My all time favorite

The Bridge

The pallor of daylight,

Crept into my senses,

Deep into my oblivion,

Into hearts of memories,

Where grandma spends her remainder,

Picking roses in the Garden of Eden,

And nursing the wounds that hurt,

Yet in blood that do not weep.

I shouldered her to the Ghat,

Barely in view of the sights ahead,

Clouded by drops that trickled,

Through the eyes, from oceans beneath,

And part from basilisk eyes,

That peeked through the voids in space,

Searing and piercing through emotions,

The sole architect of my burden of misery.

The flames licked away,

Fed by the fury of the Kal-Baisakhi,

At the slender frame in death sleep,

In sojourn, to higher places,

Unscathed by purpose of reality,

Unearthed habitations of mischievous calm,

Extending a malicious smile,

That unchained the gates of my sadness.

Ashes dissolved, the Hoogly purged,

And scorned at drops augmenting her wealth,

For what was lost, was gained in kind.

People, yet, dotted the bridge,

Spreading its length to Howrah,

Bustling through life, alien to the misery,

Boarding the local, to some far-off place,

Smaller than where my thoughts had reached.

In inert depths, her image do I realize,

Cruel joy, commanding asylum,

Strange shadows, painting vibrant,

A face, with rivers ahead through islands,

With radiance that blinds the mighty eye,

Age, usurped through violent times,

But, Will, unchallenged, no force to mitigate,

And a beauty ever sublime.

Little ripples in the Hoogly, spread their wings,

And blend into nothing,

The Kal-Baisakhi rests, its fury spent,

Life bustles under the bridge, energy unabated.

The waters smile, wavering in sympathy,

At the face harbored on its lap,

Treasuring every drop that departed,

To give to grandma, sleeping beneath.

-for my grandmother who never said goodbye

Avishek Ramaswamy Aiyar

First Poem on this blog

The Yellow Tie

A score of years have I depleted,

Since I wore the yellow tie.

Like a noose around my little neck,

Squeezing a smile as papa said cheese,

Hiding the half broken milk tooth

In the shelter of a mouthful of silence.

A blue suitcase filling the void in my fist,

Along with dada completed the picture,

half muffled giggles peeking through

his curvature, beckoning some of mine.

Time had me in tight embrace, with papa

Reaching to loosen my yellow tie.

A flash of light ended the agony.

Two smiling faces, a green patchy wall,

where our shadows reposed while we labored,

One half of the narrow green door,

And the yellow tie limping across my chest,

Had all become immortal.

Patti was there, packing our lunch,

Thatha smiled through the string of beads that

hung across the picture on the wall.

Amma, I think, was bartering with the milkman.

Time was there too, egging us all,

To let go of that one moment.

Other moments swiftly drowned it.

Added seconds that aged it to death.

The patchy green wall had shed colors.

The green door no longer opens for me.

Patti shares thatha’s garland,

And amma still barters with the milkman.

The blue suitcase is probably

the ashes that lit some sad soul’s pyre.

The brown bag, I must ask dada about it.

The yellow tie is nowhere to be found.

All is lost………

~Time…..I shall have my revenge Avishek Ramaswamy Aiyar

But that one moment is mine forever.