And it happened so fast
By R.K. Lakhi Kant
If my palms were open
it would bring the freshness of air into it
for in the alien place they call home
I am no more than a stranger, doubt
Maybe I loved to
grow up like that, not
caring what would happen next
except the next song on the tape
that sceptics said would only aggravate
There were too many of them I
had no real crush
a cushion is reality for a youngster
conversation’s the background
there’s no immediate necessity but
anyway one more would do
As friends we meet, we
don’t see anything apart,
the higher the mountain the
lesser the need, for
anyway you would be at the mercy of
others who instantly love and care
for you, like lower down you
wouldn’t find time to do
something like that, would be safe
for us, I tell them without
considering there are others beyond the
family who would petrify you till
grown up to the world late or soon you
would know it’s just the world you
wanted to forget about
Like grease on the hands if you want
to know what runs the engine of the world
it troubles for some time till
you do away with it trying
so in a hurry, as much as you can
Did it cost an effort and
have you regained your senses
Life is no more a twin reality but
sometimes I like to be home till
I realise home is a toil, its
no more the same youth
is gone and following it some
bitterness does survive, only
to tell me that I was never with
the shows clowns that ask me about
youth and approaching old age, for
there is less to appreciate in them than
a meal of badly cooked fish I had to digest cause
at that time I couldn’t forsake, I
wouldn’t like to hear much of what
they say, it hurts like no other would do but
like grease on the hands I only
wish it doesn’t do the same to the rest of me
sometimes I only wish I wasn’t here
they wouldn’t spare and
elsewhere I wouldn’t care till
I find it difficult to recall what was there, if
ever I would be where I would be spared the
attention while I wolfed down the food of life
now I am too conscious that
I used to be in love in the thickness of smoke and
for the good of myself I
wouldn’t forget it, does good to the self, like
a table full of friends that have just left, for
I get tired now moment by moment these men
have eaten into me, so that
I forgot to say cheese and frowned when
the last of the snapshots were taken with
my friends and me, but I do not
make much of it like they do, my
adversaries, whom I meet each day on
the streets, as if foretold I find no
cause or curative for them
I live as I am
with belief and littleness of say, of love and
peace, I rapidly invade into the enemy territory
Above them is my love
By R.K. Lakhi Kant
I live yonder
over there
where there’s no shame
humiliation is sometimes
my only food
though they always
promised much more
Will they ever forget
themselves sometimes
to remember me
The love I chose
forges me a destiny
How could I forget
ever, that these are my
love, my song,
my strength
Others I think
sometimes about
when it’s around
surprised for the hate
that wells up and maybe is in me
close contact,
it goes either way
it doesn’t go away
Before I sleep, a new world would come
By R.K. Lakhi Kant
As quiet as if nothing had happened
outside, nothing to experience,
the hours dry as a dry leaf
If you put your effort, your foot to it
it would give a crushing sound
as if it already belonged to the earth
All the men and women mingling,
the crunching sound
like the crackling sound of dry fire
It’s a revolution without a gun
the air is clear, the water clear
what man had made, everything was undone
Why does he fight like this
with nature, with everyone
like a foolish child,
except themselves
blaming everyone
