Archives for the month of: August, 2013


This one is from those night-time open-drawing sessions in Montclair and brings back happy memories of freedom and full moon nights, a fear of driving alone, parking in our garage and calling Ravi even though i had a key so i could hear his voice as the demons in the garage haunted me, of seeing old and young sitting companionably on wooden stools and drawing with abandon, of the rush of adrenalin as i managed to rip off sheet after sheet, drawing with all of my body and arm and of being able to stare at the unselfconscious model posing with élan. Thank you dearest friend.

20130830-105732.jpgDelicate rose-red flowers,
caress my dreamy gaze.

20130830-110914.jpgInhaling scattered poems.
Inside our hushed embrace.


Set me ablaze!
Set me ablaze!


Ripples in the water
only when the pebble falls.
If only we could live like that.


Work in progress.


A piece in progress.

A whispering fragrance of desire,
stealthily tiptoed into my garden at dawn

पीया पास कोई संदेसा ले जाओ, देखन उसे मन तरसे । जा जा रे पागल मनवा, तेरी कौन सुनें

These longing eyes, lined with kajal,
thirsting for your embrace,
strolling leisurely, I am,
in an orangish-copper blaze.

Golden sun light kisses my brown skin,
Enveloped inside your tender love, I spin and unspin …


Like the oft wounded earth,
healed of its scars,
Like a mother forgetting
her pains, in her baby’s clasp,

Like a river cleansed,
of its shores, flows limitless and pure,
Like a song, old as breath,
is still as new, as life’s first gasp,

Like the clear sky upon the ocean floor,
I’ve forgotten, like they’ve never been,
a thousand lifetimes of pain,
in just this one moment, with you.


I saw the blue moon last night.
The clouds throbbed
And carried a wreath,
An aural ring,
A garland to its glory.
But that moon rose
And discovered
It was alone.

There’s this house inside a forest. It’s full of windows. But this morning, there’s just one that’s open.

A little bird flies in. It’s soon confounded, not knowing whether it’s in, or, out, trying to find its way back, restless upon the sills, pecking in panic, against windows, closed with clear as crystal glass.

The light changes all the time.
The bird grows tired.

If only it could be still, it would feel the light breeze flowing in, fragrant with the forest air, from that one open window, by which it had come.

If only it could be still, for that one precious moment, it would feel the insistent breeze. It would know its way back, to the freedom of its forest nest.

Would it be still, before it’s all spent, before it can flutter no more?

Just when it all seems hopeless, its mate comes calling, at just this one, open, window!