Drift

How about I just slip away
And yet stay anchored at the shore
May I ?

Lasting memories

... And then there is loss

Which doesn't explain itself.

Some kind of silly arithmetic logic,

Division that partitions lives.

But boxes don't hold bodies,

And fires don't swallow flesh.

Souls are immortal or so they say

like mummified containers filled with anti-death preservatives.

But whose to say it isn't already dearly departed.

When breaths become a mere measurement of ventilator puffs

And the mind begins to disconnect from limbs..

A picture in my mind will forever rest,

A memory box will sketch a new stick figure - -

Of flesh and skin and blood and bones and hair and fingernails.

A creature fueled by a soul.

Immortal in spirit, frozen in time.

When curls were brown, breath was regular and mind secure.

When the heart beat in rhythm to unpolluted seasons.

When Kasauli and Rauni were homes alive with shrubberies not weeds.

When cancer and bipolar were definitions only medical manuals explained.

When songs, dance and long walks was the only prescription drug for the day.

A reflection in the mirror that no breath can cloud over,

Lucky few can see the bloodline alive in them as I do.

You meant life Nana Nani, more alive than the picture on the wall.

The clouds hold your lives now, as children of the sky.

RIP

Sukh Sekhon

Sohan Singh Sekhon

One drink too many

Fuzzy and smokey, creamed and strained
Clap on, clap off, cornered and drained;
Seeing is sawing, kneeing and gnawing
Hammerhead rhythm, red herring brain.

Do you want more sentimental sleaze?
More fat kids, diseased?
Perhaps Superman will fly in and drink Gin
With you and your Uncle's mad niece.

I like my flat swept, my Vodka strong
My ghosts to stay dead, my wood to last long.

Slippery and slimy, or scaly and dry
Cankered and cancerous, bloody well wry;
Being's believing, but knowing is fleeting
Fifty steps down to the what and the why.

Would you like more sentimental drudge?
More holier-than-thou septic sludge?
Perhaps Baba Ramdev will cure your homosexuality
And leave with a wink and a nudge.

like brats to stay online, my demons in bottles
My kittens with cream and my train at full throttle
I don't want your soul, but I'll take your body.

Just

Long time coming
Fleeting moment

New job
new life
new confessions
new honesty.

Come undone

Somewhere, in the recesses of my memory, is a half finished song - it was blues, till it became too pop, turned metal with range. Right now, in this moment, its a piano solo against Joni Mithcell's voice. Only I can't remember the tune anymore. It's half a melody in the mind.

Along the way, I've learnt to mimic relationships - feelings, togetherness, respect ... only endurance is a big-word and nothing can mask a loner's heart. Not even a half-hearted love.

At some point in time, I befriended words. They seem to know me more than I could comprehend. With every strike of the spacebar, another word would scribble itself as if my sub conscious was talking back at me - chiding me, describing me to myself. Lately Ive been filling empty gaps in newspapers as writing. Half voyeur.

This half being has managed to fill a certain half emptiness, making it look half full. Once in a while, I lose the connect. All I am now doing, is half living.

An interview with Buddy Guy

Buddy Guy mid song at Mahindra Blues Festival, Mumbai

'Shh…I ain’t finished yet'

Hip-hop, blues, BB King and Eric Clapton …are just some of things five time Grammy winner Buddy Guy is all about

In the audience of a blues legend, you do feel him all around. At the just concluded Mahindra Blues Festival, ‘74-year young…’ Buddy Guy (like his song) walked through the crowd, talked to his audience in melody, played his guitar with the drum stick, his teeth and even holding behind his back. He even indulged us in a small duel with his pianist Marty Sammon. The oldest soul and blues musician held the crowd captive for nearly two hours and kept saying ‘Shhh…I ain’t finished yet’ every time he felt the pulse of the crowd dip. We spoke to the showman beneath that fabulous hat.

That was a fabulous performance over the weekend. We loved the way you kept saying Bombay in your lyrics. Are we aiite for Buddy Guy?

Well I had fun. Now see I knew I hadn’t played here with my whole band before. It was great to have Marty (Sammon on keyboards), Tim (Austin on drums), Orlando (Wright on bass) and Ric (Hall on guitar) here. They are solid men. I liked working the crowd and people here knew of me, my new album Living Proof. Some of you had heard about it. Then Shemekia (Copeland) and Jonny (Lang) joined me on stage and we sang them blues.

Speaking of Living Proof (buy here), congratulations on your Grammy nomination this year. Are you hoping of winning your sixth?

Well I don’t know about that, but where I come from, every little bit helps. BB King and I have been great friends for over 53 years. BB and I did a spiritual song for this album on ‘Stay a little longer.’ We were both excited. Before all of this technology, we all would listen to the spiritual groups from years and years ago. This album is Living Proof of the old times, of our old times.

Are there plans of playing with Eric Clapton soon?

You know, Eric (Clapton) had told me that the last Crossroads (Guitar festival) would be his last one, but I think he had a lot of fun at this last one. He’s coming back on tour this summer. I’d a said he said he’d change his mind. We are going to have one more.

What do you think of the new blues talent?

Well I think everybody is playing hip-hop now. My youngest daughter is playing too and she’s been opening for me at festivals. I still think there is fire in these bones. The new singers are alright too. But it’s like the era of BB King, Les Paul, Muddy Waters needs some reviving. You still hear their songs when you go to hear good Blues. I still play there songs. You can’t evolve blues. It’s the song of the soul.

Keep the gap

Between six suns

There’s still space for shadows

Between five moons

There’s still space for light

Between four rivers

There’s still a gush before the delta

Between three tables

There’s still some waiting

Between two of us

There’s still lot unsaid

Within me

There’s still shadow of the beast.