in our land
even the monsoons come—
leisurely, strolling like
decorated temple elephants
(the pomp, the paraphernalia)—
after months of monotonous prayer,
preparations and palpitating waits.
my darling
his silence
(those still shoulders)
but his eyes dance
his eyes dance
(so wild, so wild)
so i think of raging
summer storms—
like uncontrollable tuskers
trampling in mast
(the madness, the lust)—
across the forests of our land. . .
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Leave your books behind.
Like knowledge, is a traitor,Erase every hoarding of your horrible past.At last, when you enter her worldOf fraying edges and falling angelsDon’t barter words where touch will do and be the truth.For once allow her silence to sear, strip your life-layersBecause she who knows the truth will not know the tale.(First published in Thanalonline)
She thought she was dying—ants crawled
at mealtimes, her tender-as-tomato breastsbruised to touch, her heart forgot its steady beat.Floundering at forty, she twisted safety pinsinto spirals, chewed on pencil-ends, tore downcalendars, became a hurricane about the house.That wetness, with its lunar reek, never came.Her monthly drip had disappeared.Her no-money man was back home by then—ditched and duped by his dancer mistress.She…
~ with submissive indrawn breath on nights that smell of freshcut red, she writes of a love to which her language denied even words ~
and threw the two crooked corners away.lt.col.grammar mapped moods on zones—meet and mate by mountains, wait withinforests, sulk in pastures, pine away closeto the coast, and desert in deserts. by order.what came of the margins missing in action?at first the colonel outlawed unrequited love.labelled it defected, subnormal, unfit for menwho were men. then at last…
And both of us become strangers onto each other
We will look beyond eyes and run into each otherAs usual, for the rest of life.I do not know what you wouldTreasure of me in your mind.But in billboards plantedAcross my fervent heart,I will celebrate you as the manWho made me woman.And there are the small things that I would always remember:Your affinity to catch…
anaconda. candy. cash. catamaran.
ginger. mango. mulligatawny.patchouli. poppadom. rice.tatty. teak. vetiver.i dream of an englishfull of the words of my language.an english in small lettersan english that shall tire a white man’s tonguean english where small children practice with smooth roundpebbles in their mouth to the spell the right zhaan english where a pregnant woman is simply stomach-child-ladyan english…
September 21, 1995.
He spanned the worldSo quickly. . . In telecastmiracles that occurred fromMichigan to Manila to MadrasWhether He was in plastic, ceramic,Fire-burnt clay or stiff black stoneThe Elephant-Headed, the Pot-Bellied,The Remover of Obstacles, Ganesha,The God had his fill as he suckedThe spoonfuls of creamy milk. . .I am not willing to listen toCapillary Action RationalismOr any…
in our land
even the monsoons come—
leisurely, strolling like
decorated temple elephants
(the pomp, the paraphernalia)—
after months of monotonous prayer,
preparations and palpitating waits.
my darling
his silence
(those still shoulders)
but his eyes dance
his eyes dance
(so wild, so wild)
so i think of raging
summer storms—
like uncontrollable tuskers
trampling in mast
(the madness, the lust)—
across the forests of our land. . .
(First published in Thanalonline.com)
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The last thing she does
once more, of violation,she applies the mascara.Always,in that last and solemn momentthe call-girl hesitates.With eye-catching eyesshe stops to shudder.Maybe, the dyed eyesmourn her body’s sins.Mascara. . .it serves to tell herthat long buriedhazy dreamsof a virgin soulhave dark outlines.Silently she cries.Her tears are black.Like her.SomewhereLong Agoin anuntraceablemangledmatrilinealfa mily treeof temple prostitutes,her solace was sought.It has…
When memory decides
Of pain, or even plain indifferenceShe has her winsome wicked ways.Some day, years later,Life requires you to unearthSome event long past and youSet about browsing your brainLike a desk-full of office files and then—Come across a resounding emptiness.Memories drizzle-fragileAre not to be found. WhatGreets you instead, throughThose yellowing sheets of typed matter isThe blank and…
Two thousand years ago
was the same.women and menwrote their songs of lovethe intimacies of insideand they spoke of howlove was tirelesslove was a fantasy feastlove was no diseaselove was no evil goddesslove was a harshness, in the partinglove was‘the thing that made a girl’s banglesslip loose when her lord went awaygrow tight when her lord returned’love was (they…
(written after reading Sylvia Plath’s Daddy)
believe that such a one as this walkedthe earth in flesh and blood.’—Albert EinsteinWho? Who? Who?Mahatma. Sorry no.Truth. Non-violence.Stop it. Enough taboo.That trash is long overdue.You need a thorough review.Your tax-free salt stimulated our woundsWe gonna sue you, the Congress shoe.Gone half-cuckoo, you called us names,You dubbed us pariahs—’Harijans’goody-goody guys of a bigot godRam Ram…
and may be we will
I will look into his eyes,and he into mine—my one single eye,(the unfortunate otherblinded by a disciplinizing slap)and we will agree, adjustthat Love can be Blind.And he, healthy boywell-fed, white with his rosy cheeks,will wonder about me,pity my bony body, those thin ribsand worryand feel my twisted earsand the scars on my hands,(reminders of the…
When memory decides
Of pain, or even plain indifferenceShe has her winsome wicked ways.Some day, years later,Life requires you to unearthSome event long past and youSet about browsing your brainLike a desk-full of office files and then—Come across a resounding emptiness.Memories drizzle-fragileAre not to be found. WhatGreets you instead, throughThose yellowing sheets of typed matter isThe blank and…