Dis-eased obsolete PCs surround me time dictates my play with letters, not words or even canvas, brushes and  colours.   Time dictates I be out of time else I’ll be out-dated.   --------------------------------------------------------------------------------   The reign of a Mughal is inaugurated,   Parliament ascends white stairs of mediocrity curve like territories the broad roads of this city obey power  Decripit finance set conditions of brush  A Tansen somewhere, takes a nap under a banyan.    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------   Decultured culture sets conditions; an unknown tree near Kew, somewhere stretches hands of conviction, care; an artist, somewhat known, somewhere unknown wanders in the shady narrow streets of Nizamuddin kissing the narrow end of the last leaf of her shrine.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   Bengal grass wins out over the decayed red fort our lady in the slum rises through steel tracks  All my coal’s for her fire all my land’s for her tractor she can drive my train when she reaps she can drive my train if she weeps   She too has her nine friends She too will have her immersion She too knows the kiss that ends On the lips of the traitor  But she has her weapons, to use later.

( extract from the poetry book 'textuation')

He:

The first blood in the book to you:

Like a hymen, the virginal sheet has been torn

And who is bride, who bridegroom, can’t be drawn

Except by those who know its union true.

She:

Overburdened due of days from April the 14^th,

Halkhata had its search for the ‘right –red’  since

The mystery of the Mary, unveiled and, unfold

Birth of Christ, born close to the Gita..

He:

Only gods and the poor bear burdens; instead,

This new year you have blossomed and fruited, harvest after harvest,

And I, one of your myriad gatherers, have taken no rest

Till my portion of you is in, and my soul’s ancient hunger fed.

She:

And thus, the hunger feeds into age, ancience -

Ancient passion, ancient belief, ancient lull, ancient rain..

Ancient journey, ancient stillness, ancient sky, ancient earth..

Ancient present, ancient future, ancient past, ancient bliss …

He:

... And into the ancient stories - Ares and Aphrodite,

Krishna and Radha: their hearts, enigmas of longing, dissolving; deepest of all

The ever-renewing virgin, drawing from the caul

Her purity, instant as lightning, and as creation – mighty.

She:

Halkhata travels its space. Brindaban travels, travels Mathura..

Purity travels, the ‘right-red’ travels her menstruation days,

Virginity travels like the lotus whore; whore lotus..

Halkhata smells its hue, halkhata searches ancient ink..

He:

From the lotus, from each of its hide-and-seek petals

(Opened and plunged), from each of its pulse-bearing tips,

The opalesque pearl-flecked liquid drips:

Write with this ink your splendours, etch them on God’s grimmest metals.

Together:

He the earthbound star-gazer, she the heaven-grazer of birds,

Wound here round each other each thread of line;

Neither knew ‘yours’ or ‘mine’

And thus they shared their last words...before they met again...