And you are crying again.
Misery is (you always believe) the only genuine
Emotion and sadness, the way of the real world.
She wouldn’t have any of it.
Sage in the cubicle, healer of sorts.
Three years your junior. She makes soul-talk
Sound as prosaic as aeronautical engineering.
At the end,
Her warning:
‘Stop this right now.’
What will you say of your feeling
Living with a sister who terrorizes
Even manic depressions out of your mind?
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ThisPoemWillProvokeYou
This poem is not a Hindu.This poem is eager to offend.This poem is shallow and distorted.This poem is a non-serious representation of Hinduism.This poem is a haphazard presentation.This poem is riddled.This poem is a heresy.This poem is a factual inaccuracy.This poem has missionary zeal.This poem has a hidden agenda.This poem denigrates Hindus.This poem shows them…
An angry philosopher froze
As punishment for promiscuity.Rendered senseless, set in stone,She stared in unceasing surpriseAs her sagely husband touredThe world with his treatises onWhat pleasure meant to womenAnd a powerpoint presentationThat showed close-up photosOf her fixed phantom face.He painstakingly pointed outThe moment of arrival of ecstasyIn the stone-dead statue—A coming that was a curse.A coming, he claimed, like…
Six thirty in the a.m.
Gone to bed.It is three daysSince you haveCombed your hair.It is a weekSince you had a bath.And six weeksSince your dog had hers.It is three monthsSince you poppedThe baby pink multi-vitamins.It is half a yearSince you met your only best friend.Woe to your scraggyscornfullistless worldWhere the moonlit sky exists only in the grandLullabies that one…
The day dies abruptly.
Carries the basket-case of a husbandTo his favorite prostitute’s place.She sits in a veranda of the brothel andSomeone who saunters in mistakes the devoutWife to be a mistress of guilt, a woman of night.She plays along, she pretends to this visiting stranger,This wayfaring man, who suffers and seeks salvationBy day, but wants to buy a…
~ 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…
don’t talk to me
in our landeven the monsoons come—leisurely, strolling likedecorated temple elephants(the pomp, the paraphernalia)—after months of monotonous prayer,preparations and palpitating waits.my darlinghis silence(those still shoulders)but his eyes dancehis eyes dance(so wild, so wild)so i think of ragingsummer storms—like uncontrollable tuskerstrampling in mast(the madness, the lust)—across the forests of our land. . .
And you are crying again.
Misery is (you always believe) the only genuine
Emotion and sadness, the way of the real world.
She wouldn’t have any of it.
Sage in the cubicle, healer of sorts.
Three years your junior. She makes soul-talk
Sound as prosaic as aeronautical engineering.
At the end,
Her warning:
‘Stop this right now.’
What will you say of your feeling
Living with a sister who terrorizes
Even manic depressions out of your mind?
(First published in Thanalonline)
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Have you ever tried meditation?
and keeping your mind as blankas a whitewashed wall by closingyour eyes, nose, ears; and shutting outevery possible thought. Every thing.And, the only failure, that ever came,the only gross betrayal—was from your own skin.You will have known this.Do you still remember,how, the first distractions arose?And you blamed skin as a sinner;how, when your kundalini was…
Noon
On a road less traveled the patrol tracked down much:Him (him is now an it, a crumpled cruel corpse for womenTo beat their breasts about): the wreckage (four black wheelsThat speak of despair and a mangled red car-body awash yetSoiled and the cold apparitions of smoked glass and steel):The crime record—He stole at home he…
And the truth scorches and singes
with its pungent yellow taste, so,speaking the truth is not so easywith just one tongue, anyway.Seeing might have been closestto truth and as Plotinus saidthe eye would not be able to seethe sun if it was itself not sunand so seeing was understanding.The Egyptians called the eyewith the circle of the iriswith the pupil in…
We will rebuild / worlds from shattered glass/ and remnants of holocausts.
in so many ways it would take / an encyclopedia to describe and steven-spielberg / or some-such-guy to produce the special effects for a blockbuster version /not just the stories of how/ you charred to death forty-four of our men and women and children / because they asked for handfuls of rice/electrocuted children to instant…
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…
the guilt-glazed love lay on andal’s breasts,
frightened with forceand locked away, she conjured him every night.her emperumaan, her emperor-man.recklessness on speed-dial, she becamea rape romantic. he, a bodice ripper.their bootleg shadowsburst out with the sun. people pointed fingersat parted curtains, a scandal of shape-shifters.her hair undone, silver-grey lips, skipped meals,and nightmares of a thousand elephants…she learned to nurseevery rumour like a…