Sight

What do you see between my words?

Observe how the ink smudges with anguish.
Letters of his name, on which yearning twines around.

Or can you see beyond that? Can you see Rage?

Approval

I’m finally done
shoveling truckloads
into the gluttonous woman’s wide open mouth.
She's still hungry. She’s always hungry.
I don’t care anymore.

She will have to eat her own flesh.
And discover
that she wasn’t really hungry after all.

PMS

Questioning, pondering, wondering – trivialized as “PMS LOL?
Been with a lot of women, so know all about moodswings”
Go fuck your tiny brain, retard
Hormones
Why are men uncomfortable with menstruation
Why are women uncomfortable with menstruation
Catholics
Catechism, blood on skirts, don’t talk about it
Kept under wraps because coming of age was at 12 rather than 14 of previous generation
Celebration because she is ready to be impregnated?
Announce to the world that the womb is ready to be seeded
Legs to be spread only to the one chosen (by family, society, rules, world)
Pseudo liberated chauvinists
Men pseudo sympathetic to feminism - Why would a species/group recognised/accepted as higher/better willingly step down? Makes no sense. Yet pretend – to understand (PMS) condescend, patronise.
Feminists aren’t humanists, but then retards wouldn’t know.
Questions that can’t be answered, spirit that can’t be quelled, anguish of the soul – attributed to PMS
Go fuck yourself, you retard

Dying

As days go by, labels shrink
and wither away like dead skin.
I am not even narcissistic anymore.
Only delusional.

Warning

(i)
I don’t have a god, neither yours nor mine
Since that makes me less worthy of your God’s love,
would it follow by default
that I become unworthy of your love too?

(ii)
I have forsaken and desecrated those beliefs
that, ironically, form the core of your being.
Would I be forsaken and evicted from your mind
for that very reason?

(iii)
I disregard age old norms that I consider foolish
I am not afraid to be the first one
to break tradition, I’ve done that often.
Would you be able to live with that?

(iv)
My love is rooted in freedom,
by itself, it draws no boundaries.
They are to be drawn by you,
and it’s more difficult than you imagine.
Would you be willing to put in the effort,
and would you willingly step inside?

(v)
I wouldn’t deem serving you food
a responsibility that weighs heavy on my shoulders,
neither ironing your clothes nor straightening your wardrobe.
However, I will bring you food even if I starve
and clothe you even if I freeze to death.
Would you be comfortable with that?

(vi)
Money is not important to me. I like luxury, but there is no craving.
I will not nag you to save and keep for the future
So you might end up penniless.
My money and your money, will be your money.
So, if you save, you save, else no.
Will you blame me for ending up with ‘no future’?

(vii)
Talking of saving. And risking repetition
I have no saviour who will save my soul
from burning in the eternal fires of Hell
Except for you, if you want to see me in your Heaven
You will have to take me there yourself.
Would you risk heaven for love?

A Time to Reap

The seeds were sown a long time ago,
they have yielded an abundant crop.
Emptiness took root and spread on fallow
land - post card perfect now, against the backdrop
of frozen clouds that once wept caustic tears
to wilt laughter weeds. Stalks of solitude
bear ripe grains of silence, the reaper appears
with a scythe. All business shall now conclude.

Corvidae

Then their cloaks billowed in the raging wind
Raucous cries tore into a black eventide.
Priests of Darkness were they – for they had sinned
and heaven to them was forever denied.

Corvidae – theirs was an insatiable lust
for all of the secrets of darkness and light.
Gospels and testaments earned their mistrust,
and their blasphemous questions sought to incite.

The meek and the god fearing sheep were rounded
before the Corvidae corrupted their minds.
Virtuous womenfolk also proceeded
to aver to masters, their staunch allegiance.

The Priests of Darkness possessed snake-like eyes;
their words, their manner, above all their questions
made men start thinking, made men dangerous,
and goaded women to demolish their chains.

Then God and the King and all Holy Leaders
Conferred together to set things back right.
“Questions cause anarchy and views diverse,
Faith’s what we need for the world to shine bright.”

In a cave that the Corvidae usually met
Masked assassins, with sharp daggers, then hid
and they stabbed the Corvidae without regret
the world was then saved, of Priests it was rid.

Then their cloaks billowed in the raging wind
Raucous cries tore into a black eventide
Black winged Corvidae, ‘gainst a dark sky maligned
Cawed and cried and circled their graveside.

(Corvidae is a family of birds that contains the crows, ravens, rooks, jackdaws, jays, magpies, treepies and nutcrackers)

Rain

I hear the rain, falling gently on the roof
I can picture the droplets gathering and flowing
Through the grooves of the corrugated sheet.
My house (home house home house yes)
With its tiled, tapered roof, had a metal sluice
Of sorts, to collect rain water.
When it rained, we stood beneath it
And caught the first faint trickle of water
On our heads, each shoving and pushing the other.
And when it turned a gushing torrent, I’d stand there still
Even as others left. Seems as if I grew up in the rain.
Rain that fell on my head
Rain that left leaves and debris from the roof, on my head
Rain that turned pure later, distilled and clear
And yet failed to wash me of my sins.

Christmas Wish

I feel compelled now to write of Christmas
Most folks I know are composing verses.
Some rhymes are about the birth of the child,
Others but mere wishes for kin compiled.
Most are tagged with a greeting for New Year
Time saving and smart, this hand me down Yule cheer.

Ownership

A pearl lay glittering on the beach
Its smooth white bulging body
Held a pale milky smile
The pearl beckoned and I
Never one to resist wild calls
Knelt by its polished all-over belly.
Fancy got the better of me
I reached out and held it in my palm
When out from the sea a hundred mermaids
Leapt, fish-tails flailing, siren wails filling
the evening.
Their caterwauls trailed brightly
from my bleeding eardrums.
The pearl belongs to them apparently.
‘tis their plaything, ‘tis their own
I being no mermaid, I walked off.

No Worries

Sir, if you are reading this: rest assured,
I am not the least bit interested
in your pain or the lack of it, even
causing you more or less of it, even
crossing your path. And I have no vested
interests in being here. I am lured

just as you are, by the seductive call
of these dastardly words. I have nothing
against you – you were right, I was right, it
doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t seem fit
that I cling onto past grudges, they bring
no good. And the last thing I want is a brawl.

Writing

Does it seem like I do not know
that writing is just discipline?
But I do, I very well know
- writing is mostly discipline.

The deal is - if I am to be
as disciplined as it demands,
canonized alive I should be
and that's just one of my demands.

Two Blogs, Two Files, Two Separate Lives

This I have decided
Poetry shall be poetry
And prose, prose shall be
Siblings, to each other, shan’t be wedded.

On Writing Poetry

I get it now. The secret of writing,
and writing poetry. I have long wondered
how all those madmen compose verses
so pretty, so tight and heck even rhyming
Now I think I know, for long I’ve pondered -
madmen just write when not in their senses.

That’s that then, but then there is this ‘technique’
For, read poems and you will find, not just rhymes
But also syllables, eight each or ten
a line, that make sense and of passion bespeak.
How, by God, how? I’ve cried out many times
in despair, for answers I sought wise men

Men who could create, men who did create
and strutted their wares like whores do their breasts.
Come look, look, they cried, mine is better than his:
bigger, better, best! But then, that’s the bait
I think, cater to the masses’ requests;
show off, admire back those who admire yours

But then we digress, what we look for now
is not what’s done after or even before
but during… the act of picking some words
and then setting them together like how
pearls are set on a necklace. This I assure
is tough, I’ve even asked a few crazy bards.

Somehow I manage with my nonsense verse
That makes sense to just a few, not many.
I count my syllables, I sing them out
loud, I fit my lines in a small li’l space
sometimes I write the entire verse, plenty
revisions spruce them up, that’s all that’s about.

Conform

Close your eyes and listen to the hum of the world
All those people, all those thoughts, their constant
ceaseless inner conversations, the roar of tyrants
And the shrill whistles of Rules, those that run the civilized world.
Do not think, do not speak, do not express
Most importantly, do not do.
For that’s the only way, the right way,
Considerate, civilized and the path to amenable co-existence.
Man is a social animal.
Conform.

I shall give birth to you, and the pain of labour
Shall be my trump card, a sword that I dangle over your head.
Never shall I mention that I conceived you in a moment of lust
You don’t need to know that, and it is just a minor detail that can be ignored.
I shall raise you, provide you with food, shelter, clothes
All better than your peers
And to give you all that I shall work hard, serve corporates
Or governments, I will moan and groan about how hard I work
And look at you meaningfully, “I do this for you”
And that shall be another sword that I dangle over your head.
When I do all these for you, why can’t you give me the one thing that I ask for?
Why cant you just
Conform?

Did you know that God created the world?
Shush. Don’t ask, just listen.
Just as He created, He can destroy
There’s a place called Hell for the disobedient like you
Trust me, you do not want to go there
There’s Lucifer and his lobster-coloured cronies
They’d deep fry you and poke you with pitchforks
You will be in agony, no one will help you.
And then there’s Heaven
Where angels sing and play their harps
You can sit on cloud chairs and sup on honey
Join the angel choir and worship God.
Only the pure in heart can enter the gates of Heaven.
And the pure in heart obey rules, they believe, they have child-like faith, they don’t question
They
Conform.

Now, you must be under this foolish notion that you must not kill
Well, you must not, but sometimes you must
And guess what, I will even pay you, glorify you, if you can do that.
Shush, don’t ask anything. Just listen.
There are people called enemies, they live across wire fences
Those who stand that side are enemies and this side are friends.
Simple.
you shoot the enemies, burn them
ravage them, rape them, loot them, torture them. It’s not wrong. It’s the highest right.
Do that and I shall call you brave.
You shall be glorified, posthumous if you get blown off in the shoot outs.
Now this is not for the chicken hearted. You ought to be the bravest and noblest.
That’s the way of the world. Do you have it in you to
Conform?

Disgust

Oh, come now!
You don’t mean to say
that you are, er
in love with me or something, do you?

I guess not, I hope not
Oh Heavens, No!
Spare me the tripe
of your co-dependent longing
and that priapic rapture
as you see my face hear my voice touch my skin
or fantasise about
seeing my face hearing my voice touching my skin

I’m done with you
and a long time ago.
Then why do I write this?
Because this masochistic high of being disgusted at self
for allowing even one moment of intense emotion for you…
this haematic high, is quite addictive.

I once knew this bastard
(How easily I judge)
who proclaimed Love
(How I hate the word the sentiment the feeling the confession)
to someone whose creativity complemented his
(She inspired him too, another muse, silly goose)
but guess what, despite all his oh-so-true feelings
(yeah, it got him a hard-on, that much was true)
his destination lay elsewhere, of that he was sure
(with hair grey, skin wrinkled - his old age home)
wedded to this faithful slave he was
(you know how it is, pati parameshwar, conceited bastard or not)
he’ll return to her, he said, his eyes brimming, love shining
(spineless parasite)
but for now, he told her, you’re my everything and my love is true.
(Rot in Hell)