Direction can bamboozle me
An autist mind thinks different
As if in a maze, so divergent
Can his thoughts be
Getting lost so often
Every new place seems alien
Looking to trap you
Till you lose yourself
From asking for directions
To seeing shakes of heads
Losing hope due to inaction
Not getting any leads
Especially when it's south Mumbai
I hop on to a bus
As it goes on and on, I cuss
Wishing I were back in Chennai
Predictably I get down at the wrong stop
Greeted by a run-down lane
I was early, now late
My panic rises to the top
As taxi-wallahs say no
Even as I give various landmarks
I wonder where shall I go
I am clearly in the dark
I see a gentleman in a car
Probably my last hope
I plead for help
Thus apparently lowering my bar
The gentleman offers a drop
Which I gladly accept
A big relief in this heat
As the ride comes to a stop
He says we will meet later
Since he stays in my locality
In him I saw a lot of humanity
As my day suddenly got better
I had got the inspiration
For writing my next poem
In such an interesting fashion

Vagrant-heart is like
that pigeon---
fluttering wings against
the glass facade
of a high-rise
in humid Mumbai;

the staircase- light
confusing the avian eyes

frail-body
eager to enter
for
making a nest
in the treeless place.

To her who knows who she is.

I realize If you Donetsk in this world you don’t get,
so I thought about it Turin those nights away.
My mind would Rome.
As in to walk Cologne down Rhodes
my feet haven't wandered Faro while.

It seems you have the Kiev my heart,
Zagreb a Piza it in the Palma your hand,
Nevada let go but to keep for all time.

I’d been longing for York kiss,
Hungary to have you Lyon next to me;
thinking how Nice it would be
for you to Guinea your arms,
And wrap them around my Jersey.

Reno that in the Split of distance,
we are hanging on to;
‘We Chelsea how it goes.’
I Bern a little Kos knowing
Havana wait for those crucial words means
I don’t get to Hanover a love
you’d never get Bordeaux having.  

When Ireland and you Symi
you’ll see that I don’t Minsk my words.
You’ll sea I was never in the-Nile,
so Danube worry about that.
I want to Brighton your days
and Tokyo somewhere we could be
kings and Queens.

I hopes that where this Texas;
we’d be eventually
Edinburgh place to call home.

Gdansk and Lodz of love….


You know who

Daughter never
ever fall in love
with a music man

For he will sing
your songs
of hope and love

He will steal
your heart and
he will hold
you close

He will show you
places you never
would know

Remember Daughter
Never fall in love
with a music man

But if you do
you must never
ever let go.

-R.

(3.15)
-LA

I have been here,
Since the bench we now sit on,
Was still a tree, swaying in the wind.

Since the surreal morning skies we see,
Were just thoughts,
In a young boy's untethered imagination.

I have been here,
From a time when change of seasons were marked,
By the games we managed to play.

Since adventures that we embarked upon,
Were just harmless journeys,
Of 13 miles, to the very edges of the city.

It is time for me to go,
Chasing surreal skies I have not already seen,
To the edges of new cities.

This time, I will be gone long,
But when I lose myself,
To untethered imagination,
It is still thoughts of you I'll see.

Wait for me, my love,
For when I give in,
To whims of temporary escape,
In your arms is where I'll be.

It is time for me to go,
Chasing surreal skies I have not already seen,
To the edges of new cities.

Tomorrow I may never die,
writhe in the loops of time
like catching cold endlessly
over so many lifetimes

But the place I sat,
eyes, a waterfall
of suddenly gratitude
towards existence
for its too trivial
for it to have any purpose
other than to exist.

Eyes fluttering spasms of throbs,
shedding some unknown impressions,
long held in the eye of the mind
suddenly vanishing in the air,
I was born anew in shifted time.