on carton road

tired of walking upright,

i found myself sitting on the last

of the two rows of red plastic chairs.

then crumbled into tears.

it was only

when they brought in a woman

dressed in red,

that i saw the wood,

the shed,

the pot of fire,

the smoke,

and the people.

but they did not see me,

so i was content to sit.

later it was an old woman and then a young man,

more people wringing hands

at flames,

and the smoke got into my eyes.

an old man with tired eyes,

asked me what i was doing there,

'koi saga thaa kya?'

not 'who', i wanted to say,

ask 'what' had died.

and yes, it was 'sagaa', very personal.

i collected my defeated shoulders,

stood up straight

then walked home. who'd have guessed

so close to the neon lit cafes of carter road

there existed, a perfect refuge.

waiting

i have extended my arms out

to the night, waiting

for a star or two to fall,

the sand beneath my feet

is smooth, even,

as if drizzled from some hourglass,

it feels cool under my toes,

distracting my attention

from the pointy blue stars.

then exhausted by the blueness

knifing through the darkness

i close my eyes, and inhale the stardust

i think i am ready now

let the pain come

it will last only from the time

i close my eyes to the blue

lean back and exhale, fall.

illogical, but i feel like gulliver

my hair now entangled in sandy fingers,

the back of the hands, the small of my back

and my legs bound,

the sand is cool to the touch, smooth, even,

fills my lungs so easily, quickly

and ears too. the last sand scratched sound dissipates

into the blue puncture in the skies.

origami

score art cards

with the blunt edge of a knife

cut just deep enough to fold

but not tear

fold the edges in

push corners out precisely

into fine slits

tear away along perforations

snip, snap, snip.

you allow people to do just that. isn't it?

they mark you and stab you

score points and lines...

and you scream sometimes

but let them cut you

hoping that at some point

you would be art.

wish

if i should die, when i die,
i hope it is convenient to all.

don't want anybody's weekend plans interrupted,
or weekday work temporarily suspended,
don't wish to be the cause of a lost casual leave.

don't want anyone to be stuck in traffic jams,
cursing the hour, or delayed needlessly,
when better things could be done instead.

i do not wish to cause anyone agony,
about when and how or if to pull the plug,
the paperwork stuck because it's lunch hour.

i do not wish to see boredom in their eyes,
the waiting for the breath to fade away,
waiting to leave, fidgeting because they cannot.

i do not wish to let anyone suffer,
the tedium of writing an obituary,
the anguish of choosing the words.

i just wish to crumble to dust, fade, disappear
without a blip in time or memory. and soon.

too sweet

how did i become diabetic?
it was as easy.
just as day turns into night
a girl turned into love
love into bride
bride into mother
mother into pain.
that's when (my fault again)
you started taking painkillers
who wore miniskirts
and adored you
and cajoled you
and turned you into
sugar daddy.