poems circa 2000

1
the naked streets
are as long as my memories
their human razai
banished to the linen cupboard of time...
the pain of severance
begs on the footpath
for a morsel of relief that i cannot give-
starved as i am
of what passes off as emotion
and what is, really
fear...
fear has no colour,
i read somewhere once-
a child had written that on a bright piece of paper
with the drawing of a big yellow sun
dominating:
but the colour of fear is painted on my heart
the brush a fine steel icicle
of terror-
technicoloured shivers
send my soul scurrying down empty roads
to places in my head that remember you


2
the dark undertones
of my hand-painted hallucinations
colour the reason
i thought i was mistress of-
playing a demented kind of holi,
soaking me in the liquid
of confusion-
(which, surprisingly, wasn't as cold
as my fevered imagination
demanded it should be..)
the dye hasn't quite sunk in, yet;
the permanence of my obsession
multi-hued, lingers,
staining the periphery of my consciousness

3
the dance of your personality
captivated me
its choreographer, even more so:
your eyes flashed abhinaya at me
all eight rasas in one long look
the slap of your feet on the mosaic-tiled floor
sent sensuous telegrams
up my quivering spine;
your sinuous inflection
was my dramatic downfall.
yet i did not resist the graceful curve
your passion created on the stage of my senses
instead, i welcomed (from the wings), with a mudra of acceptance
your utter hold over me

4
and now,
i crumble at the chorus of your memories
my song a sad refrain of rejection
a tuneless hum that never quite reaches your pitch...
the convulsive tones of despair
sever my connections with sanity...
why does your music
touch my senses like this?
it seems so unfair
that the harmony of you and me
is reduced to a rhyme in a child's nursery book:
so I slip between envelope-like sheets,
and softly breathing a lullaby of hope,
mail myself off to sleep