Checkmate
This is how it rains.
A cloudburst
when you laugh and compete
with the spattering droplets
and I
harvest a silence
in a pair of pretentious shades
tears have long muted
consoled and labelled.
Everything has a cure
but no one knows or recalls
what heals first
pain or time?
We possess disintegrated memories
petals, showers, ice pellets, leaves, dust, debris, gust, silence
scattered
in a ledger of karma
serrated by your laughter
crippled by my silence
till we burn out
…the third eye
no balance to carry forward
This is how it rains.
Metamorphosis
The window is our exchange.
Buses, cars, whistling cookers, machines
displaced decibels
of a distant plane, a rabid mongrel,
pigeons
when passage of time deepens
the window becomes a residue
of images double ticked in blue
tracing unchronicled stories
a sultry love
melodies, loved, lost and found
a shy bride
the fresh scent of first rain
the window drapes a mirror of colours
crumbling into shards
when wind chimes fear
an alibi
to appall, regret, eat and pray
breathe and pretend to sleep
as functions of time and
the window turns
into a stone on our wall.
