The Anatomy of Solitude
A broken mirror shrouds
its bare murdered body hesitantly  
the seventh season’s bridal makeup
lurks in the drawing room

your feminine silhouette
thinks of the horizontal meditation   
in the farthest, a thoughtfulness
of mask clicks a photo
let’s take it
as a reflection of imbroglio.

nights gossip like the Arabian folk music
of life and longings 
blended with the bliss of jingle bells
and the ghumura.

In the nearest metro station in normalcy,
a body of dome giggles
an LED display advertisement preens
its face rather cutely.

Responding to your suggestive quaint eyes
I’m hyperactive
why munch a tin full of desperation
or wilderness?
I dissect the anatomy of solitude in void.

Glossary: Ghumura is a clay pot musical instrument traditionally used
by the people of Kalahandi in Odisha in India.  

***

Mother said, They’d Meet in Heaven

Father sat all day long to yawn like a yogi under the slab of loss
his mismatched past revolved around the Qumran findings  
his eyes yearned from the thick lens of Cuba
to embrace mother’s absentminded reflection.

He longed to recapitulate the reels of some unsettled accounts
and tried to exhume the coffin of his youthfulness in mother’s bodyforgetting all wrong calculations between mother and his fate

at dawn, the young siblings practiced Kung-fu
going across the Red Sea in to the vacuum desert 
my absence perennially hunted them; mother was an emaciated evening!

Sitting at the front porch mother smiled at the menageries of life 
the backyard and the sanyasa of the old banyan tree was mystic   
those loose-faced, hump-backed, saggy-faced folks
reviewed their octogenarian architecture gaily.

May be a light dimly flickered with some optimistic tears or hope
a wayfarer there wound up the journey on the peninsular of smoke 
a fisherman longed for a good catch of fate before the sun went off
mother couldn’t figure out father’s soft pneumatic etymology 
she said, after the wilderness they’d meet again in heaven.

***