Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Deserted Mind

Desert papers
like Kalahari,
where sterile
minds collect
the blessings
of the morning
dew cupped
in verse leaves.

of the mind
spin thoughts
into helicons
over vast expanses.
The imprints of
the storm are
tatoos scored
with pain,
permanent patterns
on the desert skin

Friday, September 11, 2009

Bed Biography

Empty beds inspire
of our selves.
Strands of hair,
both black and
white, are tell-
tales of transition,
when you dust
the sheets, dead
cells form a cloud,
to catacomb you
in your grave
as another form.

Your blankets in
the tropics tell you
how cold you feel,
you pile up your
bed with cushions
and pillows smudged
with drool and kohl.
Your companion is
an open-book always
marked for slow
reading; a loyal
friend, for months.

കിടക്ക എഴുതുന്ന ജീവചരിത്രങ്ങള്

ശൂന്യമായ കിടക്ക
നിന്റെ ജീവചരിത്രം
വിളിച്ചോതുന്നു .

മുടിയിഴകള്... കറുപ്പ് ,
പിന്നെ വെളുപ്പ്... കറുപ്പും
വെളുപ്പും കലര്നവ
നിന്റെ പരിണാമത്തിന്റെ
കഥകള് നിന്നെ
ഒരു കല്ലറയില്
നിന്നും മറ്റൊന്നിലേക്കുള്ള

മീന മാസത്തിലെ കമ്പിളി
പുതപ്പു ഈ ഊഷര
ഭൂമിയിലുo നിനക്കുള്ള
കുളിരിനേ സൂചിപ്പിക്കുന്നു.
കുന്നു കൂട്ടിയ പഞ്ഞി
കണ്മഷിയുടെയും ചിത്രങ്ങള് ..

നിര്ജീവമായ കിടക്കയില്...
നിന്പ്രിയ തോഴി
പാതി മിഴികൂമ്പിയ പുസ്തക

Wednesday, September 09, 2009

Sermon from the Gorges

Seeing no one, she went to the Vale of Tears and proclaimed
in the wilderness, only the Desert Storm listened without a ruffle.

Blessed are those who accumulate
wealth, avarice and sins
They know not that they own not even six feet
on earth to rest their heads on, finally!
Simon, ignorance is bliss!

Blessed are those who steal, fornicate and hack
they know not personal spaces
Earth is theirs and let them thrive
on other's homes, Christ is a distant dream.

Blessed are those women who eat men with their eyes,
starved for ages, they fear not their desire
or their gaze. Their eyes have the silent
power of the hungry. Jezebel,
there may be a revolution tomorrow.

Blessed are those abused angels
ever living with the beatific halo of
pain and memory, their abusers have
have suffered an empty soul too.
Like Christ to Herod,let the abused
forgive their abusers,time will vindicate them all.

Blessed are those women who cry
watching their monitors whole night
their lovers have ransacked their pasts
Made them virtual whores.
Babylon's women,
There's no way out of the cyber rigmarole

Blessed are those trees who droop down their
leaves and pretend blindness, leaves dont move,
Loths, their conscience blowing in the wind,
rule the concrete, deaf, blind and dumb
to be raped by the scuffle and chop.

Blessed are those puffed eyes lids sore wounds
and amputated wills
Saints will spit on you, heaven is theirs,
you belong to earth, her pain, blood,
Sweat and delusions belong to you.


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