Lest We Forget

Lest we forget,
Carved in war memorials remain,
Yellow rose lives nipped in spring
Tired feet walking on shores
And hearts beating on bunker doors
Arteries bleeding June grasses red
Their names etched on grey stones,
Lest we forget.

Lest we forget,
The changing images on your laptop screen
Volcanic islands reeking tears of the earth
Crimson, yellow, scalding surfaces thick,
And the Monday morning blue of the Pacific,
Staring solemnly at the working week ahead,
Ticked in the log books of our memory,
Lest we forget.

Lest we forget,
The toffee wrapper glistens in my coat pocket,
The lottery winning joy for a Rupee
Hidden away like a Swiss A/c secret
Is the evening wrapped in chocolate
Our shy silence needs words,
And they fight the crumpled white of the pages
Lest we forget.

Lest we forget,
The air of your bedroom remains heavy,
A cocktail of your after shower lotion and a tired body
Your reclining form three metres away,
Like a declining sun after a scorching day.
Laughter flowing like a mountain stream,
Remained trapped in the cobwebs of your room,
Lest we forget.

WORDS

These words which burn the page,
Would have scorched your skin
Starting like a mountain stream on your neck
Snaking its way down your hilly breasts,
And resting on some plateau.
Panting, out of breath,
Swearing until I've taken notice.
Little black scribbling melts away
Drowned by beads of salt on your naval
And a day vanishes in the dark of your being.
Squabbles with friends wiped out
The shove in the bus
The dirty look of passers by
Erased when the words kiss your skin. 
The room resounds with 
Little drops of buttons on the floor,
The hissing of clothes coming off 
And the whispering of the vernal woods.
With every inch of your skin
A kingdom won.
With every kiss,
A dragon slayed.
And when you drag me inside you,
A pilgrimage of sorts,
Visiting life...Creating one.

Sitting Inside a Classroom

Outside the glass windows,
The world waited with bated breath
For the lectures to end
And education to begin...
The tall pines swayed in affirmation.
Urdu alphabets adorned the black board
Like trinkets and earrings
Holding onto a bride's body.
Outside, the planned gardens and "chowks"
Brushed away the bullet holes
That had ravaged the air so long ago.
Words, drunk on longing and pain,
Moved slowly in the rose gardens.
Pricked by the thorns of the years gone by,
They bled nostalgic laughter,
And a mob of shared pain
Lost themselves in the Bazaars of the heart.
Like smoke from an unpuffed cigar,
The city slowly slipped through my fingers.

Having Torn A Letter

Tearing your last letter this evening,
Was the hardest thing i did,
Since i let you go last spring.
The words wailed, winding around,
The walls of the house,
And the logs in the fireplace crackled.
There were thirteen strikes when the clock struck twelve,
And the dogs barked all night.
A final 21 gun salute
To the words and the world
That was torn.
The man in the moon hid for a while
And the wind outside,
Observed a minute's silence.
These were words I had kept hidden,
Black inscriptions on coloured paper...
Like the green and gold of a year's harvest
Across the spring time fields,
Words that I had kept locked,
Like memories of parting,
Less painful with every passing year.
These words hurry and scurry across your street,
French kissing your window with the telegram,
"Winter has arrived."