THE DUSTSTORMS OF PINKCITY

This is a poem about the ways in which dust storms of Jaipur are keeping me entertained and giving me hope in this pandemic-led quarantine which becomes extremely monotonous and pessimistic at times.

this season gives me company when;
a microorganism drugs
all the cars and shops
to sleep.

When I get a little fed up
of the monotony,
the crisis
and myself,
it pokes the wind chime teasingly,
making it gasp
in its shrill voice,
to draw attention.
It prepares for a show-
uses doors as drums
and windows as flutes
playing the tunes of its arrival.
When it arrives,
it shakes the whole city
out of its senses,
enveloping all of us
in its whirlpools.

The dust storms gives me company
when they keep propelling forward
like harbingers of hope,
when they rescue the tin shades
from their snobby rusty masters,
when they fool the trees
by showering them with dust
and making it look like
precious stones,
when they smuggle my towel from the balcony
and make a heap of all the towels from the city,
when they tickle my eyelashes;
and use those moments
to build a hanging garden
out of my baby hair.

They fight the clouds
that look like
a virus sometimes,
they hold the Sun
while it stands
and catch it in their long arms
when it falls.

The dust storms blow over us
like pink balloons;
Perhaps, it is their optimism
or their immortal relationship
with the Pink City.

A Disciple of Nature

When life pricks you at timid corners, to travel and take a closer look at God’s paradise is the best therapy you can ever ask for. There is so much to observe and learn from nature.

Distressed from the routine,
when you slam your books on the table and
glide past those holiday pictures,
it’s already floating in your eyes;
the urge to abandon,
seal your present
and grab a fresh life –
someone’s past or future.
So just hop and prance
rush and jump
to take refuge in nature’s pool.

And when you touch the other world,
feel for it;
gratitude.
Not everyone can have two worlds, together.
Sketch all the hurdles
on a paper,
crumble it
and hurl it into the burning sea of clouds
underneath you.

Aspire to be the Sun being born
outside your window.
Getting out of the blue;
the negativity
it stretches its orangey arms
wide enough for all the attention ;
crying out positivity.

That gust of wind
hitting at you is
a cozy hug
to celebrate your nova bond
and
infiltration
attacking all your misery
to serve you as
the strongest force in the universe.

Take a glance;
the sky is sieved by
stubborn branches
and coiled leaves.
Those twigs on the damp road
give a cheerful cry
after every crack;
living through problems.

To love,
learn from the mist
that comes down to its knees
for the trees
dresses the aisle with
royal, rusty rocks,
blushed soil
and churning wind.
How the blooming flowers bend down, the rain descends
to honour
the purest affair
in history.

Get lost while following
the mischievous child –
behind you, in the gullies of red sand
on the side, splashing along tyres
dripping down the cliff, in silence;
he’s hiding in the drizzle.
The drizzle, store it in your eyes
like perfume in a bottle.
Those unbearable times shall compel you
to spray its mist.

Climb a mountain,
go down a valley –
you’d know
how silence defines beauty
and beauty – the storms;
the storms of life.
To live through
the good and bad times
is an art
traceable in every element
of God’s paradise.
So
explore and behold the extraordinary
housed beyond
your zone.