Catherine

A court full of whisperers

Watches a young queen

All of twenty-three

The beautiful Catherine.

Of the House of Braganza:

The noblest Portuguese

The young queen's

A little ill-at-ease.

A tongue not her own

She shouldn't care to know.

On the throne sits the King

Of neither her faith nor fancy.

In her hand is a tea-cup

Painted and enamelled

The brew of the Orient

Now in cold, wet England.

She looks at her husband

A man with mistresses

Months into her marriage

Her life's already a mess.

Seven isles of Bombay

As dowry to England

She married Charles

To keep Spain away.

A tale of many empires

Alliances and conquests

But who shall know

What a woman's heart held?

- Eisha

My first attempt at singing a Persian song

The original version by Afghanistan's Elvis of the 1960s, Ahmad Zahir, with transliteration into English.

Quoting from Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, 
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow; 
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd-- 
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go." 

***

For "Is" and "Is-not" though
With Rule and Line,
And "Up-and-down" without,
I could define,
I yet in all I only cared to know,
Was never deep in anything
But wine.

***

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long 
Have done my credit in this World much wrong: 
Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup 
And sold my Reputation for a Song. 

Flying into rough weather: Oil crayon and acrylic on paper

This time, I asked my friend, Raj, to throw me a word. He said, "Biplane." I decided to give the flyboy a response in colour instead of words. So here is Flying Into Rough Weather: Oil crayon and acrylic on paper. Billions of blue blistering barnacles! There, I have said it.

The Girl with the Scarlet Lips: Colour pencils on paper

My Afghan student, Qasem, sang to me one of Ahmad Zahir's songs, Ay Janeman Asirat in Dari. The love song mentions scarlet lips and so I have drawn the girl with the scarlet lips.

Rider

A bend in the road

The roar of an engine

A beam of light

A rider on a bike.

The harsh glow

How my eyes hurt!

The bearded silhouette

His helmetless head!

A hint of recognition

A niggling doubt

Friend or foe?

I'd rather not shout.

The rider comes near

Brushes my shoulder

Whispers in my ear

My name, I hear.

The voice of a friend

Through the darkness

A stream of thoughts:

Cornucopia of memories.

I want to chide him

For his silence,

his non-existence

For me, without him.

My painted mouth

Starts to utter

A few words

Of disapproval.

I hold his gaze

Fixed and warm

My lips slowly part,

Laughter breaks free.

He watches me

Curious, confused

His lips part too:

To say, "Goodbye!"

And so I stand

With mirth and grief

Watching a rider

Disappear into night.

Procrastination: Oil crayon and acrylic on paper

This painting was inspired by a couple of friends - one has been wanting to become a guitarist for years and the other wants to find love but has done nothing about it. 

Signs of a Goddess

I had an old carom board lying around so I decided to use it for rangoli for Diwali. The theme: Signs of Goddess Lakshmi. That includes owl, Swastika, Om, grains, footsteps, cowrie shells and lotus. Medium: Acrylic on wood.

Wind

There comes the wind

Like a rider from the west

A screen of dust and sand

A silhouette and sunset.

There comes the wind,

Bringing many stories

Of travellers and caravans

Of borders and fences.

There comes the wind

With a rustle of leaves

Dried and wasted

Like putrid memories.

There comes the wind

With few scraps of paper

Words of love and longing

And passions forbidden.

There comes the wind

Carrying expectations

Of clouds and rain

A farmer's tales.

There comes the wind

With many dreams

Of heroes and saviours,

Of disappointing realities.