Saturday, October 28, 2006

the kingdom of the orphan dead

my artist friends
dread orphan corpses
they see their
future
their battered dreams
in the territory
of the unclaimed dead!
death would have
come a lot
more easier
had we not
left behind
our putrid
flotsam decays....

i keep way
from intimacies
in rain drenched
afternoons.
withdraw into
my cocoon;
see thoughts
drifting like
wisps of smoke
from my nostrils
lips
probably eyes.
the world
disappears
voices melt
in the void
the green cover
blurs...

i dont have a shoulder
to offer you

i escape from
the heaviness
that ballasts me
my mind soars
from its
fringes, fragile.
suddenly
a flower falls
on my lap
yesterday's
freshness
long lost
like your love
stale
and stolen from me..

Friday, October 27, 2006

i have nothing to give you...

i have no smiles
no tears
no love
to give you
but some words;
bitter
meaningless
like a sob that chokes
in my throat
and dies there....

where did you figure
in my search?
a minor note
harped on my body
while it sang
the melody of
forgotten desire?
limits blurred
as the earth you tread
was my body
kissing your feet...
i was born with boundaries
filigreed with guilt
your love cannot hold me
nor can i love...

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

star gazing with you


as a child
later as an adult
in the wild hills
swooping down
the distant sea
star spangled nights
choked me
by their
profusion


this city, greyed
by smoke
smitten by
festival crackers
shut its skies
to me
till you named
each star
their constellation
their myriad colours
mysteries…
with smoke rings
swiveling up the sky
I was a star gazer,
no longer alone.

Serial Killer

I sought him out,
reclined my nape,
murmured to him
‘kill me master’
I saw the glint
of the blade
his sharp eyes.
ravishing me
with every swish
of his body
the final move
knife gliding
past my skin
gashing my
virgin neck
anointing me
with the blood
he drew…
I moaned in pain
and joy before
closing my eyes:
‘will you
ever remember
the names of
the women
you have killed,
my master?’

Monday, October 16, 2006

sabbath days


my sabbath days
begin with
the pop of a cork;
frothing beer
kisses
the nape of
my brown neck
leaving bitter
stickiness of
yesterdays
on my skin,
taciturn lullabies
welling
from my eyes;
fragments
remembered
in dreams,
forgotten
in wakefulness…

Thursday, October 05, 2006

earth hues and skin colours


Probably, it was
entwined in your bashful eyes,
surreptitiously exploring
the mounts and despairs
of my cavernous desires
my path was lost,
When your eyes ate into me
veiled with caution, longing,
I could not respond
the dreams my pounding-pulse could
draw from them were fatal:
the lethal dross of
elixir mixed with love.

but
we realized that purity traumatizes
and borders terrorize
my coffee- brown body, your
sun-beaten butter-skin
blend into the earthen hues
disappear into an anonymous void;
the cauldron of nonexistence

broken-thoughts-from-train


trees-rivers-roads
trucks- dust- ant people
green-brown-hills-bridges
landscapes-disappear
Through-train-windows
Smell-of-hungry-earth
Waiting-for-rain
Leather-seats- dented
Worm- holed
(sunk by the jostle
Of many shaped behinds)
Train-rocks-cradles-lullabies
Tears-iron-rails
Tea-stained-floor-slush
Plods-trodden- by
Hurrying-footwear

Train-pants-pungent
Sweat-urine-ennui
My-mind-lingers-on
Vanishing-horizons.

a new beginning

morning
filters
through
the door
ajar.
you too,
came in
fresh from
a bath
a towel
wrapped
around
your waist.
leaving
the nightmares
of
yesterday
behind you!

I am...


A shifting vagabond
With a back-pack
A few books
A toilet bag full of
Lotions, lipsticks, kohl
Jeans, cotton tops
Rolls of lint, faded hues
Pencils
Pairs of frayed
Strong underwear,
To hold weary
Fallen youth,
(Without taste)
Chipped broken nails
Charred skin
Far from being tanned
A bag full
Of nonsense
Confusion and poetry
Waiting for rain
A little romance
(surfing time zones
strange faces
stranger loves)
On railway platforms
Crowded bus stops
Luxury of rickshaws
Burning wallet
House-hopping
With a USB drive
In search of computers
To retch out
Intellectual nonsense
Which surfaces
On cheap
One-rupee
Laser prints.

I am not what I think
A break
An interlude
From thinking
Makes me what I am.
Human again

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Gandharva’s Woman


He told her, be my slave
you slut
when I come at night.
I am the secret
to your earthy happiness
she answered her beloved:
Yes, my master
every cell and secret
hollow in my body
holds you,
your imprints,
the sensations
that you had offered me,
every waking moment
is a trance
betrothed by
your magic rod.
she asked him:
have you been
loved with such abandon?
such no sense of possession?
that I can say I do and I don’t
have you been revered?
have you ever been loved
so much so that
love in itself let you go?
he closed his eyes
rued over his celestial life
she smiled to herself
she knew that
love is beautiful
at a distance,
when its heavenly.
a man can satiate
as long as he
has no illusions of
his proprietorship…

the rain-song: waiting for rain in Tura


this was once a rain-drenched
land, abode of the rain clouds
now it has stopped raining.
recently rain’s muffled chatter
tapped on my window panes,
raindrops snaked into my room
seeping through the fissures
its serpentine rivulets, pools
denuded the broken cement-tiles.
I was warm and moist
when rain spread her algae-chill
dampening my blanket, thighs
your desire reached out for mine
on that night, when fire raged, spurted
against the falling cadence of rain

it has stopped raining now, an
overcast turbulence remains
clouds droop in scattered ruins
wind sears across; churning
nipping buds, tender leaves
howling, trashing it’s head
night-long, I sweat sheathed by
my stifling-lonesome house.
the corridor echoes the footsteps
following my lonely shadow
the whirring fan stabs my ears.
a lonely lizard sprawls across
the chalky-breathless walls;
outside, cicadas drone all-night
patiently waiting for the rain



26.06.06

In Poem 3:. dad and a mosquito


dad and a mosquito

Today morning
I saw a mosquito
burrow deep into
my father’s arm
drawing vials full
of sticky-red- blood
I fought my impulse
to swat-it-dead-flat
black-maroon-smudge
over bitter-coffee-skin
preferring our
hyphenated existence
I desisted from touch.

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