Give him, God

there are lots of things You can give him, dear God.
Give him blood sucking wars, give him the beauty of stars,
give him the melancholy bristle of wild chrysanthemums in the valley.,
give him a space to smoke up, maybe a quaint quiet alley.
Give him twisted books and the worlds that the authors shook,
give him today, tomorrow and money to borrow.
Give him blotters, give him plotters,
give him friends, give him the sadness that
creeps in when all the love in between beautifully ends.
Give him camphor lights, give him momentary lethal frights,
give him the taste of his mother’s sacred tears,
give him the habit that dazes and amps up his involuntary fears.
Give him anything that you can think of,
give him a life that is split into half and half.
Give him a mask, give him a face
give him gruesome tasks to bring him disgrace.
Give him the right to fly away
and tie his wings for him to stay.
Give him lust to shed his soul apart,
But no! Do not give him a delicate heart.

The key

Beach side cottages and double fortnight long stays
clifftop winds and damp clothes in monsoon wind sways.
9 rooms, a cat and the caretaker partner of the place,
his words so wise fervent with Islamic grace.

In time to come, we made ourselves good friends
our late night conversations seldom abruptly ends.
Closer and comfortable by the passing of our time
we cooked together and our impaled souls rhymed.

A day was gone so tired and dread,
my rooftop daze went into a malicious dead.
On that night I lost my single strand of key,
that was etched with a Chinese scribbling spree.

Locked outside the room of my deep blue sleep,
my guilty shame found the shoreline away from the deep.
I consoled myself that the caretaker would get
my level of stupidity and carelessness to forget.

The blackest dark cat Milu at door,
welcomed me with a meow sitting at the floor.
His pale green eyes slashed with a striking black
made him look calmer with a devilish smack.

Knocking the caretaker’s door subtly and twice,
my feet moved back the same count closer to Milu’s eyes.
His half-awaken sleep deprived and killed,
I stood there with my tip of the backbone chilled.

On hearing my loss of the key to the room,
he smiled at me with no anger or gloom.
He walked back and took a plastic cover of jingling keys
the jingle let me know that there were lot of these.

His tiredness and half-sleep made sure that he didn’t know,
which one was the right key to get me into slumbering flow.
Out of fifty one odd keys that I had in my hand,
I walked up to confront my lock and test the luck of my pineal gland.

The first one I took was shiny and clean,
like no other key I have ever seen.
The smoothness of the metal piece getting into the hole
of the lock made me wish that it was the one from the whole.

To my surprise and joy, it opened the lock.
I smiled to myself to balance the mild kick of the shock.
And then I remembered the caretaker’s smile,
if he was angry and disappointed it would have taken me a while.