Baba

By Gaurav Parab

Now,

That you are gone

I can only look

Across the room

To an empty chair

And a whisky glass

Which had Rum

Where you would sit

Watch TV

Watch sports

And we will shake our heads

About the government

Say something in your made up language

To the dog

Who would look up at you

Like I looked up at you

Reach out to the drawer

And that mouth organ you played

Baba, that mouth organ you played

And we would all go crazy

Slowly

And after a while

You would take that book about fathers and sons

And throw it out of the window

And I would pick up the book about Gods

And look at you

That’s what you were

A God

Now, that’s what you are

A God

In the sky

In your chair

Or wherever Gods go to

And I know

As I look at that chair

I am left without

Your words

Your presence

Your intelligence

Your love

Your sacrifices

Your strength

God, they made you strong

And I know

I am left with

Your words

Your presence

Your intelligence

Your love

Your sacrifices

Your strength

God, they made you strong

Convicted

Image from Wikimedia commons

Convicted

By Gaurav Parab

Every time

I am accused

Of Crimes

People believe

I will commit

I feel like

A toothless snake

Out in the Sun

Or a buttered toast

Floating in air

Or a dog

With its tongue out

Or a gun

On the seabed

A cook

With a spoon of salt

Or North Korea

That country

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A Tear Stillborn

Image from Wikimedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

In this cubicle

I dream of

dates, and years

when I will look back

at this cubicle

with more fondness

than today

The oldest trick

the mind plays

is when memories become

things and shapes

that never were

The joy

in this moment

remains forever

the sadness

well it…

becomes a chuckle

a shake of the head

a lesson learned

a tear stillborn

a song that plays

In your mind

more beautifully

than when it was written

And the faces

remain young

and them bodies

remain inviting

and the sand

which burned

when you walked on it

becomes soft

and gives in to

your steady feet

when you remember

those painful evenings

besides the sea

from years ago

And the drink

In your hand

will feel and taste

so much better

when shadows of friends

from another day

come to your chair
and surround you

So, don’t despair

My dear friends

the pain today

will go numb

a sharp cry

will become

a dull thud

which in turn

will become

something softer

Like the fall

Of a glass

broken by

a thick carpet

For time may take

your smile

and your gifts

the very best

from deep inside

But if one

gives it time

then it gently

gives it back

what was stolen

by people

by places

by words

by disease

by punching clocks

and by yourself

Give it time

You should

be ok

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A Poet Dead, A Poet Born

By Gaurav Parab

It is one of them days

When the calendar says

A note on hell, one on heaven

And a date ending eleven

A page of memories, an empty pen

People ask, where were you then?

The story of a man

But then he ran

From the sound of a song

And a play played along

She decided to wear white

Just not another night

And every man in that hall

Sighed at that doll

And wondered about the man

And why he ran

And that song she sung

Unbroken hearts dying young

Still rings in his ears

Zero days and five years

Anyways,

The play was about some race

Defeat, and loss of face

And as they sat down

It was the other town

Where something went wrong

And blood flowed strong

And there was a call

To leave the hall

And the man and the girl

Got up with a twirl

And a boy and woman left

While keepers claimed theft

A poet, he died that day

A poet, she was born that day

And then each went their way

Two ice cubes from the same tray
In separate glasses made of clay

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Man Overboard

Image Source Wikimedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

On an afternoon that feels like

A night singed

Behind my closed lips

Are clenched teeth

And along the sides of my face

Where there used be a smile

Is a nerve leading to my head

That throbs

Like my heart used to

And inside my head

Where it all ends

Are mirrors

Throwing my thoughts around

Till they collide

And friction rises

Till my head is singed

Like this afternoon today

I can’t entertain you anymore

Even if I smile through closed lips

I can’t give you my time

My hands have run out of clocks

I can’t be someone with someone

Someone else with someone else

For I cannot be

Me with you

 If I had a gun

Or a rope

Right now, this very moment

There would be a drop

Of my blood. Right Here.

Years from now

If no such afternoon comes again

I might even smile

At what my head could have been

If there had not been

The last strand of sanity

In the jumble up there

And as I was thrown

Out to the boiling sea

Twenty five meters is all

That safety rope can reach

And instead of throwing it

Towards me

The world pulled it back

And smiled

All of you smiled

He is so funny.

He likes to eat fish

Look at him write away

In the light of a candle

He does not need a rope

He can do anything

He is perfect.

Let’s pull it back

Why

Why Am I today

What I am today

Because you and I let my mind go

To places so dark, and so damned

And I am not even sure

All of me came back

And the one or two

Of you who pointed

At me

And  jumped up and down

And shouted at the world

Man overboard, f**king man overboard

Save him, please save him

As friends and as lovers

Thank you. Seriously, thank you

I wish

Everyone was a lifeguard like you.

And those of you

Who I have hurt

And continue to hurt

Every speck of sand

Every second

Every hourglass inversion

All I can say is

I did not mean it

I never mean anything

I am just a doll made of pins

I am just a ghost of a ghost

20 gms heavy.

Approximately

Lately, my head is so heavy

That it feels like

It is full of stones

And when you go pick the one

That you would put

Next to my head

Write on It

Elegantly, in Sans Serif

That here lies a man

Who loved when he loved

Who ---- when he ---

Who could not stand

A tear in any woman’s eyes

Or a story untold

In an old person’s heart

And the soul of an animal

Trapped inside a cage

And if there is space

Left, do scribble down

Here lies a man

Who could not stand.

Mediocrity

Politicians

And Microsoft Outlook

The Man With The Finger

By Gaurav Parab

That time of time again

When dreams flow out of finger’s veins

Better roads, better jobs, better respect

As simple as press and elect

One asked me to do it for his family’s name

We have been selling dreams for generations, he claimed

Only once every five years, quickly added the sister

I guess this time they will come true Mister.

The last time I took time off work, I said

Now, the General’s insulted and my phone is dead

Don’t get me wrong, I have that dot on my finger

For a couple of days that spot did linger

But listen the dot went down the drain

Like you, and petrol, and the killing trains

My car can’t run on empty fumes

Promises are not what life consumes

Hey! Wait a minute I don’t have a car

Yeah, but the insane Pune buses don’t go very far

The other said do it for the temple

I said my heart is my only temple

And no other words rhymes with temple

Except for Chempel

Which I guess is an English man’s name

Then there was the one with the purse by her side

She said statutes are too beautiful to hide

For centuries we have been looked down upon

I said one less statue may equal hundred well fed moms.

The last was not sure why he wanted my vote

I just want things, he cleared his throat

And then he put a gun to my head

If you vote for anyone else you will be dead

And so as I make my way to the booth

Thinking what possibly rhymes with booth

This is an English poem, and it’s a word not to use

And I guess I rather think of whom to choose

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Route 27

By Gaurav Parab

On the crimson bus

To work and back

Before cards are swiped

After names are typed

Starting row number one

Ending row thirty two

Number eleven thinks of his child

Number six shakes to her song

Number twenty is still on a call

Number eight wants to shout

Is this what life is about?

The driver enters the gate

Brilliance meets its fate

Mediocrity raises its head

Destiny pretends to be dead

Yet, a moment after the bus stops

And before lives become props

Just as everyone sighs

And bodies rise

Somewhere on a seat

A man rises to his feet

And it is sworn

A dream will be born

Pista

By Gaurav Parab 

She is surrounded

By family and friends

Three sighs before it ends

A brave old lady on her bed

A memory in her eye

Cancer in the head

A tear of happiness

Escapes her eyes

Over her cheeks

Around the oxygen line

Till it takes flight

And drops on the ground

Without a sound

She is happy

Everyone's  here

Everyone was always here

What else can she want?

Her mind is alert

Pain beats hurt

She smiles 

The doctors are amazed

Not yet done

And then she knows

What she wants

A smile flows

Around her lips

Over her cheeks

Into her eyes

Just a thing

But death comes

Defeats it with a word

Everyone gasps

They ask her again

What does she want?

Just a thing

Her eyes have that gleam

Someone…

Please get me Pista ice cream.

RIP J’s BN.

Gandhi, By the Bridge

By Gaurav Parab

Judgment passed by lesser men

I am unworthy now, I will not be worthy then

I walk with her fingers in my hand

On that bridge next to Deccan Bus Stand

She says something about the sparkling river

I am distracted by the answers I deliver

As we cross the third pillar on our right

I see an old man of around medium height

He is staring at that lone star in the sky

As she looks at me for a reply

I mumble something as we walk along

Something about that old man was wrong

I say goodbye, but she is not on my mind

I rush back to the bridge I left behind

The old man has that look in his eyes

He is sitting now, gazing at the skies

I am hesitant, since this does not happen everyday

I go up to him and speak, “Sir, is everything ok?”

He smiles and says, what is the time ?

I am relieved, and I tell him its almost nine

He clears his throat and says, I am doing great

Though I miss my mum, and her food on my plate

What happened to your mother, I ask the man

She passed away, before this century began

I never married ; she was the most precious to me

I am Gaurav Sir, my friends call me GP

He shakes my outstretched hand

An man of eighty and me by Deccan bus stand

I am sorry Sir, I never asked your name

Second name Gandhi, no other claim to fame

I smile back at his quick little joke

For the next five minutes none of us spoke

I thought something was wrong, so I stopped by

You thought this crazy old man was here to die ?

I shrug my shoulders and smile at him

You know I am a happy old man, I just look grim

I live alone by my house down that street

I keep an hour a day for me to eat

Then when the walls start closing in

I come to this bridge, and he breaks free into a grin

Don’t you have a sister or a friend somewhere?

Yes, they love me but they don’t care

They meet me every now and then

Only they know when I will see them again

Why did you stop by young GP?

I was looking for lessons Mr Gandhi

Lessons from an accountant! he shakes his head

There is a lesson in everything, his mother once said

On mothers and their sacrifices we discuss

God could not be everywhere, so he sent them to us

It has been an hour and I say I have to go

You were the first conversation in a year, you know

Thank you is all Gandhi has to say

As I am on my way

I look back and wave a quick goodbye

As a tear escapes his eye

I look up to nod at his mum in that star

I know I have to go very far

First posted here

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The Birds Take Flight

By Gaurav Parab

As the Sun rises in the bleeding sky

Val, the Lion, opens his one good eye

It was a long night like thousands before

He remains the last to roar

The river pack caught him off guard

Near the last tree of his million tree yard

Seven of them, he was alone

Led by Scottie claiming to be Val’s clone

But he is the last of his kind

An aging monster, led by a clever mind

He had sent a thousand Scotties before

To hell and back through his roar

One by one he killed the attack

Till a lucky claw caught his back

Bleeding in his own back yard

The old hand rose to slay Scottie hard

By mid night he was the last one left

The mighty heart sensed his impending death

He found the strength to open one eye

To pray to his last moon in the wounded sky

The pride in him asks for one more Sun

So he could do what he had always done

And his heart finds a reason to beat

The Sun rises to lighten up death’s defeat

With a few moments of life in him left

Val, the dying lion smiles

As the Sun rises in the bleeding sky

Val, the Lion, opens his one good eye

He moves his head to feel the stillness around

The jungle waits in fear for that daily sound

The sound of pure bred unmatched strength

Unleashing pure fear across breadth and length

The birds take flight from a million trees

And elephants scurry across like bees

For like a thousand days from before

Val, the Lion, lets out his frightening roar

This poem was first published here

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Over Everything Heavy, Under Everything Light ( A Beautiful Thought )

Image Courtesy Wikipedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

In an unnecessary fight

Or somewhere in peace

Before my soul takes flight

Or body thuds into ground

When I am accused

Or released scot free

I am supposed to behave

Like others around me

Who see what they see

While I see what they can’t

But I am chained to share

For their minds are closed

Why then you come

Only to me

Oh beautiful thought

Darn your type

A punch line arrives

Or a joke dies

A song is sung

Or silence overwhelms

A sketch is made

And histories erased

Seduction triumphs

Over every priest in sight

But my mind is gone

To places unknown

Why come to me?

Oh Beautiful thought

Why do you come at all?

Just before

The car turns the corner

Or knife touches skin

A clumsy noose tightens

Before hope is found

And my soul is lost

Pictures are shared

Of fake smiles

While I think

About the thumb

That controls the flash

Why do you come?

Come at all?

Beautiful thought

Go find someone else

The cup reaches the lip

The button is undone

A heart is broken

Or a dog snarls

Before God speaks

And the devil is done

Why do you come

To no one but me

Oh beautiful thought

I miss the fact

That I can’t miss

A beautiful thought

Like everyone else

It is a curse

Of the mind

Or of the places

The body has been

Ordinary minds

Never would get

Why it comes

Comes at all

And it seems

Only to me

A beautiful thought

So I never belong

In a train

Of ordinary thoughts

Or of passionate bodies

Where people are happy

Or that’s what they think

Where people are sad

And that’s what they are

While my soul floats

Above everything heavy

Under everything light

Nowhere close to

Where others go

In blissful ignorance

I still search

For another survivor

Of beautiful thoughts

Of the world

And everything else

In a grave

Or within a womb

In a café

Or in a skirt

In Baralacha La

In an exam

A misunderstood mind

Just like mine

Where nothing exists

Except perhaps

The occasional arrival

Of a beautiful thought

Come, be my friend on Facebook

Absinthe

Image Courtsey: Wikimedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

No surprise that you stand in front of me

Green smoke floating across your face

The notches on my table read one, two, and three

And I forget what I drew them for

The times you touched my heart

The times you said it was over

Or maybe one notch for every false start

I forget what day it is today

Three times the idiot played our song?

In this empty lounge somewhere

Before you floated along

And the emptiness gasps for breath

One notch for every girl

Or one for every dozen

The smoke ready to swirl

We long stopped keeping count

Tears swell in my eyes

Yet ,I could not be happier

One day I will die a bitter man

Till then, I draw another notch

Far away this sip takes me

To places that quickly fade away

Love, lust and four notches on a table

Absinthe, I am done for the day

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Khyber's Reason

By Gaurav Parab

It snows down real slow

Like the clouds are afraid

Of the beasts who roam

The blood soaked mountains

He was named

After an ancient place

With eyes of a wolf

 Set on a rogue’s face

A lawless dog

 That guarded the law

In a land where

Even the weak were strong

Where wounded men searched

 For reasons to draw

Stolen guns and swords

 Over a wet bale of straw

Who are we to judge?

 or pretend to referee

Wild animals are but

 Prisoners of geography

After every cowardly night

 had gladly flown

Old Khyber returned

 To his bed alone

For eight long years

Not a living thing survived

If with no invitation

 An intruder arrived

Such was the legend

 of that dog’s patrol

Less dog more demon

A big heart with zero soul

Of all the things

 dear to him

He guarded his straw bed

 Like it was an old lover’s skin

No one but the chief

Was allowed to approach

About ten yards or so

 near Khyber’s porch

Remember that bit

 about men in that place

Who killed for no reason

 or for no trace

He was but an animal

 who only cared for his bed

When people around

 killed for reasons unsaid

One day in the chief’s life

As they walked

 To his possessed bed

In the morning around five

There in his corner lay

 a young pup so sick

That the time in him

 was afraid to tick

Khyber did not know

 how he had sneaked in

The chief just knew

 hell was ready to begin

He looked at his old dog

 to see how long it takes

Before the ancient killer

inside awakes

Khyber snarled at

 the thief, in his bed

The chief looked at a life

 about to be dead

But then the old devil

slowly, turned around

And started to walk away

 without a sound

In mid step he looked back

 at the chief

Who stared at his fierce eyes

 Wise and free

The old dog shrugged

As if to say

I will let life

 live this day

A beast planted

 a thought in a person’s head

A reason to kill

 should be more than a bed.

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