*
Ok, I admit; I still have that shameful longingness.
When you gathered everything else up and left me to myself,
And, when the war of words ended,
It was clear that the love between us had begun to show cracks.
It would never happen to me, was the conviction I always had.
But, I was ushered into the habitat of the estranged ones.
I have been shown forms of love by a million strangers.
But, I don’t feel the tenderness of that.
Your love that is toughest to get is the one that’s greater and superior.
Many times, I wonder if you might still think of me,
And that lets a tear drop at the crow’s feet.
I stop the breath and let all the tears pass as they are in a hurry to run through.
I am different now, I am a whole lot better, come see what I have to offer.
I even run all my new thoughts by you in my head,
To prove that they are every bit rational.
When others ask how well you are doing,
The hidden shame that there is not just six degrees of separation between us,
Makes me display nuggets of overheard conversations about your life.
The faintest murmurs of our memories crawl into my heart,
Like these words on paper.
A word or two from you will most certainly drown me in the monsoon of joy.
Sometimes, those raging regrets I have bring about an edifying atonement.
Only the dead or the unborn are forgiven. Isn’t it true?
And if I jump, you will find our favorite snapshots in my pocket.
* * *
Poetry
Momentous: A Poem On The Value Of Time
* It’s not the lack of money that makes me cry like my heart is about to burst.You want to know what it is? It’s something you have or don’t more than I do, because there’s no straight finish line here.It ticks away silently mocking our indignant ways...
When Home Is Still Here And We Aren’t
* Unlike refugees, who don't have a home behind or infront of them, we have a home. But, Will it remember all those mornings that the woodpecker made mating calls from its roof?How on sleepless nights, someone read and made notes from a borrowed J....
ప్రియ శరణార్థీ! నా జీవితం ఇలా నడవనీ.. (Dear Refugee, My Life Must Go On..)
* * * The original English version: Dear Refugee, my life must go on.. This poem appeared originally in The Saaranga Magazine HERE. * నన్నల్లుకున్న వెచ్చని కార్డిగన్, మెత్తని నా అరచేతుల మధ్య పొగలు కక్కే ‘లికరస్’ టీ........... పౌర హక్కుల్ని...
Why Darkness Can Be a Gift
* If a person has any greatness inside, it comes to light, not in one flamboyant hour, but in the ledger of one’s daily work.~ Beryl Markham * Years ago, you had looked up to see if anyone loved what you wrote.You tried to look in their eyes to...
Dear Refugee, My Life Must Go On..
* * * The translated Telugu version: ప్రియ శరణార్థీ! నా జీవితం ఇలా నడవనీ.. This poem appeared originally in The Saaranga Magazine HERE. * It's not too unthinkable,sipping licorice tea in my cardigan,And day dreaming of a life of civil liberties....
Momentous: A Poem On The Value Of Time
* It's not the lack of money that makes me cry like my heart is about to burst.You want to know what it is? It's something you have or don't more than I do, because there's no straight finish line here.It ticks away silently mocking our indignant ways...
Perceiving My Anthropology
* I don't know what moves him.I remember the day he came back home tohide his red eyes behind that newspaperafter he lit his mother's pyre.This is the man, the brunt of all my emotions,whose lifetime fits in this poem. It's mostly the appalling nature of...
Yours Singularly
* Always close by my side, he mocks me.Calling the lack of endearment around me,self-inflicted.Late in the afternoon, at work,“All these people around you need you tobreak their bread”, he mulls. At the bar,he demands to knowwhy I hadn't invited myself to her...
Still Standing, Still Standing..
* The below is a first person account of a village tree who lost the friendship of a small boy to the big charm of the city.. * At day break, I wait for your shrill cries of laughter to pierce my ears..I ponder while I drink the primary cocktail,a...
Dear Sons: Full Disclosure
* A life's worth of choices. Subjected to, day in, day out.Freedom of expression. Empathy exercises. Vulnerability followed by weakness. Protection from cold. Letting the homeless die from it. Health of the children. Love. A gentle kind word. People who didn't...
Now – A Poem on Time
* Of all the things I have and can desire to have, my time on this earth, and the time my kids will have of mine is finite. I am mindful of that. What I am also painfully mindful is that I do not choose well how I spend it. As an adult, time and the freedom to...
Child Bearers of the World
* Distracted mothers create loneliness.Those children celebrate uncertainty.And out of the imperfect first steps,They quickly thrive and learn, no love is earnest. Fathers cry when planes disappear.Worlds unite to search the heavens and oceans.Nothing...
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The faintest murmurs of our memories crawl into my heart…