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Showing posts from April, 2016

Forgetting

Memories are often miasmal, putrescent;
a squad-drill of old complaints marching by
that you soon wish were etherised, euthanised

lest, despondently, you are forced to grapple
with those; the nocturnal sounds of a forest
you wished you didn’t set foot in; a gambit indeed

that you played thinking it fashionable at the instant
and now regretted... indeed with appetites for regret;
meditating on them there is no shunya, nor do they

let you be forgetful of them, vicious in the pursuit,
and no, they don’t digress either to dwell on joy,
no sir, they're silhouettes that follow, to the grave mud.

*

This poem was part of a special exercise in Whispers, April 2016. It is written around 12 words chosen from 12 poems of T.S. Eliot, 1 each, in order:

“The Hippopotamus”
“Hysteria”
“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
“Morning at the Window”
“Rhapsody on a Windy Night”
“Sweeney Among the Nightingales”
“Aunt Helen”
“The Boston Evening Transcript”
“Burbank With a Baedeker: Bleistein With a Cigar”
“The Buri…

The Solitary Reaper

I recited a poem by Wordsworth once.
The one about the solitary reaper
Singing all by herself
of "battles long ago", perhaps
"some natural sorrow, loss, or pain."
or even "familiar matters of to-day".

I will say the audience were moved.
They asked for his Orkut profile,
And what his latest status message,
is on Gtalk or Facebook,
surely something deep.
Do I have his email address?
And hey, is he on Twitter?

Published in Whispers, December 2015

River

foggy morning
the river flows from nothing
to nothing

first sun
the ashen-faced river
suddenly gleams

Rorschach blots
what the ripples reveal
and conceal

fighting the currents
to stay in the same place
river fish

silver half-circles
the sea on the night
of the full moon

Published in Whispers, September 2015

hair-combing outsourcing industry

Other day I am hearing
that one neighbour-lady
is going to beauty parlour
to get hair oiled and combed.
No, no, no facial or manicure,
just hair-combing.
She paid hundred rupees for it.
I am thinking to myself only,
new new things are getting outsourced.

I am imagining how much big
hair-combing outsourcing industry
will ever become?
I am calculating based on
numbers from Wikipedia only.
30% people are poor,
I think they are going to
comb their own hair.

300 million are middle class
and upper class. Some 50%
of those must be kanjoos and not
going to go for outsourcing
but be cruel to their wives
and make them comb their own hair.

That is leaving 150 million people
who maybe outsourcing hair-combing.
More than population of
Russia or Japan.
Everyday they are spending
hundred rupees only for
oiling and combing.
Two days it is staying.

So every month thousand
five hundred per person
for oiling and combing
hair. Into 150 million.
Must be lots of money.

Arre, thank you, madamji.
You are mak…

there is no partition when impressing young girls

I am hearing, ji, that one person
is get dismiss from party
for praising of Jinnah.
Arre, why you are fight
over the past history?
Jo ho gaya, so ho gaya, no?
Many other good reason for
dismissing no -
he not praising my new sherwani,
he not coming to my daughter wedding,
he talking to enemy party madam.

Why you talk of Jinnah and
partition?
That is partition jo ho gaya.
There is many more -
in people's head.
Brahmin vs dalit vs thakur,
sikh vs jain vs christian,
ameer vs gareeb vs middle class:
everyone wanting separate
country, maybe not
saying loudly.
Who writing books on that?

But there is no partition
when impressing young girls.
That day I am seeing -
one girl too lazy,
too impatient
to buy ticket
is give money to passenger
to pass to conductor
who is at other end.
Whole bus is helping, ji -
all mens are rising to occasion:
young, old, hindu, muslim,
fit, fat, rich, poor,
hero, zero - all type mens
wanting to help young lady.
Maybe I write book on that.

What do you say, ji?

my beloved's eyes

Many poets are writing about
their beloved's eyes.
So I am also writing
because beloved is asking -
what to do?
So I am writing poem
on my beloved's eyes.

My beloved could have had eyes
like deer - Mriganayanee -
soft, expressive,
radiating innocence.
Everytime she look at me
there is a ghazal.
But she not having eyes like that.

My beloved could have had eyes
like fish-shape - Meenakshi -
long eyes, with bewitching
eyelashes full of
temptation, seduction.
Everytime she look at me
there is a sin.
But she not having eyes like that.

My beloved could have had eyes
that create love - Kamakshi -
half-closed, with a light
that leads to celestial union.
Everytime she look at me
I fall at her feet.
But she not having eyes like that.

My beloved could have had eyes
that show the universe - Vishalakshi -
within them, vast ocean
of timeless eternity.
Everytime she look at me
I achieve moksha.
But she not having eyes like that.

My beloved is having the eyes
that are like toad - Mandukakshi …

ego-friendly poem

This is an ego-friendly poem.

It is not trying to make a point
because it admits that you,
dear reader, have a point
and it will not contest that.

This poem is not trying to
say anything new because
it concedes to you that
talent, that right.

It will criticise nobody
for who better than you,
dear reader, to make
a judgment?

Neither does this poem
praise anyone, not even
you, dear reader, because
that again is a form of
judgment
and that is best left
to you.

It is not even trying
to do something smart
because, again,
who is smarter than you,
dear reader?

This poem will not even
claim that it is an ego-friendly
poem.
That too is judgmental,
is it not,
and that function,
is yours alone,
dear reader.

So this tries to be an ego-friendly poem.

*

Aug 22, 2009

***

Re-edited Apr 26, 2016:

This is an ego-friendly poem. It is trying very hard to be.
This poem is not trying to say anything new dear reader, be- cause it concedes to you that power.
It is not trying to make a po- int because it admi…

I am thinking to write the bad poetries

I am thinking to write the bad poetries
But I am not knowing because
I am thinking all of my poetries
Are good poetries only.
I am good in English, no
With 85% marks in Board examinations
And getting full marks in oral spelling.
And I am having the good imagination also
As many good friends are saying.
So why I to be writing the bad poetries?
Whatever I am writing is so good, no?
Or atleast that is what good friends
Are all very sincerely saying.
But am I to be trusting my good friends
Who did not getted 85% in English
In Board examinations like I getted?
Not that I am doubting the sincerity
Of my good friends - that is surely sin -
But they are not of same calibre
as I am being, no?
So I think I am not writing the bad poetries
But writing the good poetries only.

*

Aug 19, 2009

I cry save me, save me!

Whenever I think of your name, I say save me, save me! Whenever I look at your face, I cry save me, save me!
Sweetest words in your mouth become bitter, what do you eat? Whenever you open your mouth, I cry save me, save me!
When you whisper the neighbours complain of noise pollution. Whenever you begin to speak, I cry save me, save me!
Wherever you walk lush forests become barren deserts. Whenever I see you arrive, I cry save me, save me!
The water you give me with your hands is deadly venom. When you touch Ozymandias, I cry save me, save me!
*
Originally written Aug 26, 2009