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  • A Summer State of Mind

    When you take left from nowhere
    There is this little field quite near
    With a locked gate and no boundaries so far
    Take right and right turn again in this war zone
    Stop at the signpost at the bend
    Look, written all over the place
    'The sun is a yo-yo here' 

    The sun is a yo-yo here, the sun is a yo-yo 
    Plopping all over this territory
    In the middle of a cold war zone
    Sending strange signals
    To my summer state of mind

    The sun is a yo-yo here
    After hiding for a century or so 
    Just out of the box, red like fresh peach
    Look out the window
    How everything blossoms in the eye
    Look, the sun is bouncing on our wooden floor

    You talk in strange codes all day long
    Sitting under a blossoming white tree
    I can only supplement those in this log hut
    I built this house when the wood was scarce

    A bird drones strange signals on my balcony
    'The sun is a yo-yo here
    The sun is a yo-yo' 
    Bouncing back on our memories of snow
    Here each tree blooms every night
    Lets talk of daffodils and dragonflies

    In this season of life, above all mine fields
    Pollens get high on the air
    With strange codes loaded in their throat
    Let's lie down in this grassy field of our own fallacies
    The sun plays like a yo-yo in your eyes

    The sun is a yo-yo here, the sun is a yo-yo
    I will take a bus straight along the equator
    Which runs in our thoughts so deep horizontally
    Just ride through all fallacies and scores
    There is no dead end in this summer territory

    The sun is a yo-yo here
    I placed it under your windowsill
    Because every leaf is now emitting strange signals
    It's a summer state of my mind


    Lunch At Silk Route Restaurant

    You slam shut the door on your evening thought
    Three buses speed past quickly
    There is a fast train too at eleven thirty
    On the pavement stands my valise, oddly enough
    Next is the galloping mail at night
    I think in straight lines,say, my next bus stop
    Didnt I tell you beforehand? Can you still refute?
    Why didnt we take a cab,take a train, a flight
    Or take everything worthwhile
    But I think in geometry, you talk of stone piles
    While all memories are getting lost in the silk route

    Last month, dead at night,our kitchen sink leaked
    You called the plumber; he was out of his far sight
    For his girlfriend was getting lost on that night
    We stood looking at each other, knee deep in water
    Remember, last winter, our wall clock stopped before dawn
    I was far behind the timetable, chasing a routine sum
    Since then it was foggy in the living room
    I stood on the dining table to fix the clocks legs
    You just stood motionless
    It was morning when we moved again
    Meantime, the hours fled and headed for the Silk Route

    You never said you started collecting old stones and new maps
    Why did you wipe out every road sign on the ground?
    Oxygen is low here, caravans often pant
    Glazed sand dots reflect cobalt of your right eye,
    Beautiful are the sand dunes in the middle of this desert
    I stand near a Uighur shop,alone, centuries go by
    Winds sweep the sand and sand sweeps all footsteps fast
    While we stand facing each other
    All memories are getting lost in the Silk Route

    Standing in the middle of the Silk Route
    Now I can recall
    You talked less and listened more this winter
    While the caravans flow past me from Tibet to my sleep
    Now I run alone behind them 
    Now I can recall
    You talked about stone tablets and a lunch in the silk route

    Why didn't we take a cab, take a train, a flight
    Take everything worthwhile
    I think in straight lines,you talk of stone piles
    While all memories are getting lost in the Silk Route


    12, Harrington Row (West)
    You have hidden the address somewhere 
    ’12, Harrington Row (West),
    Off the main street, City Centre’
    I stand knee-deep in moonwater
    Here every house looks the same at night
    When the moon descends at normal height
    Just behind my shoulders
    Spraying fresh moon water
    It’s night at last; I search Harrington Row (West)
    With a huge load in myvalise
    Everything is now submerged
    Once we lived like college students there
    Eating glass for breakfast
    And more glass for dinner
    This street had glassflowers
    What else did anybody need
    When the soul is transparent?
    We don’t need so many bricks
    Solid is a resolution that speaks
    Like mud, hard rock and iron promises, gone
    Did we really have time forall that?
    The sun never rises in this locality
    It’s moon’s hidden territory
    I stumble at every house
    They don't have our story
    All houses are half submerged, closed
    Each house in the row has a tablet
    Declaring it something else
    Some are churches, some abandoned homes
    Others talk of being facades for something torn 
    Every house is ‘12 Harrington Street’
    I stand in the middle with my valise
    Full of letters for you
    Every house has the same façade
    Every house has the same façade
    Every house has the same facade
    All I wanted to see was a sign
    That speaks of absence



    A Wild Plum Tree
    Everybody knew
    This year would be different
    Oranges grew more
    In the nearest hill
    Like a morning, gold and green
    Fine dust particles reclining
    on the air
    A horde of strong horses
    Came into view
    They ran through
    The trees whole night
    Their hoofs smeared
    With dust and dew
    My aunt, now dead, saw them in flight
    Over the hills
    Beyond the tea garden
    All of them had wings
    She smiled
    Looking at the sky and me
    I don’t know if it was a dream
    Or a reality
    She tended her long hair
    The whole evening
    Standing near a wild plum tree
    Her hair had magical qualities, they say
    At night her hair wove us together
    Holding her knee, we used to look at the world
    It was lighted and perfumed everywhere
    Like a big orange
    In every winter
    The wild plum tree on our courtyard
    Threw its wild fruits on our tin roof
    All night
    Like stories
    We counted till we dozed off
    Horses came and went in our courtyard
    And they flew, too
    Horses make rounds in our memory
    Flying in the sky beyond the hills
    Falling on our tin roofs
    Of adulthood
    Sniffing the modalities of such stories
    While my aunt, now dead,stood still
    In front of the wild plum tree
    Horses now coming down the hills
    To my mind so gracefully
    After so many years
    One after another
    A feeling
    Slicing the morning air
    Sun shines in their mane and long tails
    Flowing endlessly in my own fluidity
    Near an absent wild plum tree
    I stand and watch them



    Hush Factory 
    A road sign stands upturned
    Near the mound of our follies
    Tiptoe carefully
    In this hush factory
    We now stock piles of spent memories
    Look for dismembered bodies
    Of friends, relatives
    After the battle in public
    They killed their horses before they sleep
    Blood still dripping
    In the countless tresses
    A hand, a leg
    A smile without a face
    A knife, a wish, a memory
    A handful of flesh
    A long procession of leaves
    Identify a tree
    Identify a friend, identify a wish
    Their branches rising up to the ceiling
    In a prayer for the spent horses
    Dreams died in my old eyelashes
    I’m still living dangerously in this hush factory
    Beware before you tiptoe
    Blood gushes out here in torrential flow
    Pointless it is, devoid of any root
    Why search your pocket
    For something which you don’t hold anymore
    I guard this silence still with you
    Hear it at night, if anything at all
    The answers and questions
    They float in the whisper
    Inside your ear
    People are dying everywhere
    For my public forum wisdom
    You stand only in the corner
    Shifting your gaze
    Looking for unknown quantum of solace
    Nothing really flows past you
    How many deaths will I count
    Before this season of fallacies is over?
    You know it better, you still know it better