chimes of a forgotten melody

- Dedicated to, All my family members in Mumbai. Love you all! - Everyday I spent here in Mumbai - everyday of the past 5 years, everyday of finding myself holding onto that steel rod in a local train that displaces the working class from home to work and work to home - I would find myself bemused at man's intrinsic nature to survive! A city the size of Barbados, but holding more people than Greece; here survival becomes a daily routine, a routine that kept me immersed inside the sea of humanity, which found me neglecting my leaking roof, the crippled bed, and an ever shrinking room which would later turn too small to hold my 29 year old body. For every person in this ever shrinking metropolis, survival begins at bed, and ends there too! As the rikshawala honks his way through traffic, with his left leg kept gracefully underneath his right (which usually reminds me of some Hindu Gods you see in wallpapers), I am again reminded of the many roles people play in this c...

I. Ideologies on life, A stained window to view the world, Imperfect with acumen! II. Mind; permanently scarred, Repetitive fights with a melancholy heart, Heart - destined victor. III. A hapless poet, Then a pervasive spirit in flight, Burning thoughts to words. IV. Existence; tedious, diffusive, Ultimately growing inwards to void, Cycle of science! Notes My first real go at haiku, don't know whether I got the pattern right, hope to do better with subsequent attempts.

For every one of my family members who made last week memorable! ************* Begone times; like feathers of a red peacock, Covetingly beautiful - yet elusive! Boulevard through which we walked, Under the shade of Gulmohar trees, The path where fallen flowers decay, Where we met each other during a walk, Basked under the glory of spring. Red is the color of love, Red are the flowers of the Gulmohar, Take a breathe of all the red, Moments of red; which knit the path, Sincere smell of red; which makes us smile. Bereaved are flowers when they die, Seemingly distant but agonizingly close, One day all red will wither away, Seasons change - we may deject, But nature will continue the play. I look again at the flowers, Faithful forever would be my being, Towards nature - pots of colors she overturned onto my colorless life, Made us meet, showed us heart, Where we hid, till eternity came by!  ************* Notes Gulmohar ...

Edward Hopper, 1922 Courtesy : The Mag Every alley, an artist's chef d'oeuvre, Paintings made and unmade, Riotous is an ingenious mind, Incendiary when empty. A coffee ruthlessly motivates, Her hair - red, lusty, suborn, Loud as her enunciated amor, Eyes - hidden, lest you burn! Brain, cognizant by habit, Collects trivial flashes, Brush drips in the mightiest red, The red of unrequited dreams.

I used to embellish her hand, Sustain its glow - yet Not a costly ring, Not embedded in gold. I remember her friend's eyes as he searched the shop, And content; once he found the perfect gift - Me! Her cheeks turned red, The darkest of all red, His smile glorified me, Her kiss sanctified my being. She gave unsuspecting care, Carried me along like a child, Talked, caressed, laughed, I found the beauty of being alive! I am left in disarray now, Without her, nights are longer, I feel her pulse; still resound, Along with her goodbye. Her friend sleeps beside me, A wave of dreams torment us, Dreams of our wondrous days with the one we both loved!

The road ahead (dusty and barren), But with significant flux of change, Greenery remains lost in reminiscence, A Cadillac asserts the shift of paradigm. Yet the earnest mind fights, Each step is an uproar against distance, And each moment a destiny I write. The road ahead (dusty and long), Beside me nothing but my swansong, Above me clouds, stars and love, and In front a noble mystic waiting to be found.

Like colors are for an artist, Words for a poet, And dreams for a nomad, Her smile for me profound. Orchard turns saffron, Lights inside turn dim, Abruptness destroy grace, As I drown in memories.