talkin’ walkin’ along blues

talkin’ walkin’ along blues …

been a-walking awhile,
seen much,
heard bits,
scraps of yarns,
spun around the fires,

igniting cores,
huffing at social mores,
while a-walking along,
donning the masks,
of the strong,

in this cesspool,
where people fester in swamps,
because they isn’t anyplace else,

it was always all just fairytales,
meant to placate,

to buy time,
before truth portrays,

the real crime,

till then,
whenever the when,

betraying scars,
of endless wars,

to protect you,
as tsunamis flog hearts,
&
emotions like a whip,
cracks and lashes,

ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,

ashes in the breeze,
dust back interred,

the charade,
the party,

at all costs,
&
everhence,

preserved.

the happy face

coming up …

surfacing,
washed ashore,

gasping,
wracked in bronchospasm,

swallowing every breath,
hungrily, manically,

feeling my eyes clear,
sounds and smells filtering back,

edgily,
languidly,

between lungfulls of air,

and an emptiness left behind,

torn between spaces,
illegally alien,

to oneself,

the most desolate place,
sometimes,

lies beneath the veneer,

of the ever smiling, happy face

for delhi

for delhi
( meri dilli meri jaan)

in anticipation,
of a touch, a caress,

something tugs, straining,

luring me,
back through the smoky mists of bygone days,

magically transporting me,

my memory,

to monsoon drenched days in ol’ delhi town,

your hand in mine,
hidden in plain sight,

lost in the starburst,
of many a shared diwali night,

summers of,

‘borrowed’ scooters,

gol-gappas in the connaught rain,

bicycle rides to the melas,

rewinding that one song over and over again,

after racing to your home:

(I Just) Died in Your Arms Tonight.

and i have been dying a bit,
little each day,

since you,
& i,

journeyed as we all must,

you, remaining stoic, still,

as

still
i make my own way …

lost, i am …

lost, i am …

i am lost,
have been for quite a while,

cast aside,
tossed,
amongst the rubble,
of those of us who didn’t work hard enough,

study as much,

slog and strain like the good people i see,

walking past me,
everyday,

thinking to myself,
where did i go wrong,

was i not as strong,
as the good people i see,

who walk past me,

feigning ignorance,
or maybe not,

perhaps just not being able to see,

my tattered rags,
my blistered mouth,
my feet, bruised and scabbed,

my soul, my dignity,
savaged, and stabbed,

so i am lost,
in this ocean of humanity,

that walks past me,
everyday,

and it still gnaws, i have to say,

after all these years,
having shed my quota of tears,

it is i,
who embodies these good peoples fears,

why,
i still ask,

why don’t you see me?