Hardik Vaidya Poems

I bought two sarees.
From Bhuj, the queen of sands,
The love of men.
Local craft, we call them Bandhani.
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Some write less,
They think, polish, reset and test,
Finally when the soup just seems right,
It meets the salt lacking since time infinite,
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The train breezed in slow,
I fell tumbled and rolled,
The platform turned green,
I looked up it was brimming with sheen,
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The deserts may be a geological reality,
But to me they are a blessing in surreal calamity.
If there were no vast endless lands,
Where would I find a reflection of vacant ends?
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When Tagore wrote about you,
I don't think he contemplated the woman that is you.
Borrowing from Nehru,
Such moments come but rarely in history,
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It does not matter what I write.
The featus of love in me will breath as it likes.
What concern or cause does it matter,
On how you interpret what you and me Made to utter.
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We see you everywhere,
On large bill boards,
Plastered on walls,
Hanging on poles,
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There is one more season,
Its also called the Marriage season.
The stars, moon, sun and a couple of planets,
Sit over a drink and decide, watching a few box office balles,
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I have an appointment to keep.
My Blackberry Beeps,
I have a presentation to tweet.
My Blackberry Beeps,
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Eyes, you shut yours, I shut mine, what do we do about the light?
Names, you change yours, I change mine, what do we do about those we whisper in our minds?
Thoughts, you shut yours, I shut mine, what do we do about the soul that spans our times?
Pens, you write elegant, I write crude, what do we do when they meet in the same root?
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