Thursday, September 22, 2011

Subtractions in Life

I do not know
how subtractions were
made without  my effort.
First it were the deaths
which severed petals
from my life
Grand fathers, grand mothers
neighbors, friends, uncles,
admired ones who never
ever returned.
Then childhood slithered
down the memory lane,
bringing in  the white
shrouds of an  adult
trauma for a  while...

There was nothing beyond
those white sheets where
I sought the company of
I  wrote the first draft of hate ,
vouching against the Bible,
words were vipers
they were profane
they were anger
they were sin
devoid of sanctity
the white robes offered
in their santum sanctorium.

My words have not lost
their sting, despite
their domesticity,
they could double up
as warriors or scorpions,
My words are not lost
in your thoughts
in your cassock
your political khadi,
your fasts and abstinence,
they are absent-present for
a while,
never annihilated.

The facade of propriety
that you uphold
sanctions your existence
to be proper,
but my words are venom
there are my women
my manna, their insurgent
hopes explode with them
at times, as a petal spreads
its silence on the ground.

When love and politics left,
only words stayed back
to paint an illusory  green on
my wilting leaves.


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