When glasses descend
kiss the ground
with stunning brutality,
their edges acquire a unique beauty.
Broken shards surround their romance
in a quest to stand out.
glasses are now instruments for damage.
Poke them into your palm
and you might draw blood
glistening beads of life force
the very colour of the wine
that once rested in those glasses.
are all that remain.
The beer and the sun
|Courtesy: Ankita Shreeram|
One glass of beer and a walk in the sun
All we wanted was to have a bit of fun
Cobble-stoned paths and shuttered shops
One canvas beneath and one besides us
One to tread on, the other to run fingers by
We had shut out the sun but it continued to burn
In a dancing flame in the pit of our stomachs
And when we felt the flame diminishing,
We abandoned cool cobble-stoned causeways
Hopped on to a black and yellow magic carpet
Ands sailed apace to have another sip of sunshine
Two glasses of beer and another walk in the sun
This time my feet wanted to dance, not to run
Shadows of overhead leaves danced on our arms
While the monsoon sun kissed our beer-warmed fingers
Golden warmth smiled through my lips
And voices of joy sang through my eyes
When the sun went down, so did the fire in our bellies
This time we let it die, happy to cradle the ashes
There would be another walk in the sun
Another look at children's toys and posters that promised to brighten your days
Another stop at raucous bars and another dance on rain-kissed streets
On a day not too distant from this one.