I'm No Toy for Meat-Eating Men

You are ashamed to
See my limbs?
Those long trunks
Chiseled to
Sinful perfection
Caressed stealthily
On trysts and nights
But sin in daylight.
"Clothe! Cover!"

Cover up your eyes,
those meat-eaters
Pluck them out
You vegetarian men!
Gnarling at my body
No land of your's
Like dogs
Over a piece of meat.
Eyes,
Meat-eating
vegetarian dogs
Are you also ashamed
Your voyeuristic words don't sting
My womanish honeyed ears?
Or is it the
Looming failure
I see in your eyes?
Or is it rage
Of the soon to-be-carcass?
You taught me shame
And it burns
My heart to
Kick you in your face
with the butt of
A revolver licking blood.
And tell your
Meat-eating eyes
"Don't teach me shame
I am never ashamed."

Monkey in a Blue Hat

Vultures vilify,
hissing venom
prying on monkeys and fur.

Tongues wag, tails wag
they go on 
and on, until
they could.
Tongues and tails,
tails and tongues
on and on.

A monkey in a blue hat.
Oh! that's bad
that's bad
monkey's don't wear hats
and no, not blue!

so vultures cry
tongues do pry
and so,
and just so
the monkey in a blue hat
shuns the hat

and thinks 
that gratifies vultures.

The Coming

You come

You always come

When I shampoo my head

Waters streaming down

The drain…

You come

You take me unarmed

When I sit on the garden wall

Gazing gaping at

Colluding squirrels on

Coconut trees.

You come

Trying to catch those

Bushy tails

And prance right

Under my eyes

Sly fox! Coy lover,

Muse, you come,

You always do.

Ah! you know when

I am unarmed.

Hidden behind those lilac

Curtains,

The space your living

A mirage,

You come.

If only windows

Had tongues!

Your evasive elusive

Tiptoes feed my mind,

My eyes, and

I gaze more and more

And more wide

And you still come

You always come

As you do

On rainy nights

Those pearl drops clinging

Sliding down electric wires

You gurgle at them

Cooing, counting,

You come in drops-tasting.

You come. 

Note: I address Poetry/Words in this poem. It is all about how poetry entices me.

Touch

Touch
and bloody thy hands, or
go non-perceived
the words, me,
unspoken,
only ripped off
by force or silence.
Or sometimes love.
It is pain enough
to utter-
to deliberate and
yet pace
the breathed,
nurtured, tasted
and gulped 

words.

Gluttony

A life of insouciance
like a fat moth
sits, pries on
daily chores.

Wobbly legged fat bellied
Abundance cringes in disgust
at poverty.

A hunger where
more is less, less is none
gobbles up brains
gnawing on finger nails and
even toes.

Heavy now, the moth
settles in for the day
Minds too can be
guilty of gluttony.

Tears I have no answer for

Tear me apart

if I know the reason

the reason why

like menstrual blood oozing out

in anger and pain,

my raw eyes

send out

these vain tears

in gushes,

and waits to be

wiped!

Wiped out of grief and agony

like one possible.

Ah! dumb dreamy eyes,

lacking logic.

I envy you waters

of those filled eyes,

brimming with reason

of pain or destiny or love.

But pity not

these tears,

tearing themselves apart

ever in search for a reason

like a nameless child.

As they, like wanton saplings

break my crumbling walls

and flow down in deeps

in search of a reason:

a reason for their birth,

in these deep cups

ever brimming

with waters of life,

lacking reason!

And flowing down,

dry and ebb away

on the uncared for,

plain cheeks.

Lying on the side lower berth,

I head towards…

Vast brown fields

With browner trees, tall sandy shrubs,

And leaves thickly plastered with dry mud,

making them doubly heavy.

A lone electric pole- the only companion

to an empty bench.

A deserted Maranjhiri

Except for a khaki man with a stick.

A dull red clads the dull green folliage.

The Maker has used the same brush in all His laziness!

She is bright.

And loves bright colours.

She may not like this place.

Yet how I wish she were here!

I should get her a yellow dress.

I will.

Ah! How I miss her!

Many poles run

In the red mud-clad land.

Dry and desolate.

A poet would have written a great poem.

Or a painter would have done a masterpiece,

picturing also the two little boys.

The train enters a dark tunnel.

Shouts and laughters

Light again.

Oh! Gone now!

My life?

Ha ha! May be.

Alone,

As I’ve always wished

On a long train journey

Just the setting sun and music for company,

Makes me remember her,

long for her.

Pale orangish, lemony yellow

Does the sun scatter on me.

Grateful to the long window,

I never ask my eyes from it.

Silent and peaceful inside,

away from home I go.

Yet I carry not regret,

nor pain.

I am rather at bliss.

I have chosen this loneliness…

“Chaaai?” No, not now.

My eyes still swallowing the fiery dry vastness,

is hot.

The sand would have pricked my eyes

if I had travelled in sleeper class.

The train slows down…

Comes to a halt.

Have I reached?

No, not yet. Not yet.

I have a long way to go…

A long travel.

A lot many poles to be passed.

A lot many trees to be crossed.

And a really long way to go…

(first published in Cornucopia, a college magazine)