The Brave Pedestrian

My neglected Mother who is largely unworshipped, You gave me dreams and daydreams Of being your footstool when I was tiny. I have not forgotten the ecstacy of those dreams. Mother, decades ago, I pledged my right hand to you And gave only my left to your rival. Bless me then to fulfil this oath. Let her be at arms length May I never prostrate before her. May I never pray to her whom the world worships. I beg you, Mother Don’t curse me by casting me away Or lose me by letting me drift. Or let me be one whom the world swayed. Don’t let me wake up one morning, Mother, And discover that somewhere along the way, I mortgaged myself in bits and pieces To the bitch goddess of wealth. Bless me that I may watch the dance of this goddess With amusement befitting your child, your plaything. When she turns her face to me, let me not be charmed. When she turns her back to me, let me not be anxious. When it looks like she has gone, let my heart not sink. When it ...

PRAYER – I Softly, softly He enters my heart Wearing masks I can never recognize. In my innermost recesses, He cuts me, leaves me bleeding. Gently, gently He wounds me, And in my bleeding, he rejoices. Mere mehboob, mere dost My beloved, my friend… Silently he sits with me And shares my sorrow, my grief And through his own tears, smiles. His smile makes me forget my tears. He laughs with me, He laughs at me, Sometimes the distinction blurs And frankly, I don’t care. I gaze at his radiant face And pray that he never stops laughing. (If he does, I shall gladly play the fool Let him laugh at me.) But I see him raise his hands To secretly wipe his eyes. And I seize his hands Because his salty tears are mine Mine by right to kiss away and to drink. PRAYER – II Mere mehboob, mere dost, mere aaka You struggle to express your love And then you struggle to conceal it. I have felt your wounding touch. My be...

Forgive me, Lord, this broken drum speaks In a unworthy voice — now true, now untrue. Sift truth from the lies if truth there is, Else spill me in the dust. My quest is the quest of a one-eyed man Whose vision oft deceives him; He depends on his poor eye not because he trusts it, But because people who offered to lead and show him the way Did not earn his trust. Dimly-remembered voices from a past So distant that it is doubtful Whether it existed at all Echo in my skull Half-voices, half-noises… Disturbances in a cave of unknown depth. With the tips of my mind I seek out the cracks Between wakefulness and sleep Where I hear these voices loudest, And glimpse faces that I recognize – Faces not of those living Nor of the dead I know. Fleetingly with forceful gestures they speak. Seeking to grasp their words, I awaken Only to find my awakening empty Bereft of the meaning of what I saw and heard. Something I knew and trusted was lost And so I grope a...