In Praise of Slowness

Because time is not a
Super highway, not even a
Road. It’s the mist that rolls

Over mountains when one
Cares to notice. Drink it like

A flu patient does chicken broth.

Learn to watch like
The robin does, letting an
Entire universe unfold

Within while eying
A single worm. Listen to the
radio as it rebukes you.

It’s the friend you
Forsook, like paper and postage
Stamps did letters.

Discard the rust of
Ambition for the never-fading
Sheen of idleness.

Like the chirping of birds in
Spring, reserve all your haste
For love alone.

First published in Madras Courier

LOST SEASON

Spring has lost its
Spring and doesn’t
spring anymore. It waits
a long time to
alight from behind a steely
Curtain. Politely, in slow
Overtures, with well-rehearsed
daffodil smiles.

Once spring was rambunctious,
impolite. It burst open
Like a ripe wood apple
In summer, pregnant with
Forbidden pleasures.

Spring lured us into sucking
a pit off its berryness.
Abandoning textbooks.
Diving into a sea of
yellow, the colour
of sudden love. Faces were
canvasses for
freestyle paint-throwing.

Spring waited for no one.
It raced straight into summer.
Spring. Sprint. Vanish.
The ripening berries its
only remnant. As tart and
impolite as spring.
As irresistible.

They Also Serve

Waiting is a sculpture you chisel
day in and out. Shape and reshape
until you can release it to the earth’s

gravity. Winter, the tenacious
Woodpecker, chips away at my skin,
Keeping it fresh and hungry for spring.

In sterilized, naked corridors
outside intensive care units,
you hoist your waiting. This is

where you test its tensile strength.
Its brittleness. Doctors and nurses
hold it for you. Sometimes it still

gives in. Submissions, exams, job
interviews, marriage proposals, flight
intervals — the sugar rush of waiting.

The sculpture becomes a chemical
substance. You’re drawn to it more
than that which you once waited for.

Dear Spring

DSC_1092

You might hide behind the clouds
and sprinkle snow in place of sun
But the birds, they can see you fine,
come out, there is no place to run.

True, the trees are still all bare
and the ground is missing shades of green,
but birdcalls herald happy tidings
and sing aloud, “Spring is in!”

Seize this day while you can
show us how to make it right
the things you need are easy enough,
tulips, fresh sprigs and sunlight.