Balachandran V

Above, the sky was a bright blue Clouds, white, swum lazily Sun shone bright Breeze blew gentle.

Atop the tree, on the highest branch A new leaf, slender and green Soaked in the sun and danced in the air. Other leaves wished how they could be At the top, at the very top.

Humming happily to itself, the leaf, Humming happily to itself Nothing above me But the empty, vast sky!

Trembling in glee, the flower buds Blushed, Dreaming of the bees And the fruits they will bear.

The branches huddled, Gravely discussing the season The weather, how stronger and longer They should grow; They had their targets to meet.

The bark of the trunk, bit worried Wondered how to tackle The rise in termites The whims of the woodpeckers And the nuisance of squirrels Nibbling the bark just for fun.

Beneath the soil Matters had taken a worse turn The roots were in confusion And fear Of the fickle rains And the hard rocks deeper.

Birds flew, wind blew Sun set and the moon rose.

In the dark As the owl hooted As bats erupted in and out The tree sighed For it knew It was its last night.

You can feel it with your tongue-

The more you feel it

The deeper it delves

Into the crevasses of your teeth

Entrenched, stuck

It becomes part

Of your molars or wisdom.

The surreptitious search

for a toothpick -

even a matchstick to ease

the discomfort -

to poke

to probe

to dig

to dislodge

to divest, finally

that fine morsel of meat

that little bit of cashew -

or ground - haven't you gone -

nuts -

with the sheer ecstasy

the purest bliss

of toying the last of the morsel

with your tongue -

and then

hiding behind your palm

relishing it -

Love, I believe, is sometimes

Like a morsel of memory in your mind!

The time is nearing to leave. File – save as – give a name And it becomes a part Of my documents Hidden behind a password Which I only know. In the recesses of my hard disks C:\ My documents\ Kottayam, or- Some other name that I decline To tell you.

Later, in a lonely night I will access the file And glance through it At random.

This flower, that face This light that flicker in the darkness Those shadows thrown by the moonlight. That faraway bark of a dog That fading noise of a truck This moment – save, save Save to the file.

Memories are read-only Unchangeable, inerasable. One day, the system would hang – And the Technician would say – The hard disk is gone. Perhaps he would re-use The serviceable parts – Perhaps he would dump it as junk. Till then, my love, I shall access you – at random.

Pause awhile, butterfly, Alight here, on this wilting Rose. Young flowers, I know, are beckoning you, But stay with me, just for a while And leave me with memories fresh.

There! Now you poise, ready to take to wings You flutter – and a petal Falls.

There! I have lit a star Beside your name! I scroll down my Inbox Where stars twinkle next to you Every time, every time you wrote to me!

Every little message, every little word You wrote Is a thought – of me!

In this dark and silent night I read you, over and over And you light up, once again My room, my lonely heart!

I wish I could make a garland Of all the stars one day. I will keep it ready For the day you’ll come –

Though I know you won’t, ever...

Sunday- the day when you can be Yourself- and not let be ruled – A day to do what you wish to do And not what others want you to do.

Sunday – the day one could read Even the most insignificant ad A day you need brush your teeth Only when you want to eat.

I have a little duster, of soft Synthetic bristles – to dust The books, tables or the shelves And an old torn shirt to swipe them clean.

There’s something about cleaning, Dusting, tidying up and swiping. A fleck of dust, a blotch of stain, A crack that weren’t there before.

Today, I took on the showcase shelves Souvenirs, scattered, of a life gone by. A fan from China that my uncle brought A medal my father earned for service with merit. Glass flower vases, my mom’s valued prizes Headless dolls my sister and I played with. A bowl my granny used to fill with fruit, Statuettes of dogs and such other stuff.

I clean them, dust them and keep them back, Wondering what value they have. What would they mean to my wife or son, These worthless pieces, when I am gone.

In the stillness of days and nights When I am gone, the winds would blow. Specks of dust would settle and stain White dustsheets would shroud my life.

Forlorn, forgotten, fritted away My life, like a photo fading away Where colours give way to meaningless grey. Then one day- Torn or crushed and swept away.

There is a method to starting a bike. A deliberateness, a pause, before every step. Keenly detecting flecks of dust, dried droppings Of crows, of oil leaked and sticking like paste Mixed, with the finest of grains Wiping it all clean.

Flipping back the stand, inserting the key And turning it right, assured of the green light, You depress the lever; throttle closed, Carefully pressing your foot down on the kicker You pause – again, before bringing it down again Gently, but firmly and swiftly, Listening to the plug catching a spark. As the engine sputters to life, you listen to the thuds, even. With such intimacy, with almost love, you listen To the throb; your bike is alive.

In the mornings, waking up, unwilling to let go my dreams, Listening to my breath, I wish I had a method A deliberateness, an awareness Of my life The way I started my bike.

Fleeing train, lands rush past It swings and sways, thunders and clangs. Gripping on to the hand rails I swing and sway in time. Fleeing time, life rushes past It creaks and cracks, shudders and whines. Gripping on to the thread of life I hang along till death. Death, how swift it’ll be If I let go off the rails! Flung, smacked and scattered, A mangle of flesh and bones. I am, just pieces of flesh and bones Sewn up like a ragged doll. A casual toy for a little while Of a child, to be thrown away, when bored.