Joined at the root

Like two gaunt trees

gnarled and twisted

with decrepit age

they sit beside each other

brooding on thoughts

they cannot share,

forgetting the memories

of love and joy

that bind their roots

and make them one.

(This poem was written long ago when we were in Canada.)

Watching the sunset in Mumbai

As I stand at my window

and watch the sun go down

I see the probing fingers of water

caressing the mushy undergrowth,

digging further into the land,

pulsing back and forth.

The silent hills look on

grey with consternation

envious of this cosmic play.

The loving sky shields

their amorous embrace

from prying eyes

covering them

with a blanket of the dark.

Mumbai 7. 11.

The images flashed--

trains ripped apart

mangled bodies

headless torsos

and severed limbs;

blood-soaked platforms

strewn with wallets and I.D.s,

a hand-bag pouring out its heart,

a chappal waiting for its wearer.

We gazed, forgetting to breathe

asking 'Is this the apocalypse?.

Or some holocaust?'

Fear turned to dread

and in despair we invoked God's name,

but the heavens looked on

impassively as rain and darkness

covered the horrofic sight.

(This poem was written shortly after the Mumbai train blasts. It has been published in a couple of magazines.)

When Lipstick Went Amorous

When lipstick went amorous

Against the sun burnt sand,

I saw passion laden drops

Bubbling hot in eyes dark

Like restless waves brewing

In the deep sea at arms.

And then the picador touch

Plunged into the bones,

Cracking the shells around,

Curling up the flames to the hair

The impetuous fingers combed

While the heaving waves,

Like champagne fizzing aloft,

Raged and rushed and roared

Unto quiet--how very quiet!

And with the foam of the sea

Going waste upon the beach,

You and I, like fag-ends,

Sat a-tearing petal after petal

Of the roses we had gathered!

Published in "Thirty Leaves" by Kailash Varma - published in 1962.