Six feet

Image copyright Vibina Narayan

Soft light whispers into the forgotten corners

Overlooking shadows and secrets laying bare in the middle.

The moon cradles the night in her wistful arms

As you cradle mine, in your made to believe strong.

And all that remains,

is this momentum and space

between our condensed breath heavy with the magnitude of now,

Skin denuded of pride and satin we never bought.

Pulse stroked in the labile hands of time

Held like a pearl, dived deep, hard to catch.

The oyster of your world presents the song of your heart.

This bed I wish to sleep on, the sea of your life, (for the rest of mine)-

On a raft, a plank or may you call it my home.

I inhale in selfish lungfuls of all the dispersed wishes- stray and not

And forage to trap all the stars beneath the veined veils of thick eyelids-

Those carrying dreams and not.

Praying to slip into the burrow of you, skeleton and soul through.

Six feet, deep and under and more.

Six feet, beyond and wide and whole.

Indefatigable

Image Copyright Vibina Narayan

Elusive sunshine, playmate of the cassock clouds

Let me soak you in, until you allow.

The birds cackle- happy silhouettes of freedom

In a happier blue sky,

A song of chores and forage, amongst the thicket of

Coloured woods of a depleting August summer.

The gentle breeze, that was yesterday a storm to reckon,

Makes the trees sway and dance to soothe our listless souls

That lay basking in the afternoon drizzle, believing

they will escape what they cannot.

Home is much cherished with pride until

Love is replaced with the truth of what it is not.

And I breathe to myself, a silent whisper-

Heaven and winds churned by the same skies know,

These trees can bend to break and destroy, but do not.

As much as they know me, indefatigable

Beneath the placid armour of livelihood I don,

To make everything simple and worthwhile.

Paperboat of Dreams

Copyright image Vibina Narayan

The pen is being wielded by

her misshapen fingers.

A child’s hand- like a supposed 

joke, that is pumped by the veins of 

A century old heart.

Wisdom grays, that heard a million

Stories, but never knew her own.

In the turbulence of whispers though,

She now sought her belonging.

A feeble, but a strong call,

Like the distant seething of a hurricane,

Opens the gateway, to what

Will always be.

They have had to fell fortresses,

Built of the cement of inherited love.

Over nights and over years,

Over the seven seas of unslept nights.

Her dismantled breath and an autonomous neck, still reaching out,

beyond mediocrity and not being understood-

The radio humming through the ticking pulse of the night.

Allowing the plastic biro and the ink of tomorrow to stain

The callus on a well rounded, cuticle bitten

Finger- to swear and for pleasure.

Setting sail on some once-upon-a-times and

Paperboat of dreams.

For what is poetry to a poet, but

A vacant essay, with 

No beginnings and no ends, but

A scattered middle, shaped wholesome with,

Words strewn like confetti and 

Cherished like a memory.

Hymn for the soul of a night

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Through the looking glass

I see,

Deep wells of resolute.

Never ending chasm of

Another universe.

Blinking big bangs and

Enigma burnt comet tails.

 

Hearing the notes from

Yesteryears, the gentle waft

Of a piano lay in

The cosmic river of

An incense I burnt.

Deep into another’s heart.

A midsummer night’s shadow

Hugging a forgotten corner.

Stranger on my bed of thoughts.

 

The well of hope and happiness

Seems bottomless

Until a boulder is hit upon

A leap of faith.

And still we must.

Jump to know what

Being alive is. Like

 

a requiem for the one

In the looking glass.

An incantation for the one

In your star crossed path.

A hymn for the one

Who felt a never tomorrow.

Hues of departure

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Yellow fields of brightening joy

Singing out to the lackadaisical day

Painted by wishful thinking.

Penetrated by languorous breathing. 

In pure poetry you assimilate

Into you the violet needs of

Glorious fireweeds .

 

Tired eyes bearing dreams

As much as you repress the 

Sunshine somewhere within 

The thick vapours of strange lands.

Allow me to cast, that which cannot 

 

Be seen or shown.

Rejoice in this day as 

The needles of light from heaven

Percolates into the collective conscience of

All that perished and shall,

But lived the running colours of every 

Landscape they imagined-

Length, breadth and

wiser upon departure.

Hypnagogia

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Clouds are drifting away

Like a dream.

The frame in this movie

Guilded by golden

green leaves.

Sunshine percolates through

Our veins.

The day’s honey seeps

Into the gold of

Your iris, as I watch (you).

We watch the blue sky

And hear it telling us

A story (of ours).

 

We are now somewhere

Hanging in between scenes

Of a timeless motion between

The thresholds of a

Slow and sweet slumber. And summer.

To piano keys and

seconds of cogwheels.

The evening has yet again

greeted us with

A fairweather smile.

Abiding into night,

abiding into something

We are going to lose.

Like this date.

 

So long as we dance again

In the music of

Each another’s

Wholesome silence,

Our brief interludes

In the twilight and

Waking hours of the other’s

Will and desire,

Time and space,

Will run the

Rest of our show here.

In the garden built

On the loose soil of

Our love.

salt of the earth

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A storm brewed in her heart

The one she arose to, was just the start.

The cold gnawed into her breastbone where

A lair of desires convulsed 

with the sorrow of a lost dream.

Suspended still in animation. 

 

Your wet mouth she felt deep within.

Teeth seeking her spine up the navel of birth. The primordial canal of her beginning.

Where it is? 

She couldn’t find 

her insanity. When it is now,  she

wanted to push you 

and your blighty madness in her matrix that was becoming. 

 

Words hanging there reachable, her arms paralysed.

Unable to pick them, as you lay absorbed, in between her, 

raving in the layers of your twilight. 

Within, beneath, above and through.

Feral tongue twisting in her softness and black.

Usurping the valley of sweetness and

fresh salt, 

hidden in the forest you always thought you had sought. 

 

A minute of you, is a lifetime of sin, 

she thought.

The thunder agreed with the gale and the branches swayed in unison and might,

All day long…

A lonely sparrow cooed meanwhile, all night long…

Kanmani (Creation)

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She held her palms open on a blue,

blue day, while the sky poured open

in honour of her mind.

A wistful grey cloud lay out beyond.

The cracking whip of a thunder and

cold whispers, tore into the

Nodes of her guileless heart.

She sought for answers amidst

What she grew to never be her own.

The damp air reaffirmed what she

never thought would have.

And there lay, like a curveball, even before

It’s life began, a hatched young lifeless bird,

The membrane of its creation, holding

every untold story of it, in her skin.

Pale, opaque beak that almost formed to sing and shut eyes that almost opened to forage,

Thin filaments of wings, that would

One day be strong to fly away, far away,

And beat the strongest of winds, up to ascension.

Though now, here it lay, in her hands, pointless, waiting to be salvaged into the earth,

That has brought all of us here.

She threw a piece of her heart, and trowelled

a lump of mud heavier than her breathe, and

Placed this lithe creation, which was here,

If only for a drop in the expanse of time,

A few inches deeper into the circle of life.

And as her praying hands buried the esse,

As deftly as she does with her dreams,

The ritual of love gave away, the embers,

The tears wrung from tired eyes, called

Another mother, who perched on the

highest branch and cooed away all the hope

She held in herself, once upon a time,

and sang a solemn requiem,

for her soul below.

ANODYNE

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I let gratitude crumble into

My hard bed today.

Just my breathe is enough, thank you!

The heat outside has churned the

molecules of time I have lived yet

Into a pile of obscurity.

A pale column of steam, I am.

The birds outside are chattering housework and tomorrow,

The sun burns a hole in my escape plan

And dreams. Ones forever without an origin,

destination or route.

Wayward and wanton like a rogue elephant.

Just when we thought our legs and words

Have found their respite,

Here’s arriving a thousand restless tiny clouds,

And to all the climes living in our house upstairs,

that can claim nothing anymore, but a few well spent seconds, while here at home.

 

H is for Hamlet

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This gray day has bought with it

Some wizened thoughts

Of a past not long back

When the feet knew of stinging bites

And the heart found love in

Nothing old or known and

Thorns and stones

(and stupid idealism).

 

The hunger has died, but the burn remains.

The urge to purge the stillborn memories

Of many of our dreams we built callously,

(brick by brick)

Whetted by the stone of curiosity,

Licked by the blade of loneliness,

they have planted beautiful blooms

for the Gods in their slave’s garden.

To be enjoyed while taking a pinch of salt

With a drink to our sealed fate.

 

Grief comes to those who have the time to cry.

The rest of us keep on running until

we run dry.

And sometimes we remember to breathe,

As there is nothing any longer to feel.

While the gush of air in dissolves the body

Into the universe of our head rush,

And the clouds above roll out the drums and the show,

but no rains or tears from within,

I often question the distant rainbow,

I remember seeing while I walked a prayer for you, only to get

An endless reflection of vacuous colours,

in the mirrored room of illusions I built for myself. All over again.