Friday, October 30, 2009

The Moon Sea




Like the moon rippling on
the seas, bracing each other
with a calm content,
far they live in their orbits
and shores, we had our waxing
and waning too,our ebbs and
flows have settled to
nature arms that nestles
the embryonic kernel of our love.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Pied Piper Returns to his Cave



You can go to sleep
to the warmth which
you can retrieve like
a magician, you lured
the mouse-girl with your
magic flute, thats past.

She has disappeared
into the cave never to
return, you venture out
to avenge yourself
the city dwellers
have wronged you
they shall reap what
they deserve


you can return to your
warmth where the mouse
disappeared, your cave
is always warm, welcoming
its frosty silence begs
your presence, its perseverance
of being your exclusive
abode will be paid.

Talisman


Talismans have a sexless plurality.
They can be tied as one single thread or
as many colours or metal shards on
your wrists or other secret hideouts
in your body so that no one dares to
even look at you with an evil eye

I have one wound on my wrist that dangles
from its knots precariously, if you smell
it has my sweat, bathing soap, oil mixed
with perfume in it. I like smelling my mess
though it stinks. You tied it on me to ward
off my bad luck, evil eyes, most of all to
get rid of the stammer and low-esteem I was
born with. I admit, this talisman tied on
my wrist with all the magical mumbo-jumbo
has helped. It is in my mind, I say.

I wish there is added magic
where you could win your lover's
heart unconditionally with the
dexterous halving of a betel leaf,
or the abracadabra that would make
my poems loud and seen, or some magic
potion that would vanish my flesh
to travel the world unseen,
sneak into places and to see, hear
and feel people without them knowing.

I also wish this piece of thread
with mantras written on it, would
be mass manufactured to bring in
a wink of sleep at nights for the
sleepless lovers and despots like me.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Body Remembers those Roads

These roads lead to my heart,
pathways of shrouded trees
shower flowers on the tarmac,
they wind like shed hide,
fresh skin grows in place of old

This road that curves
to two by-lanes reach
entrances which arch
like my nostrils, they
have your scent now

The sea is my eye
it longs to see you
on my shore, tears
blur my horizons, my
eyes see nothing
without your anchor
by its golden shore.

Caves had tongues
which wound us tight
we explored, we tasted
the salivating joys,
obstructed by a
stalactite silence
that warped our lips


These are the cliffs
from where you looked
out into the sea,
it rained that day
we lowered the blinds
to listen to the wind

The vales we walked were
dark and sinuous, only both of us
decoding those secret runes
scribbled on caves, we woke up
to hear rain inside our warm covers.

The plains held keys to the
music we both longed to hear
when clouded the humid joys
of flesh held us like sweat
that clung like skin

These roads are deserted now
you do not tread these paths,
I can only exile or exhume me,
my body remembers all trodden
paths ; without your pug marks on my
skin-slush, my body should leave
flesh and take another form

Flood

Poems are tears
words stirrup the deluge
there's a flood here

Invisible

I caress your name
on the screen
the green light
is on
I know its
not for me
I will remain
invisible and mute
forever
but in my muteness
I have a million
words to whisper to you
the way I whispered
to you , your head
on my lap,
our bodies one,
loving another,
was is yesterday
or years before?
My memory fails

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Birth of a Star

Every stain has a memory
every breath wilts a hyacinth

For example

I can strum
your veins
with my fingers
search for
lost galaxies
of your arterial paths
still you say
my tears arent
enough to taste
your celestial music

I can see multiverses
sing hosanna with
lyrics pregnant
with love
still you say
my voice doesn't
reach your mind's
nebulae, where
thoughts are born

I have even pawned
my heartbeats to
buy that glitter
and shine,
your refusal
to believe,
shining in your
incredulous eyes
is another gem
to be preserved
in my memory.

you just have to see
outside your frosted
eyes to see the night
forget politics and
vile for a while
to see the birth
of our stars
taking place in
the depth of
this ebony night.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Planned Harvest


you mark my trunk
feel my bark, see
the crown to gauge
the density of my love
then you can prepare
for a planned harvest

you smell my roots, then
scan my age, your laser
eyes count my rings
your microwave vision
zooms down to measure
the fidelity of my flesh

before chopping me down
you study how forests
change, you comb my leaves
first, then my twigs
then saw my trunk
and soul with your razor-
sharp knowledge of me.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

That Night When Anna Danced



When Anna danced on the danced floor
her lover slumped in a corner sipping
beer first, then vodka, Anna could
stop in between and take a few swigs
to get her into her mood to capture
the universe in her twirl, the cosmos
swung to the rhythm that her hips didn't lie,
The censorious glimmer she ignored
dancing alone, to tarantella, an occasional
gig, hip-hop, twists, she let her hair down
tasting the joy of youth that she lost in
another world that was not her home.
When Anna danced probably many wanted
to dance with her, people were non-existent,
while her own children slept like sweet angels
at home, her joy caught music in a crescendo,
her body became music.

In the dance floor there were many
wanting to dance, her life was her own
for a night, the music became she.
When Anna danced, she didn't know the
simple fact that the floor was for men
or for women who please those men
she didn't brush past men, she wanted no
punctuations to her joy and hers was a
simple joy in dancing to the rhythm the
world could not translate or comprehend.
When Anna danced, she hardly knew that a few
months later men would trace her down
haunt her mind with guilt, Anna couldn't
understand why she couldn't be a woman
like any other, she couldn't understand
why she's an Icarus, she didn't care a
damn for she loved her song of freedom
composed by her.

According to us, Anna shouldn't have
forgotten her homeland, the land of oil
and sun glistening like desire on womens
hair and men's eyes that haunt desire down,
she was made just a lump of flesh without
control, Anna understood these strange
connections of dance, alcohol and lust later,
she realised that with a shock that
her dance made her a public woman
If you ask Anna, if the dance was worth it all
you would expect her to hide her face in a veil
imprinted with her bloody face to breakdown
to a whimper, wondering where exactly
she has gone wrong, but she would just smile
The beatific smile of St. Veronica.

Saturday, October 03, 2009

Slaughterhouse Blues :)

Its the land of fake Messaihs
who Baptise with love and Jihad
(almost synonymous now)
you lose your name, friends,
self, everything to realise
that love is not the final
word to 'nirvana'
but leads to those charnel houses
where you die a million deaths
before you really die.
You are no lady Lazarus
nor Mary Magdelene
daubing your beloved
with your perfumed oil
You feel the spurt of fire
on your skin as you
immerse yourself in the
fire and brimstone of
vengeance and bitterness

-youre too male
to love a woman, messiah!
is my scream
"tut tut jug jug' he says
in the same Eliotean fashion
he interprets
- youre no Christ to revive
my body, I cry
I hear his rile
and he names it pain
-I will die needing you, but
this wafer-bread chokes my soul, I confess
" woman you have sinned," he tells himself
"Just cast the first stone"
-You tell him, you have
searched for a Christ
who could love and teach you love
His chuckles sound like any another man's
you can even see his split hooves
horns and the impish smile,
you know better, that reminds you
you have seen a million false messiahs
in the slaughterhouse of love

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