Outside its never new on execution day
It’s Good Friday
I met an acquaintance
the other day
Sabbath dries my vision
for the next day
Jesus gone is a moment
fixed on love’s way
What coincidence that
the axe too fell on
the poet’s neck around
this a longer day
The author was known
His past forgotten
but his words hold me
I remember the
lapse of time but am
not sure of the hours
and the days
Hearken the spirit
a man must not
be hurt for
what he says
Even god must speak sometimes
and have a say
I am not so brave myself
but would sometime
like to say
Bloomsbury I wouldn’t
like to visit cause Sabbath
is on the next day
But the tower of crucifixion
would be nearer to
my itinerary
where I would like to be
the rest of my moments and days
Discontent brew in the momentary
idleness of below
The height had better view
As the moment drew
and the History of the World
never sounded so new
Never could I venture out
My heart’s not cold
it’s something new
I don’t sell my soul
But his words are sweet and sparse
I am not so old but know not
if it was gunpowder he blew
or sword he drew
I can make out just a bit
his words are too few
Wait there’s a shepherd
too mentioned
It’s not my religion here
But I have heard of that too
There’s commotion
outside in New Delhi
there’s a lot in circulation
but the notes are few
The government holds down a foe
it’s a hell of a street all my way
My words are free
but not for either way
I feign to know you
today I hold out
with a half loaf of bread
Sabbath’s new and I
couldn’t face anyone
The evening might be better when
Sabbath’s drowned
the food will be warmer
the streets are better then
and there are a few beggars
who recognize me
they hold out too and hold on
there’s a different currency here
and it’s all about the lesser
My words bite but
his words are young
I will join him and
what he loves to do
in the tower
if his books are housed
I could read there
Life is a large expanse
an adventure
even if they be just words
unremembered, forgotten
too soon, unseen
in a distant land
I wonder how far goes
from the tower it’s view
there couldn’t be too many
in London’s
and New Delhi’s nothing better
Very unlike you two
An unfree table in free space
Lurid
I sometimes wait
for you too
Better than a hangout
for saints of an
unmaddened state
Their realisations
are deeper they say
Both states I must say
must be profound for
me and my sake
I prefer with the former
and some newness my own
Take it on in life
Of which the latter part
is usually about
too many stakes
There’s no threat
to me, that’s my mind
It’s for me
life’s parliament of
free
timeless space
A random toast
A butter toast in the morning
and that’s half the job done
The rest is to walk out
a few times up and down the streets
giving it a thought
up and about, but ready to leave
Buy some things you remembered
before you slept the past night
and maybe along with that
a kurta or a swirling pyjama
that’s easier for the weather
Footloose clothing
you can walk out with it
even with a little airs
It’s noticeable, not ordinary
in summers when you feel restless in the heat,
but are yourself in spite of it
Just this much and already it’s lunchtime
ready and waiting
in scores of restaurants
for the early birds
Others who get up late
arising with bigger dreams in sight
Logic says – the longer the night,
the larger the world as a dream
And all this without any heartburn –
if you like it
This street is a reality, what a cool sight
