Like in O. Henry's stories

Like the plucking
of the string in
a violin,
it plays through me.
And you are the reed
through which
I play mine part
in the opera.
And the opera,
the play,
the staging,
its magnum
even as we sit,
in silence,
opposite to each other,
in a semi dark room,
with the sun low outside,
and the rain,incessant,
like in one of those
O Henry's stories,
that both of us
have read.

The Sea

The sea,
rolling by,
waves collapsing,
crashing again and again,
like eternal lovers,
falling into each other,
time and again,
each day and every night.
I lay on the shore,
reclining on a dune.
A distant ship
is lit up far far away
from me,
onto the
sprawling ocean,
unrolled in the silvery
full moon.
Whispers of the waves,
as they rush on,
touch my toes
and then again
pulled back
to the sea
as if,
something deep within
keeps it holding-
each and every
current
is like a breath
of the creature inside.
Sometimes, a sweet sullenness
comes over the sea,
its upset with the shore,
stops talking to it,
becomes still,
a silver metal all over.
And I keep on gazing,
wait for another night
for the sea always comes
back to it shore.

Of you, I made multitudes

'A malnourished man,
just a langot round his waist
and a turban on his head,
oblivious, eyes closed,
bathed in green,
on the heads of thousands.'
An old Steve McCurry click floats
on to the horizon-
like an existentialist
conclusion to the festival.
Among all these,
the motifs of Holi
I imagine your presence
wafting.
Of you,
I make multitudes,
in each particle of the color.
Your square shaped palm
with rounded corners
with your little fingers
had to touch my cheeks today.
They didn't,
so I imagined;
of you,
I made multitudes.
Like uncle Walt,
I had multitudes inside,
I poured all of it,
and, of you,
I made multitudes.

Dreams

Dreams,
oh this strange place
called dreams
where I meet you
again and again
and then lose you
again and again
in the teeming crowd
where everybody's face
but your face
is turned away from me.
A large mirror
stands at the end of the road.
I know its a dream
but I am rushing
towards that mirror
where I am sure
you are waiting.
But the sunlight dissolves
and its twilight
at some old fort
in Delhi.
Alone, among the ruins,
I sense your footsteps,
your smell.
Maybe, you're searching
for me.
I'll wait,
just let me hold on
to this dream,
to this place.
Just don't dissolve into
another sunny day.