Out-of-tune

Making a mound of clothes and bags

With books I ought to read ,

I turned my back to it

And surrendered, yet again,

To the pleasures I can't deny.

I close my ears,

No, I don't want to hear

My nagging voice-small but

Pinching to the core.

I know what I am doing

No, I don't want to know

With my nose deep into

The yellowed pages

In an attempt to sip

A gulp of the mastery

Ah! the tantalising taste.

My left hand blinkers my vision

I don't want to see the mirror

It mocks me, imitating my actions

With back turned

To the mound of clothes and bags

With books I ought to read.

A finger on the right

Steadily following the dancers

Moving to the tunes of distant lands

Dancers in black,

Charming me to the distant lands.

My little voice sings along

Out of tune, about mounds of clothes

And bags with books.

Don't stop dancing as yet dears

Let me have another sip.

The manna tastes different now

It has turned rancid now.

My back to my love

My mistress unhappy,

A sacrilege to them

Or myself- I might never know

I might never want to know.

Untitled

The cold wind creeping upto me,

The eerie sound of the bark flaking away,

Coming on fast like an approaching train.
One day the circumference will be covered,

Leaving me naked, unprotected.

No, I'm not ready yet,

The wind pierces my soft skin,

The sun charrs my innocence.

I still need the warm, woody blanket, the fragrant viel of Love.

How I want to hold on to you!

But with no arms, I'm helpless.

Look! I'm perspiring- the agonising shivers it sends through me.

Each passing second thumping on my chest like a dagger.

See I'm bleeding,

With each piece forced away from me.Can't You see?

Let me die with my bark,

Or I'll bleed to death anyway.

Don't you want to see for yourself, asks the Voice,

How the morning breeze feels like in early spring?

The summer heat which tests every drop of patience you can muster,

The freshness of monsoon drizzling over you, promising a new shoot,

The cozy warmth of closeness in the winter, pray, don't you want to feel?

The care of the old will never fade.

Look on your body, each departing fibre has left an impression,

You are, but a mould of the old Cast.

A living testimony of the cocoon that once was.

Don't dissappoint the imago, whimpering like a losing soul!

Yeah! The imago has to complete the circle.

But the young bark? What about it?

It'll stay moist- delicate and tender,

Lest the trickle of sweet scent should dry up,

And leave me thirsty till I die, thirsty for more.

Love's Labor Lost?

Two war-worn soldiers, exhausted

With bloodshot eyes for lack of sleep

Hands trembling from finger-pointing and trigger-pressing.

They meet at a tavern where the wounded lick their wounds.

They recognise each other from afar,

Uniforms shouting out what they stand for, or what they stood for?

A wry smile, only the defeated could empathise.

A sip of liquor is all they need

To open the dam and flood out pent-up emotions.

Words of emptiness and causes lost

Of being tired and carrying on,

And of giving up and forgiving the giving up.

“I don’t hate you”, said one to the other.

Said the other, “Neither do I”.

“I want freedom”; of soul, and spirit and indigenous shit

Freedom to create one’s own hell-hole, one’s own mess.

Why! It’s liberating to pee on one’s own walls,

Defecate wherever one wants to, fill the nostrils with stench

Of one’s own making. Keep the fire burning. Revolution on a pyre

Of yellowed pages, history, identity, humanity and much more.

“I want freedom too”. To live, breathe, create. To be.

Without asserting, shouting, fighting or victimizing.

Born an animal, an animal I want to be.

Who are we fighting and what for?

A space our own, miles of fields and forest cover,

Or a patch, six feet or lesser still, over layers

Of wisdom, into dirt this cacophony.

Where trees fruit to die giving way to new rush of lives,

Moving on where old roots don’t suffocate, inhibit, amputate

Where change is without regret, unapologetic. Evolution.

In the melee I want to thrive, sweat and deserve this breath.

This futility. Demanding what’s no one’s to give. What’s ours to begin with.

Freedom? First a look into the mirror, a cold, long, stare into the deep.

 To accept, scrutinize, criticize, circumcise the shitty fuss.

 Staring down the barrel, laughing at oneself, begin!

His Mistress' Love

You, the fickle mistress,
My life, this life.
Tantalising me
With your whims.
Fuck! The intrigue.

In my grip this moment,
Not, the next.
I own you, or so I think,
Or so I want to believe.

I own you in this flesh and blood,
These muscles and sinews,
This beating heart.
Or not. You slip away.
In moments, seconds and the
Ticking of the second's hand.

You slippery whore!
In my grasp I dream,
I awake with your train in my hand,
Only the end. It slips too.

I feel you in the lover's kisses,
The touch that sends shivers
Rising in tides, come crashing down too
Into drops, a thousand and one.

Everything, yet nothing.
This mighty spirit claws into this flesh.
I rule you. I command you.
Or not! That mocking laughter I can't control.

I let you slip, exasperated.
I chase you. I beg you.
I serenade and seduce you.
Only in death will I own you.
Or not.

The Abyss

 I fetched water from deep oceans blue,

All my strength’s worth and more

Poured into the Well. Oh! Silly me.

The precious jewels I dug in caves dark as night

I threw them all in, yellow ones first

Then in went the reds.

I picked the white,

Each cut reflecting brilliance on my face,

In it went. It fell and fell.

It only fell.

Not an echo of a wall struck.

Not even the sound of a splash.

Only hollowness, it traversed.

In went the sleepless nights

Tears cried on the lonely pillow.

Angry words died in the bottomless pit too.

Hopes of It overflowing thrown in bales

Wreathed in the songstress’ odes.

The Pit never fills.

Withered flowers, ashes of poems burnt,

The warm breath on shivering nights,

Remembrances of the fondest kind.

Take them, please. Take all of them.

As an abyss must. And barter, if you want.

Pay not in kind, if you wish not.

Do so in dreams I dreamt,

And in seconds and sighs and drops of tears.

Another room locked up

Somewhere in the corner.

Let not the poignant fragrance fade

Or mix up with new unknowns.

The room you left is vacant, but for the memories so dear.

Your laughter lingers in the space that's still yours,

Your words echo in the hollowness,

Your portrait still adorns its wall.

The hearth still glows with warmth,

Broth still bubbles to soothe the aching soul.

A new room for a new person

Or an old one to welcome an ol' friend.