Friday, June 4, 2010

My corrugated face

There was a rainbow mentioned
in all my stories
There were endless love stories
with puny princes
There were sunflowers
enthralled by swooning princesses

Ants tripping on pieces of jaggery
Sweet bells in temples tottery
In a lonesome corner
being catty with their Gods
in their warm checkered quilts

Leaves and earth
Being made to mate
by warm rains and
a hedonistic wind

Men playing with shingles and nails
Soaking rags into a drain
Nodding to loud wedding songs
Swatting busy flies
Desiring each others wives

You are at fault Mother
Jolting my body
at sunset
Making me swot
At books that teach poetry
Reading up wars, famine, death and gore

Now look at me
endlessly insomniac
trying to scrape at
My corrugated face

Titular sadness

Tilt of the head
Up or sideways
Brings into view
the world

Sun, rain and storm
droll regular pigeons
in happy form
dueling with koyels

Shafts and beams
unfinished structures
upwardly mobile
eventually solid

stale afternoons
looking forward
to wet nights
no power cuts

faraway dreams
money-less pockets
desires nestled snug
in creative sockets

Common Nouns

There was a fish
blue, yellow and
dotted with spots
riding a watery haze

She looked pretty
with a soft fin
that saw one
through and

I asked
"What type"
"What breed"
"What do her colours mean"

The man at the
fishy aquarium
looked over once
then twice

He is a fish
She there, is a fish too
This one,
curled around itself

It is a fish too
They are all fish
he then walked
into the sea

the watery
blurry sea

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Anger, Marriage and Water

A young woman
of fifty six
gets up on time
for a bucket
to fill

She sweats
and huffs at
her husband
with pursed lips
and dragon gaze

The water trickles
molds into
murderous thoughts
some at the authorities
some at her husband
some at the world in general

The husband stirs
his gut
already awake
to the young woman's
pallid ire

He stoops on purpose
to show surrender
to flimsy water
and his mad woman

thus continues
his weary bond
with water and
the young woman
he married thirty three
years yesterday

there is hope
for water gutsy
for a smile
bereft of murder

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Heat and Dust

The grime settles
in between the bars
of my gritty teeth
I sigh at the road

Scraped knees
and errant bees
golden dust
clouds that must

ruin an evening race
or transform
into a football field
with sloppy teens

a soft romantic
I have been
with squashed lilies
in a naughty breeze

now a cynic
with arms so plump
bad breath
and grumpy roads

now a cynic
in arid grace
a sore cough
in dark bylanes