Thursday, 26 February 2009


if love can last a lifetime
how many lifetimes do we need
to be together
to right
hasty deeds
if love can sing a psalm
of hope
let it sing
loud and long
let it be heard
at least to you and me
let it be
a healing song
if love can take all this
and turn it into life
i think i could finally be
his love
his lovely wife
if love hurts like this
and this hurt means
it is love
let it pain
let it ache
let it cut deep
as long as it is
oh lord let it be
as long as it
is love.


poetry falls like pearls like pain
and brings me home back again
to you love your simple truth
hope springs eternal i’ve heard it said
let’s put though this hope to bed
for what counts is you and me
and the truth that only we see
spiritual carnal illicit love
no matter what
this is love
and hope will help
but not do it all
you and I need to
take this fall
(take the plunge perhaps)
for what we’ve started
and may never finish
we’ve restarted
at some peril
hope springs eternal
but love does too
and love is enough
for me
and for you.

Friday, 6 February 2009


My paternal grandfather died many years ago. i remember walking into the house with my mother and seeing my father sitting there, having just been given the news over the phone. The look on his face, the rubbing of fingers over his brow in a slow,almost hypnotic fashion.. i still see that vividly.
What followed was trying to get him to Secunderabad from Coimbatore at the earliest. He caught a train to Madras and from there a flight to Secunderabad.There was nothing from here i think..
What greeted him at the end of his long and undoubtedly painful journey was my grandfather's empty room. All the obsequies had been performed before my dad, the eldest, got there. While my father had been aware of this decision and knew that what he would see was what he saw, i have often wondered what he might have felt like. What he still feels. Not the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve, dad has many layers to him and this is not a topic i see myself bring up anytime soon.
Last year, i wrote this, my way of making a little peace with what happened, to my dad, all those years ago.
i travelled
by bus train plane
wondering when i’d see him
what would i say
to break the ice
to make things right
but I knew when i’d
get there
i’d find the room cold
and bare
his books dusty
his many shelves
will bring home this
point in sharp relief
but i wish i could
tell him that
that despite it all
he was my dad
and we had our differences
that’s a fact
but I’ve always loved him
when I reached him through
bus train plane
he’d been burnt
my journey was in vain
i looked around his room
i cried
the day my father died.