Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Dawkee: Under the Hanging Bridge
Indo-Bangladesh Border

Dawkee: Indo-Bangladesh border

Evening hung trapped in Dawkee bridge
water flowed beneath forgetting frontiers,
khaki men, meerkat trenched with their
arsenal, guns and binoculars scanned
bathing girls as they dressed/ undressed
with ease, seams upturned, folded on the nape
neatly rolled down wrapping their curves
leaving not a chink to tease swooping eyes.
Maps blur for them on the banks, when they
trespass lines, a whistle brings a smile

Emerald river froze
near the bridge
for patient anglers
sitting still on
their lonely boats

Herr Inspector puffed out patriotism
from his thick lips told us the import
of frontiers the sin of violating them.
In the evening blaze Um Ngot opened
her thighs wide and flowed with ease
mothering, whoring, scrubbing, cleaning
Indian and Bangla sins. Earth thinned
down her borderlines painted self-same
hues all over wind hummed a wisdom
that men and machines could not hear

For My Students: Living on the Edge

After Aerosmith

I want to tell them
that the last oranges of the season
which sieve into the markets
are not grown on water
manure or dust, but on tears
even rain has abandoned them
winter greens disappear
slowly - we are nearing the edge-
of a great canyon fall
hundred feet deep, you either
survive not overstepping or fall
into the beauty of the gorge
turn to air, water and earth
and a lightening blaze
in our insipid memories.
I want to tell them
to stop gazing, day-dreaming
to snatch a hockey stick
or a bamboo pole and
go on breaking the glass pane
that comes your way
and then shatter car windows
glare at riling men, even
slap fresh dung on their face.
I want to tell them
that rage is beautiful
violence is marvellous
it gnaws you from within
if you are calm
I will also tell them
that my smiling face is death,
having misplaced rage is adultery and
being balanced reeks of
rotten flesh dug out of
the rocky wedges from the river grave
of their lover, who was young
and handsome once.
Sentimental me

Morning’s chill stirred me awake
your memories,
my days with you.
Those moments are captured
in vials of evergreen
There was a time
when you plagued me
with desire and intensity.
Even now in the mornings
I wake up with your body
warming mine till I shut my eyes
and let the day devour
Myself, run it like a machine
till I drop-dead
on my lonely bed,
dreaming of sleep and you

when I sleep,
I realize my dream
as your phantoms stir
invade me allover

Yesterdays and Todays

Yesterdays and Todays

I woke up with the mist
of sad mornings
shrouding my senses
I leave them behind;
they are scourged clean
by the whiplash of your love

I am happy with
the pleasures of
a handful of forest spring
the chill of water lips
on my face.
The blanket of fear
on forest paths
strewn with warm
elephant dung.
Simsang’s emerald
anklets rippling round my toes

I gazed at the anglers
paired with their rowers
on the wharf
who rowed downstream
gathering, pleating
casting three nets
in tune with the nature’s song.
I have to find a method
in my madness too
I peddle with my pain
paint them rainbow hues
offer them on a platter
as my dreams lost on you.


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