02.04.09

It seems,
He knows of times he hasn't seen,
He's been to places he hasn't been.
It would only be natural
To lay on the ground and blossom.

His voice,
Is the wind blowing in cold crevices,
With the warmth of the sun on terraces.
It would only be natural
To talk to everything living.

He writes,
With numb fingers, with flair.
You'd feel as though you were there.
It would only be natural,
To marvel at your gray life.

He thinks,
In a way that you couln't think,
Limited as you are to print and ink.
It would only be natural
To want to be him.

This too is inspired by another person i know. He never ceases to fascinate me.

You represent to me a pair of binoculars

This one was written long back, early 2007 sometime.

"The world is upside down,
You foolish clown.
Break the chains you despise.
Wear binoculars on your eyes."

"I cannot fly,"she shouted.
Her own worth she doubted.
She missed the last train,
And the worm strayed into her brain.

"You silly girl!" he shouted too.
Pessimism, to him, was something new.
His eyes as round as Danish rolls,
Bewilderment, of him, had taken toll.

This remained unfinished. The person that it's about did eventually bring about a crucial change in my life. He still represents, to me, a pair of binoculars.

This is another one from the depressing phase of my life, when all growth and learning ceased, and i would just crib, crib, crib. Written on 14th October 2007, it has no structure.

Let me weep at your pain,
Weep at your Joy,
Feel elated at your
achievements, and
Let me be green
most of the time.

Let me live your lives.
I haven't one of my own.

Identity

I wrote this when i was in Bangalore, in June 2008 at about 2am when i was walking back from my lab trying to spot a slender loris, and instead saw a white owl at barely arm's length.

Am I my DNA,
Or my shortcomings?
Am I what I eat,
Or how I see red?

Am I my jokes,
Or my verbalisation?
Am I obsessive compulsion,
Or insecurity?

Am I homesickness,
Or abandon?
Am I theory or practice,
Science or Art?

Am I rhetoric?
Am I recursion?
Am I a fat owl,
Or liquid Helium?

Am I Buddha?
Am I Feynman?
Am I a Bronte,
Or Floyd?

Am I 'Free Tibet',
Or Devprayag?
Am I 'Clean Yamuna'
Or a multiplex?

Am I yours truly,
Or only mine?
Am I lowly,
Or Divine?