3-poems in other mother tongue.

ડિસેમ્બર 1, 2011

upon utterance
i stepped out of myself :
thereafter emptiness prevails.
I am the child of armistice.
This sociology,
Why it left you, and,
pushing me in to the war !
Now I burn every day.
Only the flames are different.
Your eyes
Used to play with me.

Me on the bed
And, you
Glossy on the wall.

God the way I see it

ઓક્ટોબર 4, 2009

( Short poems )
God the way I see it

I hate when someone
Dies on Sunday.
My day off

I die
And my eyes are still,
I see things around me, inexpressible.

I was witness to
So many deaths in my lifetime.
One of them was mine.

Tell god
I am tired of these visits
With condolences.
Afterwards I cannot remember
Them all
In my photographic memory.

Brooding about you

ઓક્ટોબર 1, 2009

You are standing alone
In middle of the station.

Your stillness:
A male sadness.

You look beautiful there
Like a one pillar palace
Where windows, peeping, and the blue are at height
But also deep like memories.

In short
You are memories
And, sadness.


two unknown

સપ્ટેમ્બર 26, 2009

from your eyes
I enter as a stranger
like your dream
I wandered rhythmically like bhavaiyas
at night in the black mirror of closed eyes
rain restarts our puppet show,
we are always together in every act.
and, thereafter sleeps together in a box:
two unknown

A snap shot of your sobs

સપ્ટેમ્બર 26, 2009

Swinging rain
In the corrugation of the roof
Unfolds the night
And drop by drop
From the dripping edge of the eyes
Mingles into the eternal sound
While falling silent on your breast.

A poetry about us in general

સપ્ટેમ્બર 21, 2009

Like yesterday, I met you on the street
And the asphalt was sizzling as usual,
In the puddle of sunshine the police station was idle like a buffalo,
Though pitch black shadows falling from the tree, night remained absent.
A few roofing tiles slid down,
And broken pieces looked like clay found from mohanjodaro.
In spite there was no myth to it,
No deep references or past.
In it was an empty narrowness of being nothing:
Our existence is not in repetition.

Where I live

ઓગસ્ટ 24, 2009

I was deceived by your lips
And Sanskrit poetry described your teeth as pomegranate seeds
In reality they are lipstick red
Please do not smile, the fire red
Sun also deceived like you.
Everything is composed of color
Whether the window is open or closed.
I am standing on your canvas
Look at me!
What would you fill me with?
When all colors are full of pain
And death is comedy