I was twelve
And had not seen
My being, bloodied.
Yet.
I was but a child,
Who had learnt from five,
To thread garlands
Out of reeds, and squeeze
Nectar from the hives of honey bees
And you came, uniformed
A hat on your head and
Venom in your eyes,
And i became your sacrifice
Your sacrifice for the many days
And nights that you spent away
From your town girls and your wife
What did you see in me?
When you took me away,
Did i not remind you of a child
That you might have sired,
When you were far away?
Do you know that when you
Were done with me,
I saw blood for the very first time?
That it came gushing, as if to cleanse
The sullied pores of your crime?
Do you know that your monstrosity
Comes upon me, every night,
And that i have not slept since then
That i have woken wet with sweat
Watching my bloodied, tears with fright?
At the end of it all,
You moved on
To bigger catches and better fame
And i became a statistic,
Of a well rehabilitated
Tribal dame.
And i, spent every day,
Mourning the death of
My lost childhood.
Still mourning the death
For everything my life stood.
Twenty years later,
Justice they say, has come
But my blood is all dried,
My tears spent now.
Your justice cannot bring back
That twelve year old child,
Who had not seen first blood
Until you arrived.
this poem and 'Tribals and Bestials' are both written in the moment, 20 years after the mass rape at Vachati, TN
Friday, September 30, 2011
tribals. bestial.
We were here before you,
Arrived; intruded our world
In the name of civilisation.
We were here among the trees,
The birds and the bees
We were one with them,
For centuries
Before you came, invaded our ways
And taught us grace
Of your animal ways.
We were here before you
And yet, you deem it fit
To teach us things –
Of big bangs, toothpaste,
And other material things.
Ah! Your ignorance!
Worthy of a good laugh,
For no matter how many trees
You rape to write your histories,
You will never know the secrets
Our Mother has taught us through
Her stories.
How to plunder the forests,
And gain satisfaction through
Printed notes of greed,
These,
We will never need.
But once you knew,
How beastly you turned,
Such bestial rage we have never seen,
We have never seen.
But the lush treasures of our green
And the virgin trust of our girls and teens
Turned on the beasts in you,
And we were left watching.
We were left crying.
When you brought us your savage ways,
We wish that we had learnt it well,
Of how to turn on the beasts within us,
And give you hell.
Alas! That is a lesson our Mother
Did not teach.
Neither did the trees,
Nor the birds and the bees.
And now, we are left watching
You murder our innocence
And rape it well.
Tears well
Bbut mute our pain,
How we wish we learnt those lessons
From you again.
Published in Muse India, Jan-Feb 2012
Arrived; intruded our world
In the name of civilisation.
We were here among the trees,
The birds and the bees
We were one with them,
For centuries
Before you came, invaded our ways
And taught us grace
Of your animal ways.
We were here before you
And yet, you deem it fit
To teach us things –
Of big bangs, toothpaste,
And other material things.
Ah! Your ignorance!
Worthy of a good laugh,
For no matter how many trees
You rape to write your histories,
You will never know the secrets
Our Mother has taught us through
Her stories.
How to plunder the forests,
And gain satisfaction through
Printed notes of greed,
These,
We will never need.
But once you knew,
How beastly you turned,
Such bestial rage we have never seen,
We have never seen.
But the lush treasures of our green
And the virgin trust of our girls and teens
Turned on the beasts in you,
And we were left watching.
We were left crying.
When you brought us your savage ways,
We wish that we had learnt it well,
Of how to turn on the beasts within us,
And give you hell.
Alas! That is a lesson our Mother
Did not teach.
Neither did the trees,
Nor the birds and the bees.
And now, we are left watching
You murder our innocence
And rape it well.
Tears well
Bbut mute our pain,
How we wish we learnt those lessons
From you again.
Published in Muse India, Jan-Feb 2012
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Of temple walls and those within
Trusting hearts,
Know not the vile
Nature of a rancid heart
And a rabid mind,
They come when called,
Surrender unknowing,
To lust, disguised in
elderly love.
They give in, because
We never talk about the word,
Although it’s there for all to see,
On temple walls and art, of course
But taboo it is, to speak of it,
Or encourage talk
In our walls, within.
They can see it on live tv,
Or see it on
Their monitors, for free,
But to talk of it to mothers
And fathers,
Is unspeakable;
such hypocrisy!
So, these innocent lives
Never know
What demented people
Have in store,
A candy or two,
A secret between the two,
Is all it takes
For innocence
To lose its trust .
If only we can open our minds,
As wide as we do our mouths and ears,
If only we can begin the talk
Of sex and privacy
Maybe then our children will be
more prepared than we
Care to see.
written after a conversation i had with my about-to-turn-teen daughter
Know not the vile
Nature of a rancid heart
And a rabid mind,
They come when called,
Surrender unknowing,
To lust, disguised in
elderly love.
They give in, because
We never talk about the word,
Although it’s there for all to see,
On temple walls and art, of course
But taboo it is, to speak of it,
Or encourage talk
In our walls, within.
They can see it on live tv,
Or see it on
Their monitors, for free,
But to talk of it to mothers
And fathers,
Is unspeakable;
such hypocrisy!
So, these innocent lives
Never know
What demented people
Have in store,
A candy or two,
A secret between the two,
Is all it takes
For innocence
To lose its trust .
If only we can open our minds,
As wide as we do our mouths and ears,
If only we can begin the talk
Of sex and privacy
Maybe then our children will be
more prepared than we
Care to see.
written after a conversation i had with my about-to-turn-teen daughter
no roses without thorns
dark words, these
that come tumbling upon the white
they feel like blood on innocent skin
so dark, some emotions that i write
some say these expressions will scar my soul,
others speak of a mind, disturbed
at the choice of words,
to others, these words are mere fiction,
that i intend to shock through verse
it’s hard to turn the eye away
when rape and murder of children
stares you in the face, everyday.
It’s hard to blind the heart
To a child begging on the streets,
And having passers-by move on, hurried
and instead throw their pennies, in turn
for God’s mercies.
the rose-tinted view of the world
is not without its thorns, my friend
so, let other minds look at the roses,
while mine will remind you of the thorns instead.
written after the poetry recital on 25 september 2011. someone told me that i wrote very dark poems.
that come tumbling upon the white
they feel like blood on innocent skin
so dark, some emotions that i write
some say these expressions will scar my soul,
others speak of a mind, disturbed
at the choice of words,
to others, these words are mere fiction,
that i intend to shock through verse
it’s hard to turn the eye away
when rape and murder of children
stares you in the face, everyday.
It’s hard to blind the heart
To a child begging on the streets,
And having passers-by move on, hurried
and instead throw their pennies, in turn
for God’s mercies.
the rose-tinted view of the world
is not without its thorns, my friend
so, let other minds look at the roses,
while mine will remind you of the thorns instead.
written after the poetry recital on 25 september 2011. someone told me that i wrote very dark poems.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Release
when the time comes,
why is it always so hard to leave?
what is it that binds me, holds me back?
is it you,
the love you have for me,
or my love for you that wants me
never to leave?
is it my care
that i dread to abandon,
or the scare
of who will lay out your tea and toast,
or help you find your way around the kitchen,
knot your tie
or pick your clothes?
is it the smell of the well-worn sheets,
that held our love,
that i hate to leave,
or the emptiness that will become
of our togetherness?
i fear for many things,
of what will become of you,
for did i not pledge my heart
until death
that will now do us part?
as the monitors stuck on me
tick my every second away,
i cannot bring myself to leave,
even if it means
that i can no longer be
alive; full of life.
as the moments pass
inevitably to that time,
when i will cross over
to another world,
i realise
that in time,
i too will become
that faded void
of what once was us.
now i know,
what holds me back;
my heart is with you
and yours in mine.
so, release me, my love,
for us was meant to be
only until now.
from now on,
it will be just you
but fear not,
for i leave behind
my heart within you.
And you will be safe
With yours within me.
do we know just when we are about to die? i believe we do, for i have seen it in my loved ones' eyes and in their touch. sometimes, they are ready to go. sometimes, it is us that holds them back.
written in June 2008, days after my father passed away
Sunday, September 25, 2011
wabi-sabi
Dishevelled,
My every strand in disarray,
Eyes, bleary from the drunkenness
Of the night.
The garb well-worn, with a tear
At the seam.
i glance at her
and she at me.
this face has seen
Countless nights
meandering in dreams
And as many days,
Wandering in thought.
and then i see
My crows-feet. Suddenly
Alive, etched into permanent marks
Around the eyes
That have seen,
loved, lived and died
Over and over again.
There are wisps of grey,
Settled irrefutably amidst the dark
Canvas of my hair,
Each, a toast to a lesson learnt.
Laugh lines gently kiss
The corners of my lips,
Some remind me of life
In its lighter vein,
Some, of tragedies that I have
Borne witness to. In vain.
I am no more a tender frame,
The burdens of everyday
Have settled upon me.
Generously.
She is not the I
That that will emerge
A few hours later, in
Coiffed hair and suit to match
The colour of her lips.
And rings that embrace
manicured nails,
Shoes that will announce their
Arrival with a gentle click on their soles.
She is the I that the world knows.
But when disrobed of external identity,
I discard the she that is not me.
I love this,
The wabi-sabi,
Perfection of imperfection
Than the world does not want to see.
The real she -
This is me.
written after an argument i had with a beautician friend! early february 2011
My every strand in disarray,
Eyes, bleary from the drunkenness
Of the night.
The garb well-worn, with a tear
At the seam.
i glance at her
and she at me.
this face has seen
Countless nights
meandering in dreams
And as many days,
Wandering in thought.
and then i see
My crows-feet. Suddenly
Alive, etched into permanent marks
Around the eyes
That have seen,
loved, lived and died
Over and over again.
There are wisps of grey,
Settled irrefutably amidst the dark
Canvas of my hair,
Each, a toast to a lesson learnt.
Laugh lines gently kiss
The corners of my lips,
Some remind me of life
In its lighter vein,
Some, of tragedies that I have
Borne witness to. In vain.
I am no more a tender frame,
The burdens of everyday
Have settled upon me.
Generously.
She is not the I
That that will emerge
A few hours later, in
Coiffed hair and suit to match
The colour of her lips.
And rings that embrace
manicured nails,
Shoes that will announce their
Arrival with a gentle click on their soles.
She is the I that the world knows.
But when disrobed of external identity,
I discard the she that is not me.
I love this,
The wabi-sabi,
Perfection of imperfection
Than the world does not want to see.
The real she -
This is me.
written after an argument i had with a beautician friend! early february 2011
look up, just once
Remember the time
When we could count them,
Connect the twinkles
In the sky,
Sitting pretty
Against the cloudless
Backdrop of the night?
We search now
And then,
Among the hazy smears
That we have scorched
Into the skies.
The murky canvas that proclaims
Our progress
Has but blinded us all.
A few years hence,
They will all be gone,
Most of them, unnoticed
For we would have been
Too wrapped in our world,
And warped in our worries
To look up at them.
To look up to them.
So we’ll paint constellations
On our indoor ceilings,
Lest we forget they existed at all.
But before they disappear
From our eyes,
Just look up once, every night,
Because once they are gone,
How will we teach our
Future to
Reach for the stars
At all?
September 2011 - after i tried in vain to show the kids some constellations up in the sky and was shocked at finding just some hazy speckles
When we could count them,
Connect the twinkles
In the sky,
Sitting pretty
Against the cloudless
Backdrop of the night?
We search now
And then,
Among the hazy smears
That we have scorched
Into the skies.
The murky canvas that proclaims
Our progress
Has but blinded us all.
A few years hence,
They will all be gone,
Most of them, unnoticed
For we would have been
Too wrapped in our world,
And warped in our worries
To look up at them.
To look up to them.
So we’ll paint constellations
On our indoor ceilings,
Lest we forget they existed at all.
But before they disappear
From our eyes,
Just look up once, every night,
Because once they are gone,
How will we teach our
Future to
Reach for the stars
At all?
September 2011 - after i tried in vain to show the kids some constellations up in the sky and was shocked at finding just some hazy speckles
Friday, September 23, 2011
endless circle
through the night
and sometimes
through the day
they fill her
one by one.
they reek
of decayed morals
that hang limp
from demented souls.
she is scared today,
for it is him again.
the one who scars her first
with abuse that flows from
a rancid tongue
soured with crime.
then it comes,
in venomous form,
powdered pepper
sears its fangs
into that sacred passage
whence comes new-born life.
her screams
are seen in terrified irises.
muffled otherwise,
for she must not wake
that little form
that lies crumpled in a heap
beneath the cot that creaks
under the weight
of burdens that
untouched mankind
calls sin.
he is done.
and bends down
to pick up remains of his
discarded desires.
he smiles, revealing
a glint of
a decayed silver tooth,
stained in the blood of betel leaves.
he picks her up, that child of five,
and feels his lust swell once more.
unsullied innocence
is initiated
into the circle
just like before.
after a TED talk by Sunita Krishnan 2010
and sometimes
through the day
they fill her
one by one.
they reek
of decayed morals
that hang limp
from demented souls.
she is scared today,
for it is him again.
the one who scars her first
with abuse that flows from
a rancid tongue
soured with crime.
then it comes,
in venomous form,
powdered pepper
sears its fangs
into that sacred passage
whence comes new-born life.
her screams
are seen in terrified irises.
muffled otherwise,
for she must not wake
that little form
that lies crumpled in a heap
beneath the cot that creaks
under the weight
of burdens that
untouched mankind
calls sin.
he is done.
and bends down
to pick up remains of his
discarded desires.
he smiles, revealing
a glint of
a decayed silver tooth,
stained in the blood of betel leaves.
he picks her up, that child of five,
and feels his lust swell once more.
unsullied innocence
is initiated
into the circle
just like before.
after a TED talk by Sunita Krishnan 2010
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
aphrodisiac of inebriation
i am she,
the aphrodisiac of inebriation,
the searing cold
that melts with fire
and lets loose,
the empty heart
in search of desire
even lust perhaps.
i am she,
petite. uncoloured
in judgement,
until i am twirled,
tasted and consumed
before i lose it all.
i am she that transforms
exchanges on
matter and space
to philosophies
that sound profound.
i am the sacrifice
that men and women make,
to take on shades
that they discard
or are scared to reveal
otherwise.
I am the invisible friend
that surrenders completely,
for it is i that melts
into their tongues
and warms their hearts
when it's cold outside
when it's dark.
i see him now,
i see him pick up
two of me...
two cubes of ice
to dissolve the longing in his eyes.
written now, in the moment
the aphrodisiac of inebriation,
the searing cold
that melts with fire
and lets loose,
the empty heart
in search of desire
even lust perhaps.
i am she,
petite. uncoloured
in judgement,
until i am twirled,
tasted and consumed
before i lose it all.
i am she that transforms
exchanges on
matter and space
to philosophies
that sound profound.
i am the sacrifice
that men and women make,
to take on shades
that they discard
or are scared to reveal
otherwise.
I am the invisible friend
that surrenders completely,
for it is i that melts
into their tongues
and warms their hearts
when it's cold outside
when it's dark.
i see him now,
i see him pick up
two of me...
two cubes of ice
to dissolve the longing in his eyes.
written now, in the moment
Saturday, September 3, 2011
wordless
How can one
Transform twenty six
Into
A language
That describes
The feeling of lovers
Lying entwined, spent?
The haunting emptiness of
Cracked river beds that once
Teemed with life but now
Cry through silent screams?
A word that describes
Swollen bellies of children
That cannot differentiate
The hunger in their stomachs
From the anger in the hearts or
The sadness in their souls?
The beauty of an untouched sky
That sits atop snow-capped mountains,
Beckoning, teasing one’s heart
To soar?
Into the gut-piercing cries
Of a woman in rape,
Pinned down by monstrous lust
the emptiness in her heart,
when fingers point at her wretchedness
and bail the monsters instead?
Language that describe the
Laughter in a new-born’s eyes?
Into
The calm that emanates
From the heart
When lost in the world
Of one’s god?
written for a club contest on poems and quotes. revised sometime in 2011
Transform twenty six
Into
A language
That describes
The feeling of lovers
Lying entwined, spent?
The haunting emptiness of
Cracked river beds that once
Teemed with life but now
Cry through silent screams?
A word that describes
Swollen bellies of children
That cannot differentiate
The hunger in their stomachs
From the anger in the hearts or
The sadness in their souls?
The beauty of an untouched sky
That sits atop snow-capped mountains,
Beckoning, teasing one’s heart
To soar?
Into the gut-piercing cries
Of a woman in rape,
Pinned down by monstrous lust
the emptiness in her heart,
when fingers point at her wretchedness
and bail the monsters instead?
Language that describe the
Laughter in a new-born’s eyes?
Into
The calm that emanates
From the heart
When lost in the world
Of one’s god?
written for a club contest on poems and quotes. revised sometime in 2011
quick sand
How quickly wonder turns to doubt.
Almost
As soon as ink dries on paper
The thoughts
That seemed so concrete
And sure of themselves
Just a while ago
Suddenly waver and erase
themselves.
How quickly i begin to question.
Almost as soon as i
turn away from the altar
Even though a while before
I had surrendered to Them
My doubts, bundled
In coconuts and flowers
And smiled as i closed my eyes
Sure, that they had heard me.
How quickly sadness replaces laughter.
Almost
As soon as
You leave the door,
Even though you have just
Revealed to me the many
Splendored shades of love
Through your hushed promises
And tenderness,
Making me believe the
Luckiness of it all happening
To me.
Quicksand it is
I feel myself stumbling
From surefootedness
Into an avalanche of doubt
That consumes me
Until the wonder appears
Again.
written now in the moment
Almost
As soon as ink dries on paper
The thoughts
That seemed so concrete
And sure of themselves
Just a while ago
Suddenly waver and erase
themselves.
How quickly i begin to question.
Almost as soon as i
turn away from the altar
Even though a while before
I had surrendered to Them
My doubts, bundled
In coconuts and flowers
And smiled as i closed my eyes
Sure, that they had heard me.
How quickly sadness replaces laughter.
Almost
As soon as
You leave the door,
Even though you have just
Revealed to me the many
Splendored shades of love
Through your hushed promises
And tenderness,
Making me believe the
Luckiness of it all happening
To me.
Quicksand it is
I feel myself stumbling
From surefootedness
Into an avalanche of doubt
That consumes me
Until the wonder appears
Again.
written now in the moment
Thursday, September 1, 2011
the unfurling
At first, there is nothing.
Just fresh brown, erupting
In subtle, untold fragrances,
Teeming with miniature life.
And then
a slender cord sprouts forth,
bursting, announcing its arrival,
albeit hushed.
It brings with it tender hope
In gentle shades of green.
The unfurling begins,
One by one.
And then unfolds
The one mystery
No science can fathom
No art describe.
A mystery called
life.
Beautiful life.
now in the moment - a tender leaf is sprouting on my balcony. can turn anyone into a poet!
Just fresh brown, erupting
In subtle, untold fragrances,
Teeming with miniature life.
And then
a slender cord sprouts forth,
bursting, announcing its arrival,
albeit hushed.
It brings with it tender hope
In gentle shades of green.
The unfurling begins,
One by one.
And then unfolds
The one mystery
No science can fathom
No art describe.
A mystery called
life.
Beautiful life.
now in the moment - a tender leaf is sprouting on my balcony. can turn anyone into a poet!
your eyes said it all
It took just a moment
For fate to decide
That your time had come
That you were too precious to
Leave behind.
And we just stared
And cried some.
Helplessness had a new avatar
Cancerous fangs and
Treatment to match.
Tormentors took on
And you smiled,
For it was your bravado
That we were still leaning on.
The pains in your veins,
We never knew
But we egged you on with
Our ignorant talk,
Urged you to stay calm
And fight,
To not ask questions
And to teach your body
The power of your mind.
And through it all,
You smiled.
Tears of pain
That we happily mistook
For realisation.
Many months later
The colour of your skin
Paled, its surface
punctured now,
with marks of
venom cured by venom.
There was nothing left,
Just skin and bones.
And your smile.
Through the torments
And all the charades,
That science and art together
Displayed,
The monster found ways to strike
You back
More monstrous than before.
But no matter how hard its poisoned
Fangs tried,
The one thing it could never catch
Was the spirit in your eye.
For fate to decide
That your time had come
That you were too precious to
Leave behind.
And we just stared
And cried some.
Helplessness had a new avatar
Cancerous fangs and
Treatment to match.
Tormentors took on
And you smiled,
For it was your bravado
That we were still leaning on.
The pains in your veins,
We never knew
But we egged you on with
Our ignorant talk,
Urged you to stay calm
And fight,
To not ask questions
And to teach your body
The power of your mind.
And through it all,
You smiled.
Tears of pain
That we happily mistook
For realisation.
Many months later
The colour of your skin
Paled, its surface
punctured now,
with marks of
venom cured by venom.
There was nothing left,
Just skin and bones.
And your smile.
Through the torments
And all the charades,
That science and art together
Displayed,
The monster found ways to strike
You back
More monstrous than before.
But no matter how hard its poisoned
Fangs tried,
The one thing it could never catch
Was the spirit in your eye.
Resigned to Fate Series:Knotted Noughts
i lost it all to three firm knots
and three days of endless rhyme
muttered over holy smoke
and heady feasts of sweet and rice.
and then i saw him, this man
i had never seen
or chanced upon in my brief life
all of ten, for until then
it was just me, happily
ensconced in my world.
yellow knots threaded
together by golden gods
weighed me down
with their whispered tones,
and engraved in my heart
the many rules of marital bliss,
that i must abide with,
that i must lie in servitude,
and if fail i did, in these acid tests,
then my story would be
a grave one to tell.
sometime later a new life took form,
first a still born, then cherubic twins,
another boy and a little girl,
i had without much ado.
‘and now’, they said
‘her life is patterned in’.
then one night, he came to bed
took away my golden thread,
and the gods and the vermillion.
in one brief moment it was gone.
now i surfaced in a tonsured head,
in rough white yards,
relegated to a secluded spot
within four walls.
the infant cursed for her arrival
at an ill-begotten time
was snuffed out with
the milk of baby pink flowers,
punished for her faultless crime.
the twins were sent faraway
the last i saw them,
i inhaled their milk and boy-like smells,
torn trousers and dimpled smiles.
they went without even saying goodbye.
i knew not their whereabouts,
but now, the lump in my throat
had dried my eye, numbed my mind.
Solace i found in the last cord
That had tied itself to my womb once.
a trivial compensation for the nought
my life had become.
i held him close.
too close perhaps,
for my claustrophobic love
must have scared him so,
he left me for some lusty affair,
with a woman much older ,
a city belle, with skin so fair,
i was told.
now, they said that it was i
that brought ill-luck. not my child.
so i sit here, grind poisoned seeds as i cry,
it doesn’t matter now, that death i face
for she has already come upon me,
and i can vouch that hers is a gentler race.
but when i will be forgotten,
and become a tale to exchange,
let it be known
that it was the yellow gods
that failed me,
not i, as they claim.
Resigned to Fate Series: apathy of reality
she stands alone
amidst the sea
of hurried humanity.
dressed only
in ragged wear
patched together
in absent care
that struggles so
to cover skin
and unknown scars
that lie within.
her placid face
and hollow eyes
plead with
motorists and passers-by,
but all they do
is look away,
curse the system,
curse the day.
she knocks glass doors,
peering to see
if a coin or two
will fall down free,
from purses that bulge
with consumerist greed
whilst the likes of her
beg to feed.
a clatter here,
a note there,
sometimes nothing more
than a vacant stare
at other times,
a rude word or two
they all see her
but do not look,
afraid
that her sight
might wet their hearts,
they turn away,
shut their eye.
night falls
and she is forced
away from
her patchwork clothes.
she submits
and lies down
to feed
empty desires
on the streets.
lust swells to monstrous form,
until a child bursts forth,
from within her womb.
soon he rests upon her sling
oblivious to
the worldly din,
carelessly suckles
from a breast
devoid of love,
but wet with torrents
from above.
the breast struggles valiantly
to remain within,
the folds of cloth,
now worn tired, thin.
his scalp is singed red
by lice and dust
that have settled in
between the tufts
of hair and skin.
he wails in hunger,
and in pain.
then she holds him
tenderly,
for all hurried humanity
to look, to see.
now she knows
it’s easier on the streets,
for the rupee or two
will fall more easily.
Love, anger, hate et al
What are these, please?
In this battle of survival,
There’s no time to feel.
illusions of reality
I wandered many years,
Deluded by illusions
That offered to me a world
warped in bizarre chimeras
of what is and what must be.
I sought answers and received
Maudlin cries of sympathy
I reasoned and argued
And found that i was already
Lost before conversations had
Begun.
Surely these mirages i saw
were real, I thought.
Seeking answers,
i met saints in saffron,
And those enrobed in white
Men of god who believed in
a boderless might
I still not knew the answers,
For everywhere i went,
The questions were the same,
The answers none.
I wandered until there came a time
When my humankind gave me up,
To an institution for insanity.
Locked up, i discovered new
Apparitions of the world.
Cloudless with doubt,
as blank as a starless sky.
Hallucinating was i,
Of beauty that limited
Vocabulary.
But no one saw what i did.
After years of looking up to men
For answers i no longer cared about
I chanced upon a look above
And then realised the enormity
Of the blunders of my mind.
How foolish was i to find the one above,
amidst dwarfed mankind!
Deluded by illusions
That offered to me a world
warped in bizarre chimeras
of what is and what must be.
I sought answers and received
Maudlin cries of sympathy
I reasoned and argued
And found that i was already
Lost before conversations had
Begun.
Surely these mirages i saw
were real, I thought.
Seeking answers,
i met saints in saffron,
And those enrobed in white
Men of god who believed in
a boderless might
I still not knew the answers,
For everywhere i went,
The questions were the same,
The answers none.
I wandered until there came a time
When my humankind gave me up,
To an institution for insanity.
Locked up, i discovered new
Apparitions of the world.
Cloudless with doubt,
as blank as a starless sky.
Hallucinating was i,
Of beauty that limited
Vocabulary.
But no one saw what i did.
After years of looking up to men
For answers i no longer cared about
I chanced upon a look above
And then realised the enormity
Of the blunders of my mind.
How foolish was i to find the one above,
amidst dwarfed mankind!
Resigned to Fate Series: of goddesses and baby girls
She rocks her child
One last time
For it will soon be time
To bury her
In sacrifice
To the goddess
Who is the only one
That can grant that boon
Of bestowing lust
With a child
That will sire
But not hold within
A life.
This child now,
Will be sung
The final lullaby
And fed a potion
Of the sap
of poisoned cactus
that has willed its life
amidst desolate land
only to be culled to kill
a child whose
laughter the village cannot bear.
But who will carry the seeds
They desire?
When there is no more womb?
Will they beseech the goddess then,
To lie?
Published in Muse India Journal - Jan-Feb 2012
One last time
For it will soon be time
To bury her
In sacrifice
To the goddess
Who is the only one
That can grant that boon
Of bestowing lust
With a child
That will sire
But not hold within
A life.
This child now,
Will be sung
The final lullaby
And fed a potion
Of the sap
of poisoned cactus
that has willed its life
amidst desolate land
only to be culled to kill
a child whose
laughter the village cannot bear.
But who will carry the seeds
They desire?
When there is no more womb?
Will they beseech the goddess then,
To lie?
Published in Muse India Journal - Jan-Feb 2012
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