Saturday, January 31, 2009

A Quiet Afternoon

A quiet afternoon
with many noises
in the background
a crow's caw
(can never
be a bird's song
he is black
on our mess,
the MP3 player
blares Coldplay
then the heartbeats
(a jumble can turn
beats to beast).
I felt yours
Its long since our
fates like planets
were pushed to our orbits
you were sleeping under
the blanket of all
the constellations
and meteors you made,
it was cozy yet
My world, far away
crossed yours only
when we spun verses out
of our heart, ladled
with spicy tears
and tempests.
Now we write with
our blood fearing
collision, we have
travelled too far, love!

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Petrichor: The Stone where the Lil Mermaid, Philomela and Ahalya Meets

That was a tale
spun out of
butterfly wings.
That was a touch,
the lightning
a new life.
Was she in waiting
the tongue-less song
of a nightingale?

Bond to the sea
the Mermaid
sat hapless:
a stone on the rock
a pounding heart
tied to the waves
that stretched
to eternity;
of rescue and love;
sea everywhere.

There her tears
melted the stone
Sunken cheeks,
carved of stone
the petrichor
smell of Oestrus,
culled out of the
of her youth
Nothing left
but desire.

He touched the stone,
tilted it
with his toe,
she turned to
flesh and blood.
The moksha
she waited long
faded out in his
departed steps

Monday, January 19, 2009

Elements and Sacrifices

What if the world collapses
And a whirlwind of fury
Destroys the roofs above
Uproots our trees
We nurtured for years
Trees fly like kites
We have seen such times too

What if a huge wave strangles our
basement, then creeps to the newels
Of the first floor, drenching our
Magic carpet that we ride at night
and all valuables?
We have only our eyes
And hunger for each other
There’s water in between
our existence
No barge to pass us over.

Our love became despair only
When my mouth tasted yours and
my flesh was in unison with your rhythm

There’s water between us
We dare not wade each other’s depths
Lest we drown in our longing.

Then there was fire in the middle.
Trapped in a closed-walled building
We could just stare at our fear of
It was then, in suspension,
We paddled space and time
Till our dreams like smoke choked
Our being, fire didn’t burn
Nor the blast we waited for, happen
But our fear snuffed our life out
We could see our eyeballs roll
In asphyxiation,
We have seen oxen before slaughter
Noose pulled, eyes rolled red with fear
The final snort as the knife came down
And split the nape with an expert slit.

Did we know that love could kill us
So grotesquely when our lips kissed
Carressed those fleshly thoughts for a while?

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Web Dreams of a Spider

Spider's web
of memories.
Mind enmeshed in
the black grey
tendons of growth
where love grew
weaving hatred
in its longing.
Yesterday when
you came back
I whittled
grey strands
of desire,
the wind rattled,
strands of pain
clung to them,
Inextricable weren’t
they in love and longing?

The spider spun
its web in the dark moss
In the dusty corners
of windowless mansions
near dried ferns
and pebbles which
dreamt of a trickle.

Monday, January 12, 2009

The woman and the poet

The woman in me lives to destroy
The poet who dreams of drowning
my fellow riders
On a boat ride, then when tsunami
hits it’s a glide for riders on the sea,
there hills unfold to hulls that stream down
the emerald mounts,
there mantras meet in Gregorian chants

If orgasms began with the Big Bang
then matrimonies end too as the great galactic
Collision when Andromeda strides into the Milky Way
With a snooty gait,
It can either explode, snuff the cosmos or end
in a whimper,
The scuttled dry thud of a dying meteorite.
One can hear beginnings and ends if you listen
hard enough.

Death was a lamppost that hurled two bikers
Off pillion and twirled them on the road
Unripe leaves in a whirlwind, red, auburn, green,
nature’s tears painted footpath’s surreal hues,
Here, burials were a waste and enamored by
The incinerator's puff, I watched the chimney
Sigh. A wisp spiraled the blues and hung till
Life became a frown in the clouds. The final fade out
Of grey in the cumulous, God’s puckered brows.

Living with their hidden dials, thought analogues driving to
"Closing Time"
Some ticked to glory, others melted time to despair with a
ghastly slowness,
like Dali’s clocks.
This unbearable slowness was as violent as the pace; either way
the dial strangled.
That was also the time when I sat in one
Corner and wrote poems that no one read
And thought that a poet could read love, disgust
and mixed feelings, sponging in any emotion that
Whizzed past,
A witch adding potions and herbs in her cauldron,
Mixing emotions, thinking why one emoted,
Why our skin could touch, feel and cry
at the same time. Meanwhile, the woman in me
Saw life chug past its rails not waiting to see if
I have boarded spaces of normalcy and approval…

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Arms tale: Handy Histories

Two tanned hands can have more
histories than one can imagine.
of unities, fractures, urge to
Secede and be together
Amputated ones, haven’t you noticed,
live in the memory of phantom limbs,
Like widows living in the pall and
gloom of their dead husbands?
Or countries under the illusion of owning
those territories which never belonged?

A toppled seven-seater ride in an Indian city,
the story of arms mangled in the side-bars,
indeed helping hands ignored the scream
of the arm caught between the vehicle and
molten tar; from underneath they scooped
the pulp and the sodden mess of an arm,
which the doctors thought could be fixed,
That was the story of struggle and survival
which repeated through out the history of
the body, this arm always thought “Why me
of all other body parts?” and the rest of
the body sighed, “Thank god we are spared”,
hiding schadenfrauden,
quickly wiping a tear away with the free arm.

The arm knew this was just the beginning
Of pains, aches, pallaitives and pills which
Prepared it for the series of misfortunes that
Waited. Once it was an accidental tweak by
The lover boy who kissed and kissed and forgot
This arm wrapped in cast. Then it was a bump
by children or a push from here and there.
Swaddled in sedatives and steel rods
the arm retold the story of this fracture
which made it so sensational that the
well-wishers drooled for more gore.

Next it was the turn of the other arm.
While jumping off an upturned slab that
tilted under the weight of wobbly legs,
this arm supported the mighty fall and
fractured it's ulna to the stately
exasperation of its counterpart
who knew pain and aches better !
the only standing exception of Caesareans
and the possible hysterectomies of
the womb or the scars of copulations,
childbirths and cysts of groins and genitalia.

Once healed, again the body fell the third time
Like a branch axed from the heights of a tree,
this time bruising flesh and damaging wrists;
a hairline in metacarpals had its ills too as the
arms nursed it's bruises and fortified for greater falls.
For the body’s falls affected arms more than any-
where else, and the flesh’s fall spread to groins…


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