AT HOME

Don’t go outside, bare feet.

But I know you will anyway,

So that you could come home

To defile the white innocence

Of the clean marble floor,

With a filth profuse

While trudging to the safety

Of your comforting seclusion

Where you could meet regret

Orchestrating in delusion 

And seasons will slip in a haze

While fear befriends you,

Turning god’s greatest work

Into mere nuisance value

And fake plastic quirks.

The outside is an invitation

Programmed only to allure,  

With its fashionable colour schemes;

Incomplete pieces of your soul.

So when you're done unravelling

Perfection will find you,

Waiting patiently at home.

-K.G.

MORNING RISE

My heart longs you
In paucities of light
When night employs delay
I seek your voice at night

Amidst creeking of doors
And chorused cricket's call
I seek your silent glow
Around my darkened stall

Many a nights still remain
Between this you and I
But fear not, my dainty love
Endure the hues and cries

The clock is at constant work
In motion is our wagon ride
Stars will stay for a little more
Morning rises on the other side

-K.G.

HOUND IN SOCIETY

He springs across thickets

Wounded, in one of his slender feet 

This hound that has society 

Shooing him on repeat

The human scent is his alarm

He darts off our treads

Bewitched by hunger and desire

His gaze fixed upon our breads

No more nimble, his feet ache

And yet this scavenger excavates 

An architect of the three-feet balance

How goes his day, I contemplate 

God found a new room to stay

In this quadrupedal body that lay

And every hunt; an offering

Made righteously day by day

-K.G. 

STEERING

The light at the tunnel's end,
Fading into a close.
14 rupees have been consumed;
A fog in the chest.
The faintness of memory,
A blurry of the smoke
While the world lay still,
For a brief moment,
And then resumed
All in fast forward.

A white darkness in the face
And steering responsibility at hand;
Father bends, unknown
To a road not taken.
We shudder inside
And shriek on the outside
And live another day
To make all the difference.
The temples and books
Remained on their pedestals
While father shifted in third gear
Driving us further into life.

-K.G.
(To my Father)

GO HOME, PHILOSOPHER

Sit there in a corner

Or get the seat you please

There’s time before it begins

Delay is the next big thing

Sing in the lonely silence 

Strum all chords that you like

The party starts in an hour

Sixty minutes of lone delight

Excitement drove you here, son

At 50 miles an hours

Clean shaven and fragrant

Of the wild blue flowers

That’d grow just anywhere

And absolutely out of place

Only for the thrill of growing

Only for earthly interface

Wouldn’t you rather be alone

In your castle of privacy

Than amidst foreign aliens

Under pretences of fallacy 

While the rush races your mind

We’ll be all circles and lines

Go home, philosopher

We are two different kinds

-K.G.

NEW SOIL

I was told Money is a language

I believed- English is

I was told, when Money talks

Grammar is oblivious

So I planted shrubs and trees

With dandy poetic fantasy

Blooms growing in black light,

Blooms beguiling bumble bees

Tolling upon the watcher’s eyes

Verses grew like projections

And financed a timid dream

Through sundry dashes of sanity

A little honey everywhere

A lot when put together

A poem for every daze

A verse for every weather 

And so the mind faces the endless

In a search of new soil

For there are seeds that yet await

The tilling and ploughing toil

-K.G.