Ceremonies

Walk ahead,

Always walk ahead?

And look forward?

How about sitting down here?

How about seeking no more?

Why are Sun-sets an obligation to remember?

Why should last rays command all the attention

Accumulate mossy pain?

Why should Silence make you haloed?

Why shouldn't noise

Usher the belligerent dance

Of Breath, Of refusal?

Of Madness?

Why should Desire lead to blind alleys?

Why not to Sun-rise and more Orange?

Why should I not have my Todays?

Why should Yesterdays be deceiving always?

When you arrive someday

With those worshiped Tomorrows,

I shall greet your unknown face

With my unknown.

Dried in the Healthy Sun,

My soul in dead

Pickle-jars

Now seeks nemesis.

Assuming...

Why are you a rubble?

Why a dissatisfied human?

Why do you follow noises inside your head?

Why do you build questions around yourself?

Pause. Stop grimacing.

Hear me out.

Sift me from the voices in your head.

Listen and Obey.

Wait for my words.

Sit clasping those hands.

Do not yawn.

Do not talk.

I am in you.

And your soul has strings to my soul.

Are you in pain?

Are you fine?

I suppose I know.

I suppose I could help.

I suppose you've found out.

I am God.

Reminiscing...

The smell of rain. The smell of earth. This heavy breeze growing old is what lingers still.

I travel back to other days, other years. To other city, to other streets, similarly drenched. To evenings spent sipping the humid air that still allowed the building of feeble castles. To moments spent watching orange-yellow rain, dripping incessantly from sneezy lamp-posts. I travel to the hushed humming of monsoon songs, hoping they were tunes familiar to you. Away, far away.

I think of rain-beaten buses and their helpless windows. Of the daily rides across the monsoony Calcutta bypass. Each stop arriving with a naive sms, each landmark with a memory, each radio-melody with a smile.

I think of rickshaw rides, of ice-tea, of bitterness and that constant acidic joy that had gift-wrapped all sorrows then. Of life that had come with promises, failure, friends, special friends, best friends and all that compartmentalizing.

I think of those million plans and hazy dreams that had made the raindrops sparkle. On the trees, on coffee mugs, in canteens, on my palms.

I see the Rain has paused outside. Hesitating here and there in puddles. Awaiting clouds that had promised to join soon.