POEMS

Moments::March 10

Police Bazaar focuses a distant
            sleepy wave.
Before it grounds,
a handful of breeze rushed towards us
        like a gazelle
    a drowning green odor.
A salty noon switches the geyser on.
Eyes emerging from the cool shower,
gaze into a tourist-time
         and comb
         and wait
untill it says,
     you know, this is only the beginning.

Moments::March 11

Khasi is the name of a red-chick lass
and her vivid hilly language.
The fragrance of a holiday begun, exudes
from each feather of the language
when the graphite Ward’s Lake
vegetates density between two leaves
             of an underneath branch.
Shadow walks here beside aromatic road
             And halts at a quiet peak
where the houses, glittery bits of carrot tossed
             on the wavy green soup-bowl.
Wish with a slight bending
we can stuff the dreams of
Iris color on butterfly wings.

Moments::March 12

The first Mawkdok bridge of a life.
‘Am learning the process of writing a full scape letter
to a pantalet valley at the sky’s finger-tip
watching the day
encoding the binocular of a collapsible silver
             below a thousand feet
Neither in the afternoon of mirrors
nor on the canvas of an obscure fog.
There is no Eucalyptus road
to help glide a sledge of droplets.
Only a bluish opaque vista
and the chimes of unknown nomadic birds,
in between a receding rimless frame --
         my wish still touching Sohra(1)

Moments::March 13

Birds of all these four days
flutter
asking a note to glide free
from treble to bass clef.
A shop on the other side of mall
Ringing up Shillong(2),
A bus-conductor washes inertia off the resting wheels,
Kiosk-shaped clouds still magnetize
On our adieu road, inside the jacket
a palmful of pine leaves
fills up Khublei(3) breeze near its heart.

Moments::28th Evening, April

Tree on your saree watches its shadow
The eternal river is surrounding you.
One still moment
has leaned over your left ear
with silky bunch of sparse hair.
Wish I could cover you
With the petals of canvas words
with the cooing seasonal birds.
All minutes of the clock that couldn't
        become the minutes
are glaring on the redolent frame
            of your eyes.
The tree which is my support,
the river that knows a beautiful smile,
All my life I called out to you
     in a silent phonogram

[Crumbs: 1. The city of Cherrapunjee is locally known as Sohra. 2. Shillong is an East Indian hill-town. 3. Khublei, in Khasi language, means "thank you".]