Autophony

They say you are doped Into silicon to make my computer run - Thirty three electrons rushing about madly That make silicon's fourteen Lethargic ones sit up and get about; You helped Madame Bovary, Emperors Bonaparte and Guangxu, And innumerable Bangaldeshis Find release from their mortal coils Even as you cured libertines Of the syphilis that shamed them; You pervade my life In paints and polishes And pesticides and pyrotechnics - Creating and preserving beauty Even as you truncate my breath. What would I be with you, arsenic, And what would I be without you?

Bodies sweat in the heaving crowd: Hunger, anger, anxiety, thirst Mixing with smoke, diesel and dust, Stranded commuters curse aloud. The night surrounds them like a shroud Their day like all the others cursed Their ambitions eaten by rust Stuck in a jam, their heads are bowed. Microwaved food, conditioned air, Cold water and LCD screens: Building a personal paradise In a suburban nameless lair I make for myself pleasant scenes and dream on till the sun shall rise. (Published in  Setu Bilingual Journal , August 2017 )

I'm fat, bald and sonneteering, Confused, half-bewildered fool, With love's games you're engineering My naivete as your tool. My dandruff does not bother you. You loudly claim indifference To my moustache and tummy too. For looks you claim no reverence. But you do stare at shampoo ads, At supermodels' six-pack abs; You follow all new hairstyle fads And miss no chance for elbow jabs. So do I trust your words or eyes, For what is truth and which are lies?

weren't you in school with me through birthdays examinations parties matches holidays and in college through flirtations examinations break-ups failures hook-ups interviews and in my first job through bosses' anger sarcastic remarks late nights mad clients commuter fights and yet I dumped you for laptops mobile phones email accounts tablets and let you lie in a drawer as a battery-less corpse your LED soul dead forever

mother is on vacation in a foreign country away from son and husband leaving me to do the dishes do the dishes - mind the spoons don't land at the bottom the tamarind doesn't clog the sink the vessels don't clatter and clang and bring on angry neighbours while the clothes are washing the clothes are washing coloured one in first batch towels and undies to go in the next and then to be hung out to be hung out the outer clothes on the balcony with a ladder and a stick and the inner ones dripping in the rear balcony in the rear balcony the broom and mop stand there grumbling silently about the dusty stain bedecked floor the dusty stain bedecked floor piled over with books and gadgets screaming loudly to be re-placed on their respective shelves which gloat and induce guilt about the undone dusting undone dusting and uncooked food and unfolded clothes and unbought groceries and unpaid bills and undisposed garbage how did she manage them all ...

gaunt jesus face to seduce on sight beret and blazing eyes to cry revolution a million dollars for black stencil design on red t-shirt ten thousand for dyes twenty for cloth and five for printing six million dollars half million in interest another half in taxes none in depreciation and one in amortization two million and sixty-five thousand dollars of capitalism selling teenage revolution Published in Amaravati Poetic Prism 2016

You lie there crumpled Like an abused and discarded girlfriend. dirty secrets we've been in together the sting of cold air on a nude body followed by the searing depression of a testosterone flush hidden forever in the yellow remains to wash away into the gutter you lie there crumpled like an abused and discarded girlfriend you once uncomplainingly stanched nose bleeds burst away pimples dealt with tears and rain and soap and mud covered up signs of masturbation and stuck by me my hot smelly sweaty body when others blanched you lie there crumpled like an abused and discarded girlfriend

They think I'm full of naivete they've prepared poison, gun and knife: My name is on a machete. They think I hear not what they say Conspiring to take my life; They think I'm full of naivete. My brothers the first to betray, And so my father, son and wife: My name is on a machete. A game of cat and mouse they play In every smile they hide a knife: They think I'm full of naivete. They say they love but scheme to slay. Among my friends bloodlust is rife: My name is on a machete. But I'm alert by night and day I shall not let go without strife! They think I'm full of naivete: My name is on a machete.

I arrogate all extraordinary words to my demesne