bookofpoetry

On the 'Shradh'

2012-01-24T12:25:00.000+05:30

i cannot believe that those departed are crows.

my father'd be a majestic falcon

my mother a little sparrow

my sister would be a chirping magpie

he, a mischievous raven

you'd be a rather serious stork

and i'll be the proud peacock

who thinks all the alternatives matter.

Abuse

2012-01-24T12:21:00.000+05:30

i could show you the wing tips under my eyes

and bruises of every shape and size

i could show you scars on my arms and feet

and puckered flesh from searing heat

i could show you the stripes on my back

and files that fill a sack

full of headlines that decree

what was done to me

the violence of my house that is plain to see

but i'll show you one

a love bite on my breast

and you'll realize

how heartless he truly is.

Paired

2011-07-28T23:14:00.001+05:30

i always place fork with spoon

vinyl record with show tune

salt and pepper in pots

line trophies together of battles well fought

i keep tea and coffee together

and animals attached to their fur

i places shoes and socks good to go

and lamps awash in their warm glow

i do not break flower from stalk

or wear high heels on a walk

i match locks and keys

and fragrance with breeze

and slippers and smoke

and mood with toke

i don't seperate right from wrong

or sorrow from song

there's no pleasure in drinking alone

or separating sex from the phone

i always butter my toast

and declare love the most

it's like your fingers and my hair

and sensing love in the air

if i can help it

i never seperate pairs

just because we can't be together

doesn't mean belonging is all that rare.

Purple

2011-07-15T12:20:00.001+05:30

take me on a wild goose chase
i don't care, a tricky maze
i don't care, a la la loop
have me jumping through burning hoops
if i'm a sacrificial lamb that's just fine
i'm willingly lead to the altar you'll find
stop making excuses would you please
i'm saying cease and desist
and just be cool, stay right here
i won't talk love, don't fear.
(even if i'm feeling it)

Rub

2011-06-04T14:06:00.000+05:30

bridges and switches

to burn and turn

on in a jiffy

even if it's all kind of iffy

or not really hep or cool or in

surely this isn't what you'd call a sin

so burn those boats let no one near

use your switch and watch skin sear

be indecisive, escapist or what have you

as long as you're here, even opportunistic will do.

Rub

2011-05-09T22:58:00.001+05:30

you're off to colder climes

leaving me alone with all this rhyme

and i dwell in the moments of the past

an old tale, not forgotten fast

and now he appears in my life

his absence cuts like a knife

but asks only that we be acquainted

and i agree, willingly antiquated

our conversations are intense

old incidents are making sense

but i am afraid to take it slow

because, sometimes, he seems good to go

but you can go off and do your thing

travel the world, have those flings

because i'm in this space in my head

my heart says go, like it has always said

this acquaintance is bound to grow
see me breaking down this door

i'm stepping into this room of grey

please be there is all i pray

i'm travelling half way as i always do

wait till i get there, please won't you?

Love Song

2011-05-07T20:28:00.002+05:30

you spoke your love into her skin
you whispered hey let's begin
let's go that place you and i
where you don't get to say goodbye
your breath warmed her very soul
and your caress made her want some more
and so you yielded you gave in
you craved this sweet sweet sin
the rain is gentle this afternoon
in bed there's a different tune
that lingers and swells and builds up high
and they are helpless and do know why
love does what lovers do
in each other, once more anew
and it keeps getting harder to leave
but time is like an old sieve
my love goodbye she says
clinging unwilling in a daze
but shut the door firmly on this day
or sure as hell, there'll be hell to pay.

Rub

2011-05-06T11:21:00.003+05:30

loneliness gnaws at her soul
and she searches for those who don’t care any more
maybe they did at some point of time
but now they feature only in her rhyme
when did all this cease to make sense
when did she lose all frames of reference
has it been growing or is this new
she’d like to know, but has no clue
this is she, the new her
hiding behind words, like a cowering cur
but she writes or at least tries to
it has been a while but this won’t do
she drags her soul screeching from the past
hoping this time this sojourn will last
there are no guarantees to life
and this damn thing doesn’t feel so right
so she’ll stay a while at least
till she gets restless and wants to leave
where will she go
what will she be
who knows let’s wait and see
maybe she’ll disappear maybe she’ll disagree
maybe she’ll stay true and remain me.

Superstition

2010-11-30T14:39:00.002+05:30

i cross fingers
wish on mail vans
send out a prayer
to the train
thundering over my head
i toss salt over my shoulder
kiss my fingers at the solitary bird
always keep the label up
on my blanket
and i don’t dog ear books
or throw stones at small creatures
i bite my tongue
when i utter a curse
don black beads
don’t make a face
when the wind is blowing
and i don’t crack my knuckles or elbows
or drink
wear synthetic
or miss a call
all of this to no avail
you still left
you still left
after all.

Untitled

2010-09-03T12:12:00.002+05:30

now that you're away
its easy to not say
what i want
that I miss you
that i am sad
that you've moved on
i haven't moved on from you
it is still your smile
your skin
your nicotine
that i crave
that need to embrace
who you are
i haven't moved on
maybe you have
life and its ways
sometimes its love
sometimes its lonely days.

Doodles

2010-07-16T11:54:00.001+05:30

there is no they
there is no them
there is just me
there is just him
there is no us
there is no we
there is just him
there is just me.

Reclaiming

2010-07-12T12:31:00.001+05:30

i traded intensity for comfort
and have regretted it many a time
i lost my insanity
and maybe even my rhyme
so now i am reclaiming what is mine
i want the uncomfortable glances
the awareness the knowing
the delicious dance
i want being off balance
the anticipation
the hope of romance
i want that intensity
i still see it now and again
and i am waiting
all that remains is
the who and the when.

Love Song

2010-07-04T23:01:00.001+05:30

tell me what you feel
that it hurts to breathe
that you don't want to see
where we're headed, you and me
tell me it's not over
that we'll have one last chance
one desperate shot
at this desperate romance
tell me the truth,tell me the truth
for once
in this now
the heart wants what the heart wants
it wants and how
a keen ache is worse,i'm told
than a sharp pain
but thoughts of you put me
in that place
again and again
sing of this body
its heart
its mysterious ways
i count myself lucky
it is hard
but i'm unfazed.

New Leaf

2010-06-29T17:20:00.001+05:30

since you've been gone
i can do what i want to do
wear any old pair of shoes
knowing i won't run into you
and that knowing smile
that shake of a head
that saying more than what's said
i can hang out at my old haunts
i do have one or two
and not smile
at the doorbell
that brings you
i can wear long sleeves
and lip colour so bright
you'd have said where are my glasses
this shade hurts my eyes
i can make conversations with other people now
all i need is to learn how
so shoes and clothes and cosmetics
quite a full life i'd say
ah but where's all that intensity
i'd take that any damn day.

Staying

2010-06-29T16:50:00.001+05:30

tonight i pour a draught of wine
into a shot glass
smiling as i do
knowing how it’d annoy you
you and your oh-so-proper ways
even in an alcoholic daze
you are always so exasperatingly right
the wine
tastes fine
and i remember my first sip of it
after an awkward clinking of glasses
self conscious
one thing crossed off the list
i read a book you were too
wishing i could talk to you
about it and life and what may be
and i wonder
do you wonder about me?

Make a Wish

2009-10-31T23:21:00.000+05:30

a little child
with shaven head
and sunken eyes
seizes me up
holding on to
a drinking cup
and a smile
wisdom and knowing
beyond its years
having met head on
all our deepest fears
and are those tears
no the eyes twinkle
the spirit, undamaged
though the body is ravaged
by disease
and pills and pleas
and potions and principles
and people’s pain
what can you wish
for this young one
toys, treasure
or your time
or a prayer
that some day
you just may
have a will
a spirit
as radiant
as theirs.

Doodles

2009-10-31T23:18:00.001+05:30

turquoise
lapis lazuli
the tongue wraps itself
around words
beautiful
as binding ties
whimsical
cat’s eyes
and searches
for more
words that mean
home
like you and i.

The Net

2009-10-31T23:12:00.000+05:30

i’m on the net 24/7
looking for sex
looking for heaven
some people think
that’s one and the same
i don’t agree
but still play the game
i meet interesting people
while i am there
and it’s a wild mix
a sumptuous fare
the old man who’s
just looking to die
the whore who asks
when and never why
the teenager who shops
when you get off
the former beauty queen
who’s gotten a little soft
the regular lonely husband
the bewildered wife
the hit man with
the calling card knife
the father looking to
cure a sick child
immigrants who claim to
drive you wild
the gypsy
the gung ho
the addict
the gimme more
they all inhabit my world
my realm
i see them all
i see me in them.

Dwelling

2009-10-28T23:02:00.008+05:30

i need to get out of this space
pitch my tent some other place
this dwelling does me no good
i am always in your neighbourhood
i pass your house time and again
sing your song, dance in your arms
walk with you in the falling rain
find irresistable,that subtle charm
i need to move on
to save my soul
to look back and say
i am whole
to sing a song of sanity
to not be lost
to actually see
but one last time
just let me be
let me stay
just for a bit
and sing this emotion
that i feel
in my heart
it lightly sits.

The Terrace

2009-10-20T12:51:00.000+05:30

the mind works
the heart whispers
hands stilled, held by moss-covered bands
soft unyielding
legs clash collide harmonize
find space, find their nook
noses align
mouths tremble and are firm
pressed by loving weights
lips part, voices hush
breathing jerky but synchronised
heart to heart
like the sea on the sand
everything comes together
the wind howls
the stars shine on a black canvas
below- oblivion
The perfect kiss.

Seashore

2009-10-20T12:45:00.000+05:30

by the ocean far, so far away
the sun rises to another bright day
purple glimmers the water far below
and gulls begin to clamour, circling the cove
the coconut fronds start swaying
to the beat of the gentle breeze
that embraces all around it
and disturbs the seas
the flowers awaken from their sleep filled night
the birds are getting louder arguing
having a fight
a crab scuttles along the sands on the shore
and from the beach you can hear the ocean roar
pretty pink shells pepper the path I walk on
and the grass feels smooth a fresh mown lawn
i stand at the cliff’s edge
look at the vista before me
almost unbearable beauty stretches to eternity
I’d thought I should jump off but
now I step back and stare
and consider myself lucky
lucky that I am there.

Dwelling

2009-10-09T16:51:00.004+05:30

i refuse to toe the line
and not wear my heart on my sleeve
and live in constant fear
that if i'm candid
you'll leave
that's your trip
this let me play it safe
it's not the whisky i sip
i absolutely refuse to obey
so i'm going to be honest
and tell it like i see fit
if you don't like it
tell me please don't leave.

Dwelling

2009-10-02T14:24:00.004+05:30

burgundy makes me blue
and nutini reminds me of you
but new shoes don't help
and candy just won't do
i am sad but not much
i feel poised, primed as such
unknown and anticipated at best
tonight's just like all the rest.

Quantum Mechanics

2009-09-18T13:41:00.012+05:30

combustion of any kind
is fine by me
he said
i agreed and think I know
exactly what he meant
but lovely man with that cool analytical streak
surely you must mean
combustion that runs engines
not the kind that makes you dream
smouldering simmering
tacit fire
subterranean slow turbulent desire
spontaneous combustion
steamy hot
all kinds of combustion
a veritable melting pot
that romantic side you hide well
will surely find appeal
in this kinda combustion
that helps seal the deal
and given how easily you embarrass
it might be interesting to see
you slowly furiously turning red
under the combustive heat
so no boring mechanics or machines
or what have you
i think i know
just the kind of combustion you refer to
no offence, but your degree does
no justice to this kind
it’s a meeting of (I hope for you) everything
but especially of the minds.

Smell

2009-08-31T23:44:00.001+05:30

a million carnations
a warm summer breeze
i smell like a wanton
sexy striptease
a hint of pleasures
potent to one and all
i smell like the woman
the woman to make you fall
fast approaching doom
though you may not see
a golden sunshine
should remind you o’ me
potpourri and cinnamon
coffee chocolate jasmine
i smell like a delicious treat
that you might eat
will devour
a cold stinging rain
a puppy’s affectionate luck
soft as a pony’s mane
bright as a little wick
i smell like forbidden pleasures
forbidden to you
i am more than you can handle
and all that you can do.

From Within

2009-08-31T23:37:00.000+05:30

inside me lives a book of poetry
an unborn child
a woman’s happiness
a man’s desire
inside me cries a far away wedding
unrequited passion
desperate longing
a cruel twist of fate
inside me wanders dreams of a home
trips romantic
satin sheets sex
an eternity of metal
inside me lives a perpetual all man
a need to belong
a clamour for attention
a kiss at least
inside me lives hope
inside me lives love
inside me lives you.

Vice

2009-07-01T01:25:00.005+05:30

the world
does not give
second chances
to recovering alcoholics
and raging whores
or is that
raging alcoholics
and recovering whores
maybe it is
alcoholics
enraged
all the rage
deranged
whores recovered
covered
discovered
what ever.
society cuts no quarters
for them.
or for
recalcitrant children
and rundown villas
and redundant parents
and has been stars
society treats all equally
unfairly
and we play along.
the world is full of people
who beg
extend your hand
i need that touch
so i can
pick myself off of this ground
and be whole again
and we
who have both hands
and arms and can easily carry
this burden
look
and look away.

Moody

2009-06-20T12:11:00.003+05:30

It's so easy
to embark on an affair
a side long glance
perhaps a pointed stare
messages are mixed up
finger tips trail fire
and before you know it
in an affair you are mired
it is so easy
to enjoy an affair
wanton wanted
neither has a care
and before you know it
you live and breathe
for this stuff
trying everything
from bluff to buff
guilt makes a weak appearance
chance says i exist too
you have a chance
to do it right
this time
don't think
feel act do
an affair may last a lifetime
a moment a blink of an eye
it's toxic
but exciting
babe its you and i.

Moody

2009-04-17T18:27:00.003+05:30

even as i say no
i know
i will go
down the path of pleasure
moss underfoot stars above
will cushion my journey to love
my footsteps are fireflies
my tread light as rain
i am walking down this
road
i claimed never to walk on again
the thin fabric clings to me
as though urging me on
a prayer in my heart
on my lips a silent song
a discreet flight of stairs
the inconspicuous door
i knock wait listen
then i knock some more
maybe he isn’t expecting me
but how can that be true
he’d said please please
i will wait for you
the door opens and i see
him standing there
the look of naked longing
strips his face bare
we make it from
the door to bed
nothing is spoken though
the hand that holds mine
and leads me
says so much more
a rattan roof
is broken up
by a slow revolving fan
languid turgid is the night
intense is the man
leave us now oh reader
a voyeur you cannot be
love makes us over and over
that you sense you see.

Treasure

2009-04-01T01:29:00.000+05:30

if you don’t find me in your bed
look inside your head instead
and if you don’t find me there
promise you’ll look everywhere
let me not be forgotten
like a putrid seed
let me not be cast off
like a wanton weed
swear to me
you’ll seek and find
and in ties of despair
you will bind
my soul my self
my poetry
release me not
don’t set me free.

Regret

2009-03-12T14:08:00.000+05:30

he makes me believe in
romance and mush
in red roses and things
as such
i listen to a soppy song
and think how true
not go yuck
like i am known to do
i want to be married
to be his wife
i want to love
and bear his child
and when a sad song
comes my way
i cry my heart out
and rue the day
i let him go
pushed him out
and no matter how
i scream and shout
he is not mine
nor will he ever be
haunting sobering
this reality
lyrics of longing
remind me of him
such need such desire
a marked sin
how can i not have
what i need
i want him
is this just greed.

One More of them "the ends"

2009-03-11T02:09:00.001+05:30

my pain’s in my poetry
my tears in your touch
my laughter in your loving
nobody could love you as much

there’s magic in our memories
and sorrow in our songs
and deja vu in our dreams
that keep me up all night long

there’s a love that’ll never go away
and moments i’ll always remember
a pain that continues to linger
it’s a feeling that is for ever

there’s a future at the frontier
and passion in the past
there’s joy in a friendship
there’s reconciliation, lessons at last.

Moody

2009-02-26T13:52:00.000+05:30

if love can last a lifetime
how many lifetimes do we need
to be together
to right
hasty deeds
if love can sing a psalm
of hope
let it sing
loud and long
let it be heard
at least to you and me
let it be
a healing song
if love can take all this
pain
and turn it into life
i think i could finally be
his love
his lovely wife
if love hurts like this
and this hurt means
it is love
let it pain
let it ache
let it cut deep
as long as it is
oh lord let it be
as long as it
is love.

Moody

2009-02-26T13:47:00.001+05:30

poetry falls like pearls like pain
and brings me home back again
to you love your simple truth
hope springs eternal i’ve heard it said
let’s put though this hope to bed
for what counts is you and me
and the truth that only we see
spiritual carnal illicit love
no matter what
this is love
and hope will help
but not do it all
you and I need to
take this fall
(take the plunge perhaps)
for what we’ve started
and may never finish
we’ve restarted
at some peril
hope springs eternal
but love does too
and love is enough
for me
and for you.

Dad

2009-02-06T00:27:00.007+05:30

My paternal grandfather died many years ago. i remember walking into the house with my mother and seeing my father sitting there, having just been given the news over the phone. The look on his face, the rubbing of fingers over his brow in a slow,almost hypnotic fashion.. i still see that vividly.

What followed was trying to get him to Secunderabad from Coimbatore at the earliest. He caught a train to Madras and from there a flight to Secunderabad.There was nothing from here i think..

What greeted him at the end of his long and undoubtedly painful journey was my grandfather's empty room. All the obsequies had been performed before my dad, the eldest, got there. While my father had been aware of this decision and knew that what he would see was what he saw, i have often wondered what he might have felt like. What he still feels. Not the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve, dad has many layers to him and this is not a topic i see myself bring up anytime soon.

Last year, i wrote this, my way of making a little peace with what happened, to my dad, all those years ago.

Dad

i travelled
by bus train plane
wondering when i’d see him
again
what would i say
to break the ice
to make things right
but I knew when i’d
get there
i’d find the room cold
and bare
his books dusty
his many shelves
will bring home this
point in sharp relief
but i wish i could
tell him that
that despite it all
he was my dad
and we had our differences
that’s a fact
but I’ve always loved him
when I reached him through
bus train plane
he’d been burnt
my journey was in vain
i looked around his room
i cried
the day my father died.

2009

2009-01-05T21:56:00.000+05:30

this year on my calendar
i will mark
if i may
all the happy days
i’d say perhaps
what a lovely time
he and i spent
no time to repent
in anguish or guilt
of the doing of wrong
or light as a song
i will write
of the night
when things
were set right
by a little straight
conversation
nothing else
watch how those defences melt
my calendar will
record many a happy meal
many a glass of wine
or vodka
or whatever
but it will mark
those happy times
maybe i will write
of friends coming back
finding their way to
themselves
and me
of questions answered
of patience rewarded
all that is golden you’ll see
as the year moves on
my calendar will too
and honour all that’s
dark and sad
but for now
it is bright
and full of light
and that’s not bad
not so bad.

Moody

2009-01-05T21:29:00.000+05:30

love karmic cosmic love
love illicit logical love
love grab you hold you love
love see I told you love
love i’m the one kinda love
love this will be fun kinda love
love make me your man kinda love
love you know you can kinda love
love bring me to tears kinda love
love address your fears kinda love
love this is unreal kinda love
love hear my appeal kinda love
love sing this song kinda love
love this won’t last long kinda love
love the can never be kinda love
love the you and me kinda love

Auden

2008-12-20T13:18:00.002+05:30

private faces in public places
you see
glimpses of me
i do not want revealed
a raised eyebrow
a hushed whisper
your name in every breath
you smile as you realise
you have swum against the tide
and won
me

like i am
some prize catch
catch is that

we are
who we are
and can only be that
these people
in this life
the face retreats
only to be revealed
at a different time
in a different rhyme.

OD1

2008-11-26T22:55:00.000+05:30

the marks on my arm have faded
i’m still cynical and jaded
my ride with them pills
hurled me off the window sill
but i have finally made it

a tube down my nose
an iv up my arm
another twenty or so
i’d be in good-bye farm

my innards turning out
my thoughts tuning in
garbled words in my mouth
my blood in the bin

the dance of the dervish
the devil in my soul
not that my absence
would have left a gaping hole

revenge is the rice tube
stay down for forty-eight hours
the sermon the lecture the icu laughter
my painful ears they jar

have i learnt my lesson
hypothetically it’s a yup
till the next time and the next
on an overdose i’ll decide to sup.

Clothesline

2008-11-10T20:15:00.000+05:30

the clothesline can tell you stories
that wearers will not reveal
of purple yearning
and blue moods
it tells you everything
the pastel triangles of cloth
a little one is in the world
a mother’s milk stained gowns reveal
pride that goes untold
lace panties satin thongs
a lover has been there
clothes that give away
more than they hide
give way to a penetrating stare
crisp lengths of unbleached cotton
speak of irreligiosity
the opposite softest cotton
speaks of temple visits religiously
blankets and patchwork quilts
remind me
winter is approaching here
eiderdowns coverlets aired prepare
for cold weather
socks towels tennis perhaps
some sport at least
silk sheets tell me of
games that tease
a pristine collar on
a much used shirt
feminist feminine whatever
tells you of a woman’s love
that no modernity can sever
starched crisp cotton
khadi classy silk
no matter what the fabric is
it brings society in its ilk
so this is the story of a home
and the cord that runs through it
you may bond over
fights
food
or fabric well knit
and when you see
it fluttering in the winds carefree
know that it is love
you see
i’ve started this poem
many a times
to abandon it mid way
maybe it needed time
to soak up the sun
maybe it needed today
warm clothes
the fragrance of
sun kissed laundry
raises my spirits
and sets my soul free.

Coming Clean

2008-10-28T17:01:00.000+05:30

my poetry makes people question me
and ask if i’m sane
i smile
shrug non committal
then write hard verse again
is it about me
i am asked
how can it not be
but then widow alcoholic abused whore
do these define me
i write because i have to
i don’t know any other way
to be who i am
i must speak confront
i have to say
the slimy uncomfortable stuff
dirty underbelly of life
weaves itself through my lines
i am honest
for this there is no strife
so read
if you can handle it
it is not my desire to
discomfit you (it is)
love it
loathe it
be compelled by it
don’t ignore it
no matter what you do.

A moody state of mind.

2008-10-17T15:06:00.005+05:30

ok, so love and all that jazz..changing my mind about the whole thing. it exists but not in the way i write about it. gimme the quiet man whose intensity lies in his loyalty and who makes this whole love thing look simple.

so here is a love poem, to celebrate this state i am in.

Moody 4
picking out furniture
drapes and dinner sets
curtains and bed spreads
jars of pickle
cinnamon and spice
a kitchen to cook
relish and rice
picking out love linen
pillows sheets patchwork quilts
lace and silk
to warm us in cold
nights
morns
noons and crimson dawns
picking out food
chocolate and whipped cream
maple syrup and candy dreams
to lick and pour
liqueur and more
picking out love
to cry out or sing
to raise you up
or bring
to your knees
and seize
this heart of yours
everything figured out
as you can see
except one tiny detail
are you the one for me?

Night nuances

2008-10-12T21:24:00.001+05:30

with my glass of water i sit down on the porch
the silence is quiet nobody encroached
the river flows sluggishly pregnant with memories
that will hold their own when they mingle with the seas
many a happy summer have i spent there
with you in my childhood content without a care
now we are older and married too
you are married to her but i feel wedded to you
in my heart my body i feel this way
i think about you all the time
have you thought of me today
i still live in the memories of
those far away times
when time was ours and
you were mine.

Compulsive

2008-10-12T21:03:00.003+05:30

write it down
write it down
my heart says to me
write down every scintilla
dirty as it may be
the truth has to out
who but you to do it
don’t pass the buck
or wait around
don’t just stand there
sit.
and write
so we may hear
of things unspoken
and so dear
of illicit love
and mindless sex
of casual comments
the kind that wreck
of pain’s sweet prison
that heals as it cuts
of a whole lifetime gone
in a series of ‘buts’
write about the friendly neighbour
who had to pull at cheeks
of nubile girls at Holi
they bore red marks for weeks
and write about the grandfather
who visited once a way
shared a bed with a little girl
put his hands on her
for play
and write about the perv
on the cycle
who grabbed at an innocent breast
clad in pretty pink
it was
the girl the breast the rest
and write about her one true love
who treated her like a whore
who kissed her because he owed her
then said she asked for more
and write about the numerous
men
who turn around and leer
who laugh when you swear or stare
maybe they sense the fear
men
who brush past you 'unknowingly'
always not meaning to
desperate starved pathetic men
twisted minds one would assume
surely this is not new
the tale i narrate today
every girl woman you know
has felt violated in
some way
a remark a touch
a dirty e mail
haven’t we seen it all
the evolved man is
not even a myth
he never existed at all.

For Thushara. Who said she did not want flowers in my poetry.

Verbivore

2008-10-08T20:42:00.000+05:30

an articulate man
holds my heart in
his hand
spins a web of magic
with his words his words
he can treat me bad
and hate my face
but when he starts to talk
he leaves me in a daze
his weapons are sentences
poetry and dreams
when he starts to speak
i am beautiful
or so it seems.

experimenting

2008-10-02T22:13:00.005+05:30

Some of my poetry is in series form. Maybe i feel one poem alone cannot do justice to the theme, or i cannot get the theme out of my head, and my heart, and i am compelled to write, almost incessantly on it. For instance, my Widow series. i also have a Doodles series but that consists of short, random stuff.

This is another series. i call it experimenting, because of the theme i attempt to deal with- love. Not just any kind of love, Grand, Passionate, Illogical- but- so- right kinda love. Aptly, this series is called Moody.

Moody 1

this pain means love

or so he says

if this is love

then i'm unfazed

give me more of this pain

this ache this aching mien

cut me up into tiny selves

this pain

this dervish hell

this dull ache

agony's loud shout

and bring me up

for another bout

with this sweet tantalizing hell

with him and his intense eyes

with emotion requited

and tormented ties

bring on this pain

am here and now

i long to see

this long ago love.

Doodles

2008-09-24T14:53:00.000+05:30

Not the curse or the cause
not the practice or the pause
not the gamble not the glue
not the dice roll that wins you
not the cleaver of the chain
not the prison or the pain
not the grass blade not the rain
not the asylum not the sane
not the music or the flute
not the poison or the mute
not the song not the sky
not the one who says good bye.

Mom

2008-09-17T21:14:00.001+05:30

what does she see
when she sees me
talking tough
walking tall
does she wonder at all
if she did right
or wrong
raising me different
from how i was born
is she proud of my now
at the classes i teach
and the thoughts i sow
in my words and
through my words
or does she wonder how
i got so
so neurotic
so lachrymose
writing suicide
and pain
when she is joyous
and rather insane
does she sit up late
at night
wondering how i might
turn out
cope with this life
and wonder am i
a good daughter
leave alone wife
do these thoughts cross
your mind ma
or do you rest assured
that you brought me up
right
and taught me well
and that it is
my choice
to seek
not heaven
but pain’s eternal damning hell.

Open Season

2008-08-26T22:35:00.002+05:30

now what?
we’ve bitched and hissed
at all this
the dj the wedding
the wait never ending
the unfriendly bride
and the vulgar side
of both families
that display dowry and dominion
as if they were de rigueur
so unlike us
with out classy ways
and quiet days
no dance or dowry for us
we’ll sit and talk and
make a fuss
that the music’s loud
and the make up too
and of relatives proud
this just won’t do
and eat our fill
and have our fun
dress up talk down
and act as one
in our collective boycotting
of
what passes off for
fun these days
oh these big city people
and their
decadent ways
and weeks after
we’re still at it
dissecting bisecting
seeing what fits
bringing up all questions
of laddoos and loyalty
of family gossip
of history
till one day
her father dies
expected yes, not a surprise
and yet guilt’s fingers
tease our souls
we’re ashamed
truth be told
how do we undo
all that’s been said
even if in private
at the breakfast table
in bed
oh maybe she was
just stressed out
the wedding her father
why even i’d want to shout
the music is good
and the dance they do?
that’s old tamil culture
there’s a history there too
she was polite
when we met her now
the shock must have
changed her
and how
well as long as they’re happy
the wedding was grand
and maybe god has other plans
but guilt’s fingers
are a stronghold
on me
they force me to see
haul me up to
acknowledge
that bitching is easy
and fun too
but some of it, all of it
may well haunt you.

Wilde

2008-08-26T22:33:00.000+05:30

my words reflect an unlife
i am after all only
woman whore wife
i am only the keeper of all
things good
i do not keep the many
facets i forsook
adventurer dervish mad seer
saint
i could have been
could be
all the colours you paint
but now these lines
do the talking for me
take you into my world
and try to make you see
this life
these choices
i have made
they are not half bad
the tears i have shed
and the joys
are the best i’ve ever had

Lullaby

2008-08-26T10:40:00.000+05:30

i love the sounds
of my city winding down
a shutter pulled
the last pitcher filled
the tinkling of bangles
as laundry is put away
the sputtering of candles
as night gets underway
secret lovers kiss
their caresses point them out
a baby’s gentle laugh
mother love
flows from its mouth
dogs are a-baying
feet run swift on dew
they turn a corner and are gone
before I even knew
prayers are said
doors secured
with bolts and chains galore
family calls out to take stock
behind closed doors
the steady beat of the watchman’s stick
brings calm to the mind
but his whistle
sporadic as it is
wakes me up every time
in the alleys tomcats yowl
the clank of an upturned can
nightmares are chased away
brows soothed by an understanding hand
bedclothes are smoothened
arms enfold
bodies hold one another through the night
the wind howls pleads cajoles
limbs feel the cold
and hold on tight
my city is asleep
its people at peace
warm in sleep’s embrace
good night god bless sweet dreams
poetic nights
profound days

Zoo

2008-05-27T10:40:00.001+05:30

Sunday
work day
play day
park day
make out in the park day
park and make out day
the animals in the zoo
four legged and two
sounds aren’t heard
silence is learnt
who are the animals
getting in the way
ruining siesta
for a quick lay
courting couples
secretive spouses
looking for a lone bush
despite a palatial house
people with no dignity
or maybe
too much of it
look around at the cages
see that they fit
lovers in lust
others trying to rekindle
the flickering flame
of romance
the one that’s so fickle
sanctimonious souls
pompous parents hustle
their impressionable children
though themselves tantalised
by the tussle
and the passionate
clinching they see
spread out
wistfulness is of
no doubt
maybe they’re thinking
of their younger days
sans superciliousness
simple their ways
and they looked
for space
to claim
their bodies
and their names
old days
the good old
dirty days.

More than rhyme

2008-01-26T12:57:00.000+05:30

a once-upon-a-time-friend of mine, told me once, that the reason my poetry was not getting published was that i did not know how to position it. an interesting thought and to back it up, he gave me words, ideas..inspiration.
this is what i came up with. and this poem is for him.

More than rhyme

my poetry is an aphrodisiac
prozac in a silken sac
a mood enhancer
for the giver and receiver

a pick me up not a placebo
a strong cup of java please two to go
a lifestyle drug a coffee table book
a beautiful woman worth a second look

all the things you wanted
but could never be
all the things you thought were
real but could never see

mine is the siren song
taking you to your doom
giving you wings to fly
to escape from this gloom

place your hand in mine oh reader
i am what you want
find in me your orgasm
or hit me with your taunts.

i followed it up with this..

Escort service

i am a prostitute to my muse
for him to use reuse refuse
to pour his juices in me as he sees fit
with my inferiority champing at the bit
no escort service for me
my muse my companion of eternity
do not abandon this lost cause
i will be yours. pause.

Doodles

2008-01-19T13:37:00.001+05:30

Not the curse or the cause
not the practice or the pause
not the gamble not the glue
not the dice roll that wins you

not the cleaver of the chain
not the prison or the pain
not the grass blade not the rain
not the asylum not the sane

not the music or the flute
not the poison or the mute
not the song not the sky
not the one who says good bye.

Museindia

2008-01-02T21:25:00.000+05:30

Museindia is an e journal.an idea.an inspiration.
for the many many people who write and want to be heard, who love literature and want to hear more of it, who create and want to share, this site offers hope.
for those who love the world of words, this is a site you will be drawn to.
for those who don't, this is a site that will intrigue you, and hopefully, make you think.
i was delighted when they chose my work for one of their issues last year.
i am honoured that they have included some more in their current issue.
http://www.museindia.com/showcurrent6.asp?id=851
museindia does what no publisher,big or small, national or international, veteran or new, is willing to do- stay true to its ideal.
and that kind of courage, in these times, deserves respect.
and then some.

some solace

2007-12-27T10:57:00.000+05:30

i always enjoy the 'Know Your English' column in The Hindu every Tuesday. especially for the quote at the end of it.
that Mr S Upendran has a sense of humour, is evident from his examples and from the quote with which he ends his weekly column.
this week was no exception. it made me laugh and it gave me a different perspective on how poetry, mine and in general, is greeted today.
" The person who writes for fools is always sure of a larger audience."
- Arthur Schopenhauer

A typical day

2007-12-19T22:31:00.000+05:30

maybe i stirred the stew
and thought of you
in a mundane meandering way
and looked out of the window
remarked on the passionate day
maybe i pottered about a bit
straightened some cushions
fished out the sewing kit
sat down to embroider
or macramé
or knit
gave them all up to
just sit
to sip wine and
look at old snapshots
play ancient tapes
smoke some pot
maybe i walked bare feet
in the grass
toes curling against the sensation
of the sharp and wet
maybe a whole lot of time
passed
and i know not how
the day you left me
at last.

Animal

2007-12-19T22:26:00.000+05:30

is that guilt i wonder
when you smile
and exclaim at how
old you feel
and carefully not hug me
while your new bride
has no such qualms
can you perhaps see
the shattered lil girl in me
kissed with fetid lips
and touched in secret places
in her secret places
that child who came to you
feathers in her hand
gentle trusting
and you used her
against her
used feathered fingers
to touch
her
i remember the smell
that being that felt
rubbery
unyielding
to the little fingers
my little fingers
that held it
the game we were playing
voices muffled
parents in the next room
a child i was
a child
and you put your fingers
in me
made me grow up
now i know
what you did
it has a name
i hate hide and seek.

After…..

a grown woman
i do not bear scars
or trauma
of what you did
and yet i search
feverishly
through all
the news
of abuse
that speak of
a stolen childhood.

Sudden

2007-11-16T22:42:00.000+05:30

i never heard from him again
but when i think of that night
making love being made love to
with no end in sight

i still remember his eyelashes
how they fluttered against my skin
the way he spoke of his lust
his voice salt stirred-in gin

yes i have known pleasure
i am married to my lover you know
but the thrill of new experience
makes for a formidable foe

and so i finally succumbed again
committed adultery like you would say
but regrets i have none
what ever happens come what may

these occasional trysts and rendezvous
add spice to my mundane life
you never know
it might be you
seeking a bored wife.

diwali

2007-11-09T13:02:00.000+05:30

is it wishful thinking on my part, or was diwali a lot quieter this year?

The Widow Series

2007-10-17T11:30:00.000+05:30

In 2000, Deepa Mehta was forced to temporarily suspend work on her film, Water in Varanasi India.
http://www.wsws.org/articles/2000/apr2000/meht-a10.shtml

i could not help but think that we were missing the point. in the whole brouhaha over the film, somewhere along the way, we forgot the most important element- the widow and her wretched life.
what follows is my protest.

The Widow 3

broken bangles
hacked off hair
strewn vermilion
everywhere

unbeauty in persona
the stench of death
the soul shivers
cold and wet

mocking eyes that see unsee
the slow eroding
of reality

the wails rise
as the body lifts
in the maze of memories
eyes nervously sift

the child snatched away
the door tightly shut
the last vestige of
the cord is cut

cast off sent away
she slowly sighs
waits for another pain
waits to die
waits to die.

The widow 2

on the banks of the river Ganga
where man immortality finds
you’ll find a house that houses
women of her kind

the shorn hair, the rough cloth
are unmistakable traits
proclaim loud and long
the woman’s unfortunate fate

she is a w word
not woman, not whore
something even sinister
with a putrefied core

her life has no aim
now that the man is gone
her body is bruised and battered
her soul all tattered and torn

she lives on the banks of the river
watches the waves in the sky
her life quietly escaping
even as the water flows by

in rare moments of togetherness
from solitude her self is freed
shuffled feet and silence
that is her life, her creed

from a life of perfect disharmony
the world’s at a standstill
her heart cries out for freedom
this solitariness will kill

some of her kind were happy
they have happy memories
they talk with great happiness
till at the guilt they cease

to live and yet not to
to exist therefore to be
a barren piece of ground
in the mesh of reality

so life wasn’t a bed of roses before
but atleast it was a life
suddenly she just stops being
because she stopped being a wife

in the holy city
she is the eyesore
the pious dip in polluted waters
nothing is sacred anymore

you offer a hand of help
she stares and shakes a no
she is beyond redemption
she is the damned widow.

The widow 1

when I was five
and still alive
my mother said to me
you will be
married tomorrow
into that family
i don’t remember the days
there were lots of sweets
and harsh words
and money I saw my father pay
the little boy next to me
ate more sweets than I
my hair he drenched in red
there was a shower of rice
growing up in my father’s yard
the heavy cloth slowed my gait
the red blaze in my hair
portentous to my fate
a time came when I was sent away
to live with the man who was my lord
that is what he is my mother said
and snapped the umbilical cord
i went alone in a bullock drawn cart
hardly a weight on it yoke
going away going away
i cried emotions evoked
curious eyes assaulting me
i cringed and made my way
everything was normal
just another mundane day
i was expected
someone smiled at me
showed me a corner
my place it’d be
my now family are farmers
live off the land
hardly even touched some feet
a plough in my hand
in the hot sun
my meeting with the man
my lord funny he seemed
as human as anyone can
is this the boy
who’d eaten more sweets than me
no trace of him remained
him I could not see
back in the family house
dinner was getting made
after a day’s work I thought
will I get paid
a dim lamp in the corner
the face in patches of light
it didn’t register
my whimpers
quieter than the night
there was no lust here
let us not even discuss love
it was a duty he had to fulfil
dictates from above
the next day the bruises on my face
told everyone a tale
my mother in law was happy
her son was a man hail
the days in the hot sun
i was one with the land
the nights I clenched my teeth
and performed on demand
many a time I’d have thrown up
but held the bile in
this is wrong I’d think
vulgar obscene a sin
from these violent encounters
no issue sprung forth
a blessing I thought to myself
he’d have killed us both
one day the man died
drowned in the pond
his mistress went down with him
their entwined bodies were found
how old was i i can’t remember
my hair fell around me
my four glass bangles cut my arm
the blood dripped crazily
then I learnt I was a witch
who’d eaten up the man
i was a girl I’d thought
i didn’t understand
a bald head and coarse white
i was sent away
where was I going
i did not know
nobody had nothing to say
there is a place where the likes of me
are kept away from society
who’s too cultured to bear to see
such form such sobriety
his mistress she drowned with him
a widow’s place is born not made
she stood by him no matter what
you destroy the man it’s written in your fate
i will die here among my kind
who’re all older than me I find
i work the day
i work the night
it’s a woman this time, not a man showing might
i wish i had a happy ending for you
but reality isn’t fiction what can I do
this is the price of not knowing at all
the living dead wear a white pall.

Linger

2007-10-06T13:14:00.000+05:30

on the past
what might have been
had i played my cards right
and held you tight
a hidden self
a falling leaf
in a rain drenched forest
a desolate cliff breaking
gently
rather than be
as subtle as a train
as quiet as thunder
and speak my mind
for being true
was more important
than you.

Whimsy

2007-09-21T10:41:00.000+05:30

camomile tea
dandelion wine
sip some chardonnay
feel dirty divine
wear a gown of lovelace
beads all shades of blue
a silly beret on your head
salutes the bohemian in you
logs in the fireplace
indian rugs on the ground
the spring flows through the backyard
and makes for a peaceful sound
books in cupboards and shelves of jade
music all over the place
oranges mandarin or otherwise
bring some much needed taste
a dog to warm my toes
a place to call my own
the whimsy which defines me
is all
but all gone.

why runwrapt?

2007-09-20T12:27:00.000+05:30

i have been writing poetry, or should i say trying to, since i was five. trust me, my parents have embarrasing evidence to prove it. note paper with terrible terrible handwriting and people with remarkably good memories who recall my reciting my work to them.
i think my aim then and now is pretty much the same. to write. and to rhyme. but i'd like to think i have moved beyond such gems like, ' my uncle is thin and looks like a pin' and that 'he has a moustache that looks like a sash'. you know? i do try some prose poems as i like to call them..
so 600 or so poems later, i want to believe that i can rhyme but not just merely rhyme, actually make some sense.
and no matter how much i write, i come back to some poems and some lines that make me proud and make me think not bad, you know your way around this girl.
someday is one of those poems, those lines are some of the ones i am especially proud of.
so the title..

someday

2007-09-19T13:19:00.000+05:30

slow suicide by the bottle
i’ll drink my life away
i have nothing to live for now
not even yesterday

whiskey water whining
rum wrapt reminiscence
vodka’s my constant companion
my drink the point of reference

nirvana what bliss
to live like this
in bed with nothing to do
no stories no sex no nothing
oh but i mourn for you

yesterday i almost got better
actually took a bath
but then i got the better of me
i’m back to the point of start

wine stopped working
a long time ago
bourbon does wonders
when my spirit sinks lower than low

life from a looking glass
a glass full of my sorrow
i’ll drink my fill today
and not think of tomorrow

drink drenched dreaming
liquor’s my lover till i die
my soul’s getting colder
time to say goodbye.