If I only had a brain
Oh America!
Where
My talent could
dive in the valley of silicon prototypes
Where
My sweat could
rain buckets of presidents embossed in green
Where
My inventions could shake hands with the elite
creating frankensteins
If I only
had a brain
I would never
understand my country’s pain
Another Brain
Drain!
Amit Saraf
Time to Heal
Listening to the crescendo
Much above the confining wall
Thoughts raced like an inferno
Ready for the final call
I kept plucking petals
She loves me
She loves me not
Her grin was wry
She smiled her goodbye
She had resolved
We were now dissolved
She hastened to a trot
After signing on the dot
Her tear streaked cheeks
Betrayed her entangled knot
My heart danced
She loves me
Time will reveal
Both now need to heal
Amit Saraf
Meghalaya Contours
My abode amidst nurturing clouds
Satiates ambitious undertones
Green waterfalls drench fertile rocks
Aromatic sunlight bathes shimmering lakes
Pure air amplifies whispered sonnets
Quiet meditative walks adorn contemplative reflections
Buoyant camaraderie uplift human woe
When metaphysical ruminations bubble
Tip the delicate balance
When deep internal yearnings surface
Can the Phoenix rise from the ashes
Amit Saraf
Lavender
I found her. Her blue petite top beckoned as her slender fingers curled around Jung's Animus - a rare masterpiece in the isolated city library. Her sparkling eyes made my heart fly like a vagabond kite hoping to eventually anchor itself.
I shivered as I sat across her. She did not look up. Her delicate cheeks and generous lips boasted of many admirers. As she turned the page, her nail polish tinged in lavender stared back.
I remember how she used to hate nail polish; that it was a very 'girl' thing. She had been ambitious, aggressive just like 'men.'
She smiled as she continued reading. Her face radiated a peace and warmed up the room. I could not help smiling too.
I got up and walked to the exit. As I left the building, I saw an elderly woman throwing something into a bin. I peered inside. It was a mask tinged in lavender.
Amit Saraf
Catharsis
PACKING FOR A DIFFICULT JOURNEY
I will meet her very shortly
I remember that night when I kissed her
Her knees buckled and
she fell into my arms
Like the setting sun
Falls into the arms of the crimson sky
Entrusting it with its light
I am carrying her favorite handkerchief
Which wipes her tears
Like the orange rainbow
Which heals the distressed clouds
I am carrying her favorite roses
Strewn on our first night
Like shells on a storm stricken beach
When she had cried till dawn
I am carrying her favorite perfume
She relies on it when she wanes in confidence
She wore it on her last birthday
Before she lost her sense of smell
.....
I see her in the far distance
Her beckoning radiance
makes my heart skip
Like that of a school boy
Who steals his first kiss
I jump
The salty waves caress me
Like a mother loving her lost infant
I see her smiling
With outstretched arms
My soul mate
We are one
Forever
I wandered like a seeking lark,
Navigating systems and their bias,
I knew not where the journey ended,
A golden rainbow or an abyss.
My thirst for the cosmic secret,
Abandoned all material fruit,
I gave up power and position,
To find the eternal truth.
I travelled through endless time,
Muddling through theories of men,
I staggered and stumbled,
Till I found the sacred garden.
I found there a treasure chest,
And I knew I held the key,
Inside was a sparkling mirror,
Which finally set me free.
An attempt at Haibun and Haiku
I kept writing her letters. I wrote about the apricot tree below which we used to kiss, the flowing river on the banks of which, with fingers entwined, we had dreamt together of our lunar house. I wrote about the pangs in my heart when she was not with me.
Her parents did not approve of me. They felt I was not successful enough. She was not that strong and was married off to a merchant. I continued writing to her. She never replied.
lovebirds kiss
Mona Lisa auctioned
adorned
I heard much later about her suicide. Did she miss me so much? Why did she not reply to my letters then?
quiet cemetery
The eclipsed moon
screams
Experiments with ‘Setting’
1. From my window I could see the rickshaw puller whose
wrinkled face boasted of the numerous years spent ferrying ungrateful
passengers. He was staring at the tall pole beaming down a blue light on the
narrow lane separating the cluster of one-storied houses from the railway line.
Fruit and vegetable sellers thronged the tiled pavement alongside, shouting
bargains. A car horn blared and retreated in surrender as there was no way it
could enter the jammed lane. The sweet shop at the corner was doing brisk
business. Even the numerous flies pecking at the goodies could not deter the
sweet tooth of the jostling crowd trying to grab the free taste on offer. A young
mother sat in anticipation outside the shop with a copper bowl wiping her brow
and cheeks which sometimes dripped with sweat. I noticed that she did not do
the same for the baby on her lap. The local trains regularly stopped at the
Borivali junction ensuring that the lane at no time of the day could boast of
peaceful anonymity.
2. The bright buttons on his tweed coat stood out in his dimly lit study revealing an adventurous side to his normally sober countenance. The grey clock on the wall never chimed as if time had come to a halt. The dust in the corners of the room gleamed with a history of years passed without glory. His chair had no wheels and it stood like a rudderless boat on a stormy night waiting for the inevitable.
Breathe
Marigolds in the
familiar marsh smell of lost love,
A waning moon sighs with
forlorn reminiscences,
My bleeding heart buries
catatonic souvenirs,
No onlookers.
Superhuman effort cannot
salvage a ruined promise,
Hopes crashed against
unyielding ice,
Magical pacemakers exist
only in fantasy,
No onlookers.
The past unfurls a
saturated fragment of a perfect world,
The future is a sweet
illusion of Satanic promises,
The present is the
eternal lover,
No onlookers
I died and am still
unborn,
I embrace my
reflection,
Ecstatic in the
here-and-now,
No onlookers.
