Saurin Desai’s first love led to a roaring affair that's ongoing now since nearly 30 years. At the innocent age of 8 he met a comic book that whacked him on the head (pun intended) and he fell heels-over-head, literally (pun not intended). But being commitment-phobic, he had a couple of dalliances: with engineering, jobs & businesses, before succumbing to the seduction of the writer's life and giving up everything to become lazier than he ever was. Through all of this he continued to rendezvous with poetry. And after one very, very, long pregnant pause, the poems that had owned him all these years recently agreed to stop possessing him and start haunting the world. And, here we are..."Solitude and Other Obsessions"
Darkness shrouds the dying day, turning everything still but the shadows, growing they are now the undead, gliding towards altars for their daily prey. The silence is just a blindfold, the night but an illusion, things unheard best left unsaid,
The day bleeds slowly, blots across the blackening sky, red drips into the nothingness, darkness overpowers the light; I fly back to my lonely nest, hunted by the crescent moon, only the stars offer me sight, I long to be
Overwhelmed, the sky precipitates, pouring its guts out; luckily I sit on the dry side of the pane, snugly… smugly… till… A pigeon flits, looking for its 6 inches, as all around birds fight for every inch; a dog dives
It’s been sometime… quite a while, Since I’ve been thinking about her, But I remembered and kept myself back, For a very special day was near, Patiently… ever more patiently, I waited, For today, the day of all the days,
I’ve heard that plants need the sun, else they shrivel and they die; but I saw a sapling under a bridge, through the other side of pane. It seemed like it were surviving, maybe even managing a bit of thriving;
Full to the burst, then some more; mass tending to infinity, space shrunk to a bore. Milked by human greed, coerced by animal need; bodies cursed, souls crushed, cattle to the daily slaughter. Past imperfect, future tense, Tomorrow = yesterday;
Cups of hot water & beans-Ah coffee! and tongues spewing air laden alphabets; from a lazy afternoon till a hazy evening, coffee and conversation.. Of loves & lies and dreams & sighs, mothers & brothers, fathers & sisters; of passions
“I am pure blue-blood”, said he, “as pure as it can get.” of the tall, fair, handsome varieties. Twice over I despised him but managed but a smile, as he deviously managed to convey his derision for us darker-skinned commoners.
End of gold, and the clear sky turns black from blue, begins to cry; A pall of gloom as far my sight, the brightest day, darker than night. I pass my gaze over the awashed way, brilliant colours all, all
Am I alive? Is this a dream? Won’t I ever wake? Will I forever scream? The mind says, but my eyes don’t see, My soul wanders like a flowerless bee. Each step I take amongst the endless waste, Minefields of
(with apologises to Frost) Maybe the road was long, and perhaps the road was wrong; but did it make you strong, and will you write it a song? Maybe the journey was hard, perhaps your soul is scarred; long as
You look at your reflection and see it disintegrating with every movement; an illusion by time, it appears, to trap you in life’s abyss. Try as you may to hold every grain; blinded by the fickleness of it all, you
Bomb our buildings, buses and trains, Bleed us till you’ve emptied our veins, But however evil be your goal, You won’t destroy our soul, It’ll take more than that… You want us to be cowed and down, But we will
Oh infidels! Beg the Almighty to keep the Innocents in eternal bliss. For even one of them awakens, retribution will be so just, that the devil himself will tremble, and the darkest ravines of hell will offer no solace. Please
And he has waited for her since eternity, eternity still awaits him. He has spanned infinity, infinity separates him from her. His love is true, eternal-infinite, beautiful. She is Absolute: true, eternal-infinite, beautiful. In a moment and a movement, she
She glides through air, though she is claimed by everything and everyone. Mind and matter are hers, for she is their fount. She has no name, but every name begins with and ends into her… She’s lighter than light itself,
Words are forever free, we become, and make them slaves. Words never harm, we kill at a word and die for them. Words are by nature clear, we obnubilate them. Words are pure and noble, we defile and curse with
Am unwell, perhaps the flu. I read an advertisement about a book exhibition and I think about you. Lots of books, little catches my fancy, poke around and pick a few, my eyes fall on a ‘Rs 50 only’ sign,
They say, “You miss someone when you lose that one”; I’ve lost some electricity this morning, and I already miss my hot shower. The washing machine just forgot her daily round, while the purifier has peed not in his earthen
35 years of living should have inured me, if not prepared me, for surviving this planet; but no matter how much of me gets spent, no matter how much of it becomes me, I will always be an outsider; like
Were alcohol to be available only with prescriptions, imagine what would happen to the alone & the broken hearted? Each moment of loneliness and every second of pain, would have to be accounted for, and measured in units of spirits.
“Life before me? The play was that banal. And Aryan, poor boy, he was so dull.” Of course, that upset her, she’s smitten; I’ll show you the bad poetry she’s written. You want to help? Rhyme her something nice with
Sometimes, I look for a door in the floor of my bedroom— even though there’s no such door—just because it’ll be such an awesome thing to have. Wouldn’t you want one? I’ll become the envy of all my (imaginary) friends.