Dementia

Maria, I have stared,

at the Four black pigeons and one albino,

for many months now.

And, also, at the several dead men

in the background

of the hero’s portrait.

I have wondered long enough

Why that book on the shelf

called ‘Unpopular Essays’

was read and re-read by people.

I have been thinking

and looking for connections

between people buried in history

and books and

the noisy roads below.

I am not sure Marie,

I have the answers.

Do you suspect,

I am not posing the right questions?

Or, is it

That times are changing?

© Jatin Gandhi, May 8, 2007

Addict

I am not up to it.
I can’t give up
this psychotropic fondness
For you.

Don’t try to
wean me away
with anything.

I
don’t want
anything else.

Not even You.

I don’t like the word rehab.
I am not up to it.
I can get up,
stand on my feet
and walk out.

If I am too stoned
to stand up,
or too sick to walk
you can keep the body.

Not, the wandering soul.

© Jatin Gandhi, May 6, 2007

The City

In the city,
On every street
There are thousands of heads
Every morning.

It’s a city that despises walkers
Their paths are blocked.
But each morning
Thousands of walkers
Tread the streets.

Each head in the city
Carries its cities
Within.

A morose man,
Walks with me on one such street.

That is not the only street I walk.
I change lanes and I cross streets.
And, I don’t mind who walks with me
As long as the cities in their heads
Do not spill on to the street.

(c) Jatin Gandhi, May 3, 2007