Were established
And people used to go not
To those inaccessible, far flung places,
The second rate fellows
From Bihar, U.P. and other states
Used to be to,
Even the small profile teachers
Too used to be the ones joining
And after joined the faculty
They used to apply for greater assignments
In other states.
one supresses
the ordinary self
and this is a special
psychological system.
A new personality
is established
with a new method
of feeling and action.
The transformation
of personality
which occurs,
abolishes the primitive
consciousness of selfhood
and substitutes for it
a wider consciousness.
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other than the slamming
of the solid timber door.
All in all, you did return
a dozen times or more,
and always found me
as you had discarded me,
no spine, you said, no guts
and who would want me,
barbs were what you had,
a thousand and then some.
I made you dinner then,
and all the other times.
The house was clean,
I say immaculate but you
would silently point to
the broom closet, to show
that majesty expected more.
I was so happy, you could tell,
you robbed me of my brain,
and when you did unpack
the leather goods and all
I soon became the imitation
of silence of the lamb, for you.
I did not like the whip or cuffs,
to have to beg you countless times
to no avail, until you felt
that a new twist was needed.
And you would, with grace,
have your strange ways with me
and call me all those names.
I felt demoralised and cheap,
and weak as well as dumb,
where did the devil of perversion
(surely that was who he was)
hail from if not from deep within
your womb, or was it part of
the baggage coming back
earmarked for me, the willing wimp?
I’ve had it now, this time it will not wash,
when last you left me I did make a pact
with my internal masochist at last
and no amount of coaxing or sweet words
will open up my solid door for you again,
there comes a time when we must take
a stand of courage and of pride against
temptation, titillation, fornication.
Well, I feel better after stating my conviction
there is no siren in this world that can persuade
this man who’s born again to be a noble sisyphus
but for himself who will be pleased beyond belief.
Enough of this, this monologue was meant for you,
though you will never hear it from these lips in person….
I’m sorry…. that’s the doorbell, just a minute………..
‘How do you do, my lovely, please, I have been waiting.’
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But today?
My heros are those
Who wake up with amnesia!
‘That doesn’t make sense! ‘
Exactly.
Neither does this relationship!
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The sun is a red, red joy,
The sun is an indian girl,
Of the tribe of the Illinois.
(MID-MORNING)
The sun is a smouldering fire,
That creeps through the high gray plain,
And leaves not a bush of cloud
To blossom with flowers of rain.
(NOON)
The sun is a wounded deer,
That treads pale grass in the skies,
Shaking his golden horns,
Flashing his baleful eyes.
(SUNSET)
The sun is an eagle old,
There in the windless west.
Atop of the spirit-cliffs
He builds him a crimson nest.