THAT TATTERDEMALION POEM

Her hands on the coffee table

dovetailing . . .

Some dead bulbs

emitting darkness . . .

a dysfunctional water motor . . .

a teeming aesthetic heart!

Three prowling poems,

two pending office files,

a hide and seek

within the crumbling deadline

of a syllabus unfinished,

of an article unwritten;

Five short stories

attending my daily lectures,

sometimes bunking days altogether,

sometimes bickering -

Character X of Story 1 vs Character X of Story 2.

The perplexing fiction of my life

where

the metaphor should

uphold the luminosity

of the low-end bulbs

without burning her Monalisa hands,

while the poem ignites the motor

with a subtle 'metaphysical manoeuvre'.

FORGETTING AND BERNOULLI'S THEOREM

How do you fall in Love? or
What do you love
When you love someone:

You love her hands

Those feathery hands

Casually hanging by your shoulder

When you experienced

The first throes of intimacy

Those little hands 

Containing the enormity of world

Those lines flowing like rivers 

The continents in-between

You could spend eternity there, or

That bright forehead 

You kissed with your fingers

And found your lips 

Hanging by the knots of her hair, and

In a mystical ascent 

Your body attained a different meaning:

Your fingertips have lips now

And your lips eyes.

We love like mountaineering
Climbing each part with courage
And dedication
For that view
At the top.

How do you forget someone? or
What do you forget
When you forget someone:
No! It doesn't happen part by part.
The mountain vanishes.
The view falls.
We miss the whole being of someone.
That someone, who was there
And now isn't.
The total absence of a presence.

That someone is now an eternal memory
Passing before you at high speed
And you're so close to it
That a feathery remembrance
Can suck you in.