Autophony

O Saluva Timma, Mahamandaleshwara! Should I ever have trusted you, you who were to me As great and glorious as the Lord Venkateshwara? When your dying king bid you blind his infant brother You deceived him with goat's eyes, what evil treachery, Saluva Timma, Mahamandaleshwara! You saved me, you crowned this Krishnadeva emperor And hold all the Coromandel as your demesne As great and glorious as the Lord Venkateshwara? My wealth, my victories, my imperial demeanour I lay them all at your feet, if you would but ask me. Saluva Timma, Mahamandaleshwara! But now my son is poisoned; you stand charged with murder. If it were proven true, how could you stand before me As great and glorious as the Lord Venkateshwara? The law says to blind you, whom I loved as a father You who gave me glory, will you bear this infamy Saluva Timma, Mahamandaleshwara, As great and glorious as the Lord Venkateshwara?

Power struggles at home beta male snapping at the top dog; Gazing at Midday mates perhaps a little less than the norm lingering perhaps a little longer at ads for male underwear; Celebrating small triumphs with mousse and crying into pillows for being a nobody; Wondering every morning whether to shave myself or let the razor cut the jugular; Waking early for exercise but not before checking email; Wild mood swings between vinaigrette salad and cheese masala sandwich; Reading the Dhammapada while failing at trying not to think of a Canon Powershot SX 30; And a serious desire to poison a puppy-poisoner. My name is Milo Minderbender. I am thirty years old.

'Who poisoned my boy? Who poisoned my boy?' She goes around asking everyone. In her arms the rigid corpse of her son, Paralysed arms still clutching his last toy. Hollow glassy eyes stripped naked of joy Relentlessly repeating their question. Answers to which she bore on her person - Her own guilt that madness will not destroy. Pieces of bread soaked in insecticide She fed the puppies with great tenderness. 'They'll infect my child' she smilingly said To the tail-wagging bitch who stood beside. 'Lest he get some incurable illness, 'Tis best I kill off your children instead.'

That green dot is so full of guilt and indecision should I should I not will she rake up the past has she moved on should I say hi dare I say hi should I should I not is it guilt or fear or remorse or loathing for her or for myself?

Purple satin cushions blemished with blood; Likewise the golden cup crusted with gore; Velvet carpeting disfigured with mud; Crystal chandeliers that tinkle no more. Amidst all he lay – his body putrid – Chevrons proclaiming: base common soldier. Crawling with maggots, in his neck buried: A golden dagger, prize for his valour. Tha sabre that cut him was now at last Ornamented — with noble blood drying; Wailing and gasping for glories now past, Thrashing in gloom the marshal lay dying. One among hundreds with no pomp or show, His medallioned breast still outshone the snow.

A neuron fires: his thick glasses come into view; A synapse transmits: his silly laughter rings out; Axon meets dendrite: that's me learning something new, For now there's lots of him I yearn to know about. Currents so tiny they cannot even be felt Overwhelm me - his awkward grace, his gleeful smile; He's not there yet he's seen, he's held, he's touched, he's smelt. The circuit loops on - it's him, him, him all the while. The sight of him trigger's my brain's reward pathway In ways that chocolate or alcohol will not Anymore; my survival instincts shooed away As he seems to take over every nerve I've got. The heartbeat rises as enlightenment kicks in: It's love's electrostatic torrent that I'm in.