Saturday, March 21, 2009

Vacuum

How empty is a hollow bowl?
Vacuum is emptiest, they taught me
So if 'Empty' means 'To Have Nothing'.
Then this I can prove:
This star-forsaken night is even emptier
It Has so much, it jus' poured in me
7 sealed quarts, brimming with Nothing.

I soar to the shore
Of this vacuous sea...

The dead are better off, exploring.
(If endorsed, one transaction)
Hovering on the edge, I'd barter:
For a patch of their shapeless land -
Few days' wages,
A good night's meal,
Some past-perfumed paraphernalia,
An oft-perused memory,
3 unshed tears,
Lies.

Planting seeds of things lost
I'd float over, irrigate -
Till that day when
Recalcitrant thorny flowers
Fill the hole in my pupil
And I thud on the ground, blinded -
But at long last, full.


Mar 21st, 2009.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

LSD

Mottled; muddled, are impatient realities
In a luminescent pool of battling thoughts.

(I must be drunk)

Voices, rainbow-stained
Serenade, from the kingdom of
Mist-burdened evenings
Twilight-stricken mornings.

(I must be stoned)

Follow, ballerina-toed
Up to iridescent stars,
This sinuous sapphire
Dragon-groan of frosty fire.

Brave, God-sped - this sorry journey
Taste the tinkle of a tolling bell
On the last rung of the beanstalk
Look back when they ring the knell

And Pixies, from the faerie-ring of…

Cerulean Flames and Dusky Dawns
and
Dawny Dusks and Tinted Tones

…will swipe your frightened soul.

Fettered in gold prison bars
We will tip, together
Sonorous mead jars.

Come love, slake
In this merry nightcap-tivity;
Let them build - our pyre lake.


Mar 19th, 2009.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The tears we shed

I have so folded and packed away
The past few years
That I can tranquilize with a sway
My oversensitive tears
By a drama of disgust
For all that once was.

We humans must learn to fashion
Some cautiously concocted facades
In this Darwinian contest
To cultivate our odds
For the survival of the fittest.

With an unprecedented leap
Of my ostensibly inured heart
In the middle of something deep,
In a moment, fall apart
All the fortified barricades
I endlessly keep erecting.

And frantically, anew
I rummage through
The hidden pile of dog-eared letters
For some semblance of why....

For each single tear,
You shed for me...
You have wrenched, countless in a row.

As I wipe yet another,
I must admit,
You wept a lot, I now know...

Mar 17th, 09.

Monday, March 16, 2009

......

I stretch out my hand
And offer you, free
A fistful of silence.

Break not,
Like procrastinated promises,
This fragile reticence.

Let it become
The seasoned conversant
Speaking for us.

-----

Like sprinkled icing sugar
It frosts - our empty spaces
Ubiquitous.

With the shovel of
Your slick veteran filibuster
You clear and salt your pitch.

And i bury myself
In the warm wool of defeat
Like an embarrassed ostrich.

-----


I never realized I still had
Some skin left to be fretted
By my own relentless muteness.

March 16th, 2009.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Give me, God, but a prayer

I want to pray, tonight
I want to beg God for words
Some mouthful, sayable phrases
To soothe your throbbing temples
To solace your tempested heart.

I want to say, tonight
"Fret not, my bosom friend,
God is not unjust...
He will walk beside you on rocks
And carry you over mires."

I will beg God too,
To lend me courage, but enough
That when I say this all
To look you in the eye.

I will beg God, lastly
For it all to mean
At least a little to you.

Marsh 14th, 2009.

God, bless my dear friend.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Self-Love

Man’s first and last love…

It gives her her share of might
Remaining oblivious, of the waiting look,
In her son’s eyes.
Her rowdy, slovenly, misbehaving son.

She will not kiss him goodnight.
Forgetting is not a part of her book;
Forgiving - always
Replete with extreme condescension.

She has convinced herself
Completely
Of the magnitude of her sufferings
And the perfection of her love.

The inebriety of her belief
Discreetly
Robbed her of the trust of her darlings
And won their silent reprove.

…is self-love.


March 13th, 2009.

Monday, March 9, 2009

"So that you still love me"

In a half-written poem, let me again
Commemorate,
How, on that last day
The drifting splotches of clouds
Grew purple
From the intense effort
Of keeping the hidden sun
To themselves.

Is that how she looked?
That purple?
Dressed in floral hues
On that last day
The insecure woman,
Flaming as she hummed:
"Pour que tu m'aimes encore."

The sea is like the soul.
On a calm day,
Endlessly serene.
Blow a little, O winds,
And the mirror cracks
Infinite jagged waves
Intimidate,
By their unsaid promise
Of havoc..

If the sea were, one day
To gravitate unto itself
And stand, miniscule, a mortal -
One would meet a beautiful woman
Twinkling and unreachable as the stars
Serene and turbulent as the sea
Radiant and terrible as the sun
Warning as she danced:
"Pour que tu m'aimes encore."
.
.
.
.

Mar 9th, 2009.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Few feathers, somewhere...

Few feathers, somewhere...

It rained, he says,
and has been, ever since.

(...something important to say...)

Like him, there have been
A few, enamoured by this snake-dance.

(...too young for sad verse...)

Wandering eyes falter now, soften
At the doe-eyed innocence of my charms.

(...should meet up some day...)

.
.
.

(Few feathers, somewhere strewn...)

I have lost my feathers, ever since
I hatched out of this shell, for you.

(I have discovered...)

Man once learnt to converse
God never taught how to unlearn.

(And you once told me...)

A morning glory that blossoms eternally
There is never a dawn for it.

(Then does he not see...)

My bare brazen fingers tear
Nude flesh beneath my chafed skin.

Mar 5th, 2009.