Prison

Democracy is imprisoned

In the name of justice

Justice is imprisoned

In the name of freedom

Freedom is imprisoned

In the name of Peace

Peace is imprisoned

In the name of War

War is shackled too

In the name of economy

Economy is prisoned too

In the name of capitalism

Capitalism is boxed too

By the markets and profits

One person’s loss is

Another one’s gain

The media is imprisoned too

In the name of propaganda

Propaganda itself is made of lies

Lies aren’t free too

They have to hide the truth

Truth is in gallows too

On non-bailable terms

Don’t ask who benefits

Everyone has lost the plot

Old money gets older

New money becomes old

Those who are poor

Remain poorer

How else will we define

The real rich?

Marginalized communities

Define the majoritarian 

Who turn authoritarian 

Till…till everyone loses the plot

And the script flips 

Nature loves entropy 

But it likes balance too…

Not everyone gets away

With it all…

Where do you stand?

Counting Privileges

Not born poor

Neither rich

Not born marginalized

Neither a majoritarian

Not born with old money

Neither there is new money

Not born beautiful

Nor very ugly

Neither here

Nor there

Being somewhere

Also nowhere

Neither ultra left

Nor right or far right

Neither a doomsayer

Nor a dreamer

Somewhere in between

Nor a perpetrator

Or a predictor

Nor a victim

Nor cruel

Neither the kindest

Perhaps inbetween

Negotiating space

Counting Privileges

And gratitudes

Neither totally dead

Nor totally alive

Neither absent

Nor present

Somewhere in between

Totally exhausted

Brain fogged

Toiling like Sisyphus

Also being a zombie

Neither seeking

Validation

Nor rejection

Being there

And not being there

Trying to be

And not to be

Breathing in

Gasping out

Counting my privileges

As well as my curses

Silent spectator

Living while dying

Superposed states of being

Adding to almost nothing!!

As Tears Go By

Marianne you sang

“As Tears Go By”

At a very tender age

And then life happened

Men took you for granted

They were seen as Bohemians

But you were labelled a slut

You went down the rabbit hole

Found yourself living on the streets

One has to hit the bottom low

To reverse the curve

Which you did brilliantly

And with much grace

You didn’t hate the men

You chose to rise above them

They sought popularity

You took refuge in literature and poetry

You forged your own solo path

And gave the world its own

Cold war anthem

“Broken English”

A complete arch of life

Beating all odds

Seeking depth and beauty

Amidst all the darkness

Your voice changed too

But your singing didn’t

The world denied you awards

Time and again

But you never cared

Life has to be lived

After all for life’s sake

Not for the sake of

Judgement and validation

Validation from whom?

And for why?

People will discover

Your “Seven Deadly Sins” 

Which actually saved you!!

Oh! Marianne…

As life goes by…

Your words ring so true!!

Image courtesy: Album cover of Broken English

Poetry Ai’nt Luxury

If poetry were a luxury

Afforded by only few

The world wouldn’t have known

Realities of poverty, hunger and war

That lament of loss and grief

Poetry ain’t luxury

Thankfully

A little girl hiding in an attic

With just a paper and pen

Multitudes of thoughts and emotions

Finds an alternative realm

Realm of words and emotions

Those damn slaves, those blues singers

Poetry freed them from slavery

Songs and poetry of protests

Gave language, words and idioms

To the oppression and violence they endured

Poetry gave the moon and stars 

Silver linings another meaning

Metaphors for hopes, love and loss

There wouldn’t be lullabys

There won’t be haikus

Long and short

Lyrical and free verse

Had poetry been a luxury

It belongs to those who own it

A craft they are willing to hone it

It says much even in its pauses

Brevity is its expanse

Poetry is a friend

Who walks along

Encouraging one to face life

It is like those fallen and trampled flowers

A true evidence of life lived and unlived.

Difficult Days

These are difficult days

When reality occults the dreams

It is bizarre isn’t it?

Reality that we try to figure out

Or try to make sense of ?

Is this also imagined ?

Then what is real?

What I think is real real?

The time that ticks away?

Or the dream that fades over time?

Is time too imagined?

Just like dreams ?

Sun does rise for real

But again it’s a play

Play of light, atmosphere

We see it before it even 

Peeps over the horizon 

While setting sun lingers elsewhere

It rises for us in full glory

It illuminates the tiniest dust particles

While darkness engulfs elsewhere

With no power to light their lives

Powerless have to make through

Another cold imprisoned night

Maybe darkness is a blessing

That hides the cruelty, rubble

That amputated humanity

Missing its phantom spine

Where do we go from here? 

Dreams are the only ransom

We can pay

To continue existing

Dreams of freedom

And that hopeless hope

Stars twinkling away far off

They are the witnesses

Of how our sun was born

And our Earth came into being

How dinosaurs roared and vanished

Maybe if we can fine tune

From somewhere

Maybe it is still visible

How it all began

The eternal cycle of

creation and destruction

It is such a pity

We want to behold pleasure

Which comes at the cost of pain!

We want to behold AI

Which comes at the I

These are difficult days…

Far too Long…

It takes far too long

To figure out the right from wrong

It takes far too much

To comprehend how much is too much

It takes a lifetime

To figure out life is about time

Sometimes it’s far too late

To let go what is already lost

It takes too long to figure out

There isn’t any blue print

And there isn’t much to figure out

By the time we find the puzzle pieces

It is too late

The puzzle actually is being undone

And not all pieces fit in

It takes forever

To know that silence is eloquent

Conveys more than words

It takes too many wars to know

To know what actually is at stake

And wars go on far too long

And love?

We can barely hold it for long

It slips through fingers like sand

The moment you define it

It becomes a possession

A caged bird

Which rarely returns when set free

It goes away far too far and

Far too long…

My Happy Place

We all look for it

A proverbial ‘happy place’

A place where

One can be oneself

One can find yourself

One learns to look

At self and world differently

In the life’s roller coaster ride

There is always one place, one city

Where you know

You are safe

Not just because of people

But in spite of people

You step out

And the breeze simply seems

To blow to carry away your worries

Making breathing easy 

The green canopies and flowering trees

Waft of filter coffees and dosas, 

The flower fragrances 

Aromatically you are home too

You may not have roots here

But it lets you grow and rediscover 

Your own forgotten self and dreams

Though the traffic is traumatic

It soothes your trauma

Bangalore, what else do I say?

I literally got my second life here

After that near fatal accident

The neurologist too humoured me

With a local humour which is mild and raw

But punches do land

No wonder stand ups thrive here

The city where startups are often born to die

In a shortest span of time

People know how to pick themselves

Where uber drivers too have tales

Of bad investments and losses

You taught me to pick myself up too

Many years ago and later now

I find my broken self here in the bookshops

In science spaces and conversations

Where people still assert

While respecting boundaries

They listen, they let you have the mic

This city feels like my happy place

I can be anyone here

Educator, poet, archivist, traveller

Storyteller, photographer, reader, writer

And be them all at once too

Mankind consists of all kinds

But I always find more of my kind

In this good old charming city

(Which is fast losing its charms)

To which I keep returning to

With my scars and bruises

To my utter surprise

People call me a healer 

That’s how we just heal each other

With conversations over cuppas

Of filter coffees or walks

Undramatically, unknowingly

A calm city which is no hurry

To be smart, fast or the best

Maybe hostile and unwelcoming to some

But then we all need to

Find our happy and safe space

Which lets us be…our unapologetic self

MK

(Un)Loved

Un)loved

We need to learn to mourn
The passing of the (un)loved
From our lives

These (un)loved ones
They are around us
Unseen and invisible

They simply don’t exist
They go (un)noticed
(Un)cared and (un) acknowledged

These kind invisible people
Actually pass on even before
They are actually dead

We take them so much for granted
We use them as cheerleaders
We need them as doormats

They are so kind
That they never learn to fight
For visibilty or to be seen

They are simply happy
To exist as trees
Or non-being in the house

We don’t even realise
That we have stopped
Noticing them or loving them

And then when the greater evil arrives
Be it war, accident or disease
We regret their actual passing

We make mourning and grief
All about ourselves
The grand spectacle of empathy