like me, to make some coffee, I make excellent coffee

A dash of nutmeg, a pinch of oregano, boiled with a blend of coffee and chicory

Or maybe you prefer instant coffee, of boiled water, and some dairy creamer

Would you like me, to bring it to you after

Would you want me, to bring you the breakfast cereal?

There is a bunch to choose, what would you prefer oh lovely lady 

Chocolate crisp, or non sugar coated plain flakes of corn? Quinoa maybe? With milk then?

Would you want me, to bring that along too?

Would you wait for me, at the breakfast table?

To eat together I meant, it's fine, don't read too much into it

I would hate for you to stand in the queue at the hotel buffet, especially when I exist

Would you wait for me, for like eating together I meant

Would you want to know, how I feel?

About this buffet I mean, like how the food is, if the stay is comfortable 

If you maybe want to recommend this to a friend, or someone you love

Would you want to know, ah! I'll be right back, I bit my tongue I think.

The fish that Elizabeth let go

Hey Elizabeth, I caught your sullen fish

He had grown past his age and pace, I found your fifth fishing hook

I thought for a moment, for I had a moment to spare

The fish or the moment, and a let go I could not bear

For this fish had sunk, its last hook and line

And sinker, mine , no one will be let go, too

I caught him at the side of my slow and rusty boat

When you let him go, his eyes were a beautiful yellow

I found them greying, cracking under the age of woe

I hoped I could be, a little more like you

To have given a chance, and kindly let him go

Alas your poem was drowning in the whiskey

That I got drunk on last night, as the night was low key

When I fished him out this morning, the lake had not been kind

I am a mortal too, out there fishing for food to find

I let him rest on my boat, whispered him his last prayer

I hope this would satiate my hunger, and that too for the next few days

Do not hate me, for I too have a mouth to feed, mine though

This fish has seen the last of your kind, kind poet, he now rests on my boat.

## Analysis as a Response to Elizabeth Bishop's "The Fish"

This poem acts as a direct response to Elizabeth Bishop's "The Fish." Here's how it builds on the original:

* **Continuity:** It picks up the narrative where Bishop left off, revealing the fate of the released fish.

* **Shifting Perspective:**  The focus shifts from the poet who released the fish to a fisherman who catches it again.

* **Irony:** The speaker highlights the impermanence of the fish's freedom and the harsh realities of survival.

##  Comparison to 20th Century Poets in Context:

* **Modernist Dialogue:**  This poem creates a dialogue with Bishop's work, a common practice among Modernist poets like Ezra Pound who reinterpreted myths and classics. Here, the fisherman reinterprets Bishop's act of releasing the fish.

* **Nature's Indifference:**  The mention of the "lake not being kind" reflects themes explored by T.S. Eliot in "The Waste Land," where nature provides no solace or comfort.

However, unlike some Modernist poems that emphasized fragmentation and alienation, this response poem offers a more personal and relatable perspective. 

## Additional Points:

* **Social Commentary:** The poem subtly touches on social inequality by contrasting the poet's act of "kindness" with the fisherman's need for "food."

* **Mortality:**  Both poems explore mortality – Bishop through the fish's age and the speaker of the response poem through their own hunger and the fish's "last prayer."

## Overall:

This response poem deepens the conversation about respecting nature by introducing the harsh realities of human survival. It creates a dialogue with Bishop's work while remaining accessible to the reader through its direct and honest voice. 

Go September, would you?

It is a beautiful September ending, the sun is gentle and the weekends are lazy

I often lie half interested in sleeping, half in reading a book

Then I look around and see my diary pages are fluttering under the ceiling fan

It's set to a low speed, I like a little gust of wind every now and then

The gentle noon often fades as I hear the pages rustle, yet I never write

My poems have all been written, and my pain is out of ink it seems

My pen, broken, metaphorical I must say as I pat my chest over my heart

Only to remember, I had burnt three fingers thinking of you whilst cooking

Who else grabs a skillet that was making an omlette by the edges? 

Gently too, I would, wouldn't I? Oh and wouldn't be the first time I did, half lost at missing you

I have these blisters, the finger prints are faded, so are some lines on the hand

Am not into palmistry, who cares about a few missing lines on my palm, not you, not me

It's the same fate that has torn my mind asunder, that is how fate works, doesn't it?

And here you ask if I love you of all that I do, That I do, and probably overdo too

So then let September pass, this evening will end and October will arrive, and another year 

I would be here, wanting to hold you closer, or maybe to make a coffee for, cook Thai too

A little story of a demon or two

I was quite afraid of the dark when I was a child, petrified

I would hold my mother's hair, in hopes of her saving me lest I get snatched

By a demon that roams in the pitch black night

I was a silly silly little child, you see

Somedays when my wife slept, and if I woke up scared from dreams

I would hold her hair bun secretly too , hoping she would save me

Like we could together gang up and fight a demon or two

I was a silly silly husband once, you see

These days when I sleep, I often am disturbed mid sleep

I always find a demon or two scared, reaching out

I make some space in my bed, they cuddle up close and I sing them a lullaby

I guess these demons have been a little too scared

I guess the demons have now become me, or have I become one

I am always unsure of my turning or my turning of others

I am sure of one thing though, at this point in time of life

There is nothing and no one built to scare me

Wishing for weekends

There is a constant want for the mind to roam free

From shackles of love and longing from everyone I see

I seek to be what man was never meant to exist as

A being free of such unwarranted and delirious hypocrisy 

What brings one to thoughts of such bare minimum deeds

Wherein one accepts such failing and dubious mediocrity

This farcical feeling that a soul would ever be loved if free

I like most at some point have subjected myself to be

When I like very few woke up to a random monday breeze

My heart longed to not be a victim of such invalid symphonies

I held my breath for a moment as if to validate my existence

Fell right back into bed and searched for my lovely sleep

When the weekends arrive, i hope my mind wakes me

I would rush to see the few souls that I know and greet

Find the comfort from this senseless forlorny   

Sit and share a drink by the deep blue sea

Yaad aane tak to theek hai, magar

Kal din bhar mere dahine kalai me dard tha

Neend mein shaayad kalai mudh gayi thi

Agar tumara sar hota uspar to aisa nahi hota

Ye sochkar tumhari badi yaad aayi

Kuch ghante bitaa diye maine, dard mei jab

Mujhe yaad aaya ki tum kalai par jab sote the

Dard to mujhe tab bhi kabhi kabaar ho jaata tha

Ye sochkar bhi phir tumhari yaad aayi

Neend me tum karvat lekar dur jaate the 

Kheench leta tha mai halke se apni aur tumko

Tum neend mein muskuraate aur lipat jaate

Ye sochkar tumhari thodi aur yaad aayi

Aaj jab subah hui mera haath to theek ho gaya

Sirahne pe pade marham ki shishi dekha

Tum aksar ise siraahne ke neeche hi rakhte the

Ye sochkar zara phir tumhari yaad aayi

Tumhaari yaad aane tak to baat theek hai

Par tum na ban jaoon, ye darr mujhe lagta hai

Tum jo ban gaya mai, to tumhari yaad nahi aayegi

Ye sochkar tumhaari yaad se darr sa lagaa

The lonely Malayali

I rather not wait for Mahabali, this time around during lunch

Don't get me wrong, we have known each quite well over the years

There hasn't been once when I missed a lunch or a dinner with him

This time I have nothing to offer him, I would hate for him to be sad

Knowing me I would try to make half good avial, or maybe some pachhadi

But then sambar eludes me, so does olan and thoran needs expertise

I have always had these on a platter waiting to serve him lunch

This time I have nothing to offer him, I would hate for me to be sad

Now Now, know for sure, Mahabali is a righteous king, kind too

He may not mind my absence this time around for Onam

But I promise myself to learn a trick or two from mommy dearest

The next time I will want to make up for my abrupt escapism

Some love is distinctly different

The lotus hid halfway in her saree crease, I swear it looked pretty though

She could have worn it with more care I tell myself but then again why

It is as pretty when the chiffon fabric curls, extruding slightly, in the light

She looks pretty, I think I was maybe in love with her saree draping skills more

She looked at me straight cold, asked my eyes with her's, if I loved her

I was not sure what I loved more, everything else was too beautiful about her

She could be just a victim of my imagination running wild, what if my love too was

I responded by sliding her saree back on her shoulders when the pallu fell away

She leaned forward with her forehead for what she knew me as, a guardian at best

I kissed it and smiled, held her to my chest in half an embrace patting her back gently

As she walked back to the stage she turned back and smiled from the distance

I was good at loving her, but I would never be her lover at romancing

Another Day has been lived by

The gentle hum of my ceiling fan soothes me, puts me to sleep

I know this fan has seen a lot of you and me, in cuddled muddles

While my sweat has often caused your eyes to burn, the heat got us both

Those were some fun filled summers, those bygone years of wild love

I need to wipe the blades, my cream coloured fan blades seem grey

The the walls seem grey too, like the ceilings, the doors, the window panes

Even the trees we pointed at, where birds flocked towards to sit and sing

They seem petrified, some even have been singed in the summer sun

To think the rains left last week, like only four months ago, or was it yesterday

I seem to miss count, my mind has possibly been in a state of decay

You could at the very least holler, and maybe turn away and pretend you didn't

I have longed to hear my name in your voice, for what seems like eons

I just realised that the greys I see aren't, they are grey towards me

Like the colours don't seem to register in my lost soul due apathy

You were the one who brought colours, ride of my dreary shades

I have misplaced the colours, but I seem to have found my greys

Had she known earlier

How could she have imagined the possibility

Of her body reacting to the wildest of deeds

What was deemed taboo and made her feet cold

Now curls her toes and makes her float into waves

As she bent over, his manhood entered her untouched orifice

It hurt, yet she braved wanting to feel pleasures unknown

As her insides held his hardness in a tight embrace

She screamed in joys that had been for long been hidden away

Day after day her body learnt to be fed by his erection

Often craving amidst work days and often weeknds too

She had found her self finally, unhinged and ready to soar high

Dancing in her nakedness to the tunes of his lustful embrace