Autophony

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 the sun on the rise o'er the sea is this yellowing leaf yellower in the bright white of day Published in Whispers, October 2015

still waters and stiller these thoughts of mine far in the sunset the flamingoes taking off one by one Published in Whispers, October 2015

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

Fading memories and unwashed hills of clothes Back from vacation to the job that one loathes Published in Whispers, September 2015

Thro' thund'rin cloud an' silent glen This noisy train wi' lonely men Published in Whispers, September 2015

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

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....

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 wr...

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 th...

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...

Does toothpaste go back into the tube? No. Will the genie go back into the bottle? No. Does the child go back into the womb? No. Does godawful poetry go back into the head? No. Does the reader go away after reading this? Yes. * Aug 20, 2009

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

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