Posted by: ratnarao on: December 13, 2009
There was the girl of the cross-eye
Her long pigtail tucked in blouse.
The nose told stories like eyes.
Her long back arched silently
As she crouched and waited
For history to break and begin
With fresh stories in the making.
Posted by: ratnarao on: September 9, 2009
This tiger is pale, pearl-white and pure
Its purity shone from its fine taxidermy.
Rewa’s royal pride shines forth indeed
In the stuffed purity of its whiteness.
Posted by: ratnarao on: August 16, 2009
A mere single phase electric line
Makes me much afraid in the dark.
I am in the first phase of my old age
Groping for a matchstick with unsteady hand
In the dark recesses of my mud-wall.
In the quiet afternoon, I sit by myself
Much afraid of the crow’s metallic caw
Marking my life’s phases matter-of-factly.
Posted by: ratnarao on: June 15, 2009
Evening rain glistens on the road
As bread is bought and bananas are
Turned over for ripeness and less ripeness.
The rain is dancing on the car roof;
From the car the camera tries to catch
The wet sun on the leaves of the corner tree
Soon the wipers catch fever and quickly
We make our way in a sea of umbrellas
Posted by: ratnarao on: June 13, 2009
The black spot on his face
Is in muddled thinking
The half moon of rising-
Words crackling in the night
Desires out of quizzes
And reform thoughts
Breaking down half way
Wanting to set the world right
An insensate ironic world
Whose laughter emerges
Out of his heavy hat.
Posted by: ratnarao on: May 7, 2009
This wordy struggle went on for too long
It is airy words which chased beauty-thoughts
While several filigreed images filtered light
Posted by: ratnarao on: April 3, 2009
Posted by: ratnarao on: April 1, 2009
We try our poetry daily
Under the pale sky
With fluffy clouds
And silver-lined streams.
In the river evenings
Men too get thrown in
On the river bed, pale
But glowing in shapes
Their textures tell-tale
In the dusk of the camera.
The camera speaks poems
As the sun’s gold grows
And the river shimmers.
Posted by: ratnarao on: March 21, 2009
I do not want to contain space
All the while I only try to unfill space
The space that reaches out from me
To the hills and the ever winding road.
Posted by: ratnarao on: January 31, 2009
We click our tongues;
We wear our oldness
On our hanging selves.
The symmetry remains
Wholly outside our grasp,
Whatever we do still.
Beams of yellow light
Flood our parks, our eyes.
Those pixels are getting lost,
From our translucent skies
When we lie under the sky
Squiggly worms no longer
Swim behind closed eyelids.