From wood to wood
teak faces painted red
I wash your feet
with salt from heaven’s rim.

I observe
the eye of god
from our window I
witness
the carving of sorrow
it sprouts from Shiva’s
black hair, the Ganga
seeps from it like a serpent.

we go to the temple
complaints like cigarettes
in the stub box
smoke suffocates our hearts
so that we can offer
god only dead things.

at every err
the rim of his voice ignites
a flame bickers at the edge of reason.

you see,
he casts blame
like the sun casts shadow,
each complaint
as complaint as a mother tongue.

could have, should have, would have
I toss the words away
into the tones of the sea,
and hope to pluck
resilience
from that same shore.

On the daily

yesterday she said:
you talk too much
please don’t tell
the truth,
your aspirations or your dreams
to anyone,
they just want gossip.

but -
today she says:
talk, why don’t you?
so rude to not even utter
a single syllable.
at least try to speak.

kilos of misunderstandings
burden my tongue
all her word taste of salt
that won’t dissolve,
but I wait,
expecting one day,
she’ll offer sweet wine.

if I stay, I miss the BBQ,
if I leave, I miss the mangoes.
There is no hope for
those of us trapped
between two worlds.

We slump,
cracks in the cumin seed siding
outside the police station,
stale air suffocates the sun
as it sinks below
a creek and a trash heap

visa papers
clutched like the cloak of God,
a 100 rupee note crumbled in your jean pocket -
just in case.
is it a crime to expect the worst
in spite of order?

blazing dry heat smothers our lungs,
we resemble
shrunken palm leaves held only
by the stone above us.

what have you done?
inhibitions and doubts
smell like spoilt auflauf
and the day after summer.
your words are advertisements
for another conversation,
but I am not ready.

German:
was hast du gemacht?
die hemmungen und zweifel
riechen wie verderbenes auflauf
und am tag nach der sommer.
deinen wörter sind werbung
für ein andere unterhaltung,
aber ich bin nicht bereit.

Shining proudly as the sun
Radiating in every corner of my eye
What you do always goes the long run
Around your bright radiance, I feel as if could fly

In the darkness of the night
Seemingly timeless hours
Oh how can something be so bright
Overall your beauty towers heights

Throughout every minute
As one stares to someone so bright
Funny? Beautiful? Cute?
So many words to describe every one seems right

As the Sun went down
You shown brightly as the Moon
Surrounded by bright stars, dear lose that frown
As you sang through the night, those fine tunes

Surrounded by the stars
Now I remember, during that one afternoon
That when I counted the stars
Oh I wouldn’t dare miss the Moon.

Proudly as the sun
Shining as the moon
You worth as many as the stars
Shall we call it a night?

she handles memories like a crime scene,
each shared photograph shows
a clue -
oil stains on armchairs, misplaced magazines
she’d mistake a sob of despair
for laughter,
love for pity.
every remembrance she mars with red ink,
as if to tell her side of a story
that never existed.

our shadows mature
faster than us,
curve towards the light
edges sharp fringes of
empty pomegranate shells
and even when the night consumes them
they wait beside us.