Thursday 24 July 2014

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."

Saturday 19 July 2014

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.

Thursday 10 July 2014

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.

Monday 7 July 2014

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.

Thursday 3 July 2014

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)