Labor of love

Let us make bricks to an understanding,
From the foot slush of the ten year olds

In Peru or Odissa, not one with an i-pad.
Bricks are so much like the sleek i-pads

Gleaming in yellow buses, in school bag
On backs weighed down by  knowledge.

The brick muck feels soft on child’s feet
Ankle -deep , in the mother earth’s love.


Heavy metal

You gain an insight of walkers.
They shut up their hind sights,

By headphones of heavy metal.
They do not follow a sea beside.

The sea hides endless hindsight
Stored away at the back of sky.

It is repository of all hindsight.
Look away and muffle its hum.

Hear the walker’s headphones,
The music dribbling from them.


As we are talking, train passes
Leaving our talk, inconclusive

To begin all over for the train
To pass again, like in movies.

The train is stuck in quagmire
Of indecision of previous talk

Concluded within no context,
So we forget where we ended.

Train hangs unlike in movies
A train with no past reference,

The half formed question mark
A memoir outside our context.


Our senses cry like ignorant crickets
In raining dark with many new frogs

Raising throats to night in orchestra.
Our faces are duly contorted in love

Like exaggerated gestures of dancer.
But in the end they sound as if of air

Like breeze rustling in yellow leaves
Dealing with a dead past of the trees.


chimes remind a breeze that comes
from  far off seas,through the fields

houses , cows,women, sleeping dogs
truck drivers,falling asteroid pieces.

chimes toll  anonymous church bells
in a  common destiny that connects

houses, cows, women, sleeping dogs
truck drivers etc. to the dusty earth.