Monday, July 11, 2005


between the words
hangs silence
I crave.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Tell me how....

Something wonderful happened when I posted this poem on a writer's network. It inspired many more.
I would like to present them together as it can be seen as a wonderful dialogue between sexes.


What does one do
with a man..
Who listens to sounds
beyond the sounds.
Whose eyes see
visions which no one can?

How does one woo
A man
Who like an oyster
from the alien seas …
listens to Far away tides?

How to make him stay..forever-
if such a thing exists…

This elusive, subtle,
shadowy, enigmatic,
mystifying man !

Tell me HOW
it can be done…..




Never knew you'd take a look,
else I'd never have kept my book
open for your eyes to read
and trumpet evidence of your deed!




A Vagabond heart
He's never yours to hold onto.
Its the freedom, the unfettered existence
Which makes him what he is within.
He could never be made to stay
But would perhaps stay if allowed to go.
A Spirit, as restless as a hurrying creek
Cannot be stilled into a silent lake.
You could perhaps be the bank
To run with him till eternity
Or perhaps be a little leaf
And let him take you on his journey
Who knows what mysteries you will unfold
Who knows what magic he will show you
The Vagabond heart
He could be yours forever....

-Sujaya Narahari.


Why you have to be so possesive
and yearn to take away my freedom?
I am a free bird,
your world is my kingdom!

Seeker, seeker
seek something else.
Love, that is not binding,
will get plenty, not any less.

I am generous
don't need to woo me
you already have me
just open your eyes and see!

-Musten Jiruwala.



Oh but I know not that my heart be vagabond,
for my heart forever has sought rest.
Seeker I may be, but that helps seeks out
the wonder in each passing moment,
however to be a Seer is a tall claim
I can’t myself make.
There are fleeting glimpses of floating memories
and ephemeral visions when times linearity dilates...
but each of us has our own perspective,
so spokesperson I can hardly, for myself, claim.
Thus for myself I speak, a seeker only seeks the truth...
for truth has a fragrance that all can share.
And when you know that
the fragrance forever and everywhere abounds,
then what's there to keep?
What’s there to get?

-Avi Das.


Some people are like travellers
Some people are like the tree
Either way, different sights,
both of them get to see

Be strong and steady like the tree
Stand tall, but offer your shade
When he returns, weary and worn,
his shoes he might gladly trade,

for a familiar spot at your feet,
for a patch of grass to lie on
And if he does not tread that path
let bygones be bygones.

-Anitha Murthy.


Saturday, July 02, 2005

I Love You Mumbai


Throbbing in my veins

like never ending

pound of the trains...

Street names

keep changing

So do the attitudes.

Sweaty Strange faces

of multitudes.

Dirty, stinky,

muggy city

with an invisible shore,

Used, abused by

People she succors,

My SWEET Mumbai-

Every man’s whore.

Summer.-A Collage

Temperature soars
And mercury sizzles

Every one longs for
Unexpected drizzles

Every one is sweaty
Every one is tanned.

Every one is drinking
juices fresh or canned.

Some lucky souls
Go camping in the hills

Summer is the time
For soaring power bills.

Going for a flick
In cool movie halls

Strolling on the beach
Eating Ice Gola balls.

Dancing in the sprinklers,
Or splashing in the pool

Anything at all
To stay a little cool.

White cotton skirts
Billow in the breeze

Wide brimmed hat
On a picture pretty Ms..

Pale Pastel hues of
Green and blue and pink.

Watermelon juice,
With a garnish of mint !!

Barefoot in the park
carefree and gay

Doze in the shade and
Dream away the day


Like a Mother
turning in her sleep,
casually -
The Earth turned.

of her child's existance,
Lost in her
Sweet slumber.

Lives are lost,
Homes destroyed
Dreams shattered,

The Mother sleeps on
Unaware, undisturbed.

The Ring

I am fascinated by old desks, they always have a story to tell. Here is one such.

The Ring.

Clearing his Father’s desk ,
He found an ancient ring.

Encased in a small wooden box,
Stuck behind the paneling

Father wasn’t there any more,
He felt lost and bereft.

This ring was found among
The Papers that were left.

The metal was tarnished and black
It looked cheap and old-

Was it silver- copper or brass?
No- definitely not Gold.

He took it near the window
And examined its shine,

A mere trinket it was for sure,
But with intriguing design.

As he looked at it more closely
Through a magnifying glass

He found the faint inscription-
‘This Too Shall Pass.'

The words echoed inside him.
Filling the emptiness within

He had heard his father often say
the very same words to him,

The air was strangely still
As he felt a presense intense...

Was He here ? consoling him
Through the impossible distance?

He thought he heard a faint murmur
of his father's gentle tones

His fingers tightly gripped the ring,
and he knew he wasn't alone.

A Job Application

(a resume in 100 words).

I am An
Odd Job Woman.
No Job is
too odd for me.

Your Dog needs
to be walked ?

Your art needs
to be hawked ?

your cellar needs
to be stocked ?

I am the one.

I'm a great gardener,
a chef and a baker,
and also a great
candlestick maker !

Do you want to copy
fine miniatures ?

I can also
forge signatures !!

Don't go by
my looks,
I will never
win any crown !!

I am-after all


Odd Job woman
in Town.