A Love Poem

You can’t possess my wounds

They have several layers

You have to get in, to heal the core..

Like an egg you have to break through me

Tearing me is the only way to sew me

You know something ? You can’t tear

What is already torn

So forget this darn , waste of yarn

Give me your wounds , lets mix and match

For each of my wounds you take ,

I take two of yours

I lick your wounds

You swallow my tears

Lets write a joint poem on the night sky

I AM ANGRY WITH YOU BECAUSE……

I think of you in an empty room

And then I miss the skeleton of a bitch

in my  stretch jeans

 

I am angry with you because my hip

envies the curve of the wine glass

in your hands

I cut my hair as none of yours

are here in my clothes to embarrass me.

 

I am angry with you because

the bifid tongue of the cobra

depressed me , your tongue did not lick my teeth

or anything else

I have nothing to forget

Not even a kiss

 

I  am angry with you because

Trees have no mouth

They drink from the roots

They don’t eat nor do they speak

They don’t move on

 

I am angry with you because

I feel like stripping the shell

Of a star tortoise and see if she will

learn to run ?

If you will design her another shell ?

 

I am angry with you because

You don’t let me see your navel

Perhaps my missing cord

Has snuggled in there ..

I am cold with out that warmth.

 

I am angry with you because

I wrote the letters of your jumbled name

On the sands of the sea shore

Imagined you smiling at my tickling toes.

I winked at the light house

Hoping you lived there.

 

I am angry with you because

You looked at me through all the

anonymous staring eyes

In the night bus .

I search for the dark outline

Of a fullness in the half moon.

 

I am angry with you because ,

you had no clue that

I am more faithful to a vision than a reality

You judged me to be the reverse

 

I am angry with you  because …….because that is the

only emotion you permitted your self and me ….

 

SHAKUNTHALA REMEMBERS

You left me behind

In my father’s garden

Conquests of another kind

Beckoning you to hasten

 

The long wait was an ordeal

Tales of your splendid success

Did no longer appeal

Since I could not suppress

Regrets for my transgress

 

As the flowers in your garland

Withered in my room

The blooms of your love

Flowered in my womb

 

A blessing to revel and rejoice

Witnessing curses of a monk’s voice

 

As you offered your prayers

My gold ring slipped in watery layers

A huge fish swallowed

All dreams of my tomorrows

 

Recalling your endearments

In the court of Ten Commandments

Humiliated by your disbelief

Reunited with mother for some relief

 

Love child being born

Love was being torn

 

Under the bridge flowed lots of water

Heeding your pleas my son did offer

To your country his name

A love child, he was once my shame

“BHARATH’- Named after the prince born to shakunthala in gandharva vivah (wedding witnessed by angels!)

This poem is dedicated to Ms Christine Krishnaswamy , who was my teacher of poetry (2006)  and insisted that I write a poem that rhymes, and I had forgotten that !

Thank you madam…..

 

 

 

 

MAHABHARATH

Just because father chose a servant as my mother I became a writer.

 

I was a coward I chose a pen instead of a sword.

 

If you see some letters in blood it is mere illusion, I am not a fighter.

 

I merely watched others fight.

 

Those who are always defeated are not called fighters.

 

Those who run away from war front are cowards.

 

Those who kill their brothers, fathers, teachers, nephews are brave.

 

Those who learn strategies in the womb delay their birth.

 

They enter a whorl of arrows can not emerge out.

 

Illegitimacy of birth is armor, a debt to repay the mother with death.

 

Only the legitimate can fight for their rights…

 

Brotherhood is in sharing one woman. Step brothers unite in this step. Sharing a feeling or sharing a bed or sharing a plate of food it is all the same.

 

It is moral to gamble when you are a king…after all biggest bid is a kingdom, it was not earned, it was inherited.

 

It is moral to bid a woman’s chastity in court…..she is also your brother’s wife…all brothers share her.

 

When brothers born to different fathers can share her, brothers born to different mothers can also share her. If that was not a violation why is this a violation? If five can marry one why not multiply it by 20?

 

When you have blind parents……..a mother who pretends to be blind ……you can rape a woman in front of her. Pretenses can not be cured.

 

Disclosure in a court of law ……….rape is the evidence. Judge is also a witness.

 

Crime is a proof in it self.

 

Cowards ride the chariot of Gods.

 

When God drives a war head………Head of the family sleeps in a cot of arrows.

 

He fathered by valor…..his solemn promise was not to lose his sperms in an offspring and find brides for his step brothers.

 

His blood is all over the battlefield……..grandsons or sons …….born to brother’s wife or daughter’s husband……………death is not partial ………children are united in death.

 

Five villages for five brothers born to five Gods and one woman …….asking for little. Five brothers could share one woman’s womb and also share one woman’s bed , but not one village.

 

Five brothers could bid one woman’s chastity and recover it with out war.

 

But they could not recover the kingdom with out war.

 

        Even God never spoke of love except in childhood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I AM NOT A BOOK

I am not a book ,

You can’t read me in one night

You can not flip through the pages

Nor skip some paragraphs

You can’t tear the unwanted pages

You can’t read the end and pretend to understand

You can not re-read the passion

Nor revisit the sorrows

To quench your thirst for the extreme

You can’t see all my letters

You can’t burn them nor

Redirect them to me

You can not enter me

You can not bind me in a cover

Put a clean label and own me

You can not put me on a shelf

Among others ,generously

Calling me as your favorite

You can not translate me

In to your mother -tongue

And parade me like your child

You can not discard me as finished

Completely read like the digests of  last year

You can not recommend me to your friends

Nor donate me to a library

I am not a book , but you can still hold me…..

SHRINK LIKE A CHILD

Another day crawls

With out reading

News paper….

Yesterday’s news paper

No one reads today

A pair of eyes

don’t leave me alone….

A row of mountains

Stand in line.

A blue serrated

Weapon in a pretty

Photograph.

My feet are nostalgic

For the accelerator

Of a moving car.

You tap my chin ,

a new dimple appears

Where once

there was pride.

There is a wrestle

Between the sky

And the parting clouds

Earth below is hurt.

Roots are suffocated .

They hide a huge neem tree

who shrinks like a child.

Universal brotherhood

hangs like silence.

Men always sympathize

with another man

against a woman

Electric tattoo

Bled a name

Screams went down

a gut full of feelings

An echo of the

big hand of the clock

slapping the minutes

A small thorn

of the clock

pricks  time

Moved by the hour

Eye lids close

Softly like the

pink skin of the inner ear

Of a baby in deep slumber

of growth .

The pair of eyes

Which never left me  in all  this time

Steam out of the water in the bathroom sink

( Featured image -source unknown )

BOAT HOUSE

Silent waters in the nights

Still surface of untouched wine

Polished pine wood floors

Pashmina shawl for the shivering feet

A green mirage of mossy ground

A close island of four Chinar trees

to shade the solitude

A black lily in the white waters

Reminder of a lost young dance

I could not stay

It was not a house , a boat

Which would not move

It would not take me anywhere

There was nowhere to go

Wooden beauty in warm Dahl lake

Not  a life boat , none of them

No one needed to be rescued

Except me from my self……………