A variety of selected poems. |
The Daydreamer’s Defence. ************************* The world is abandoned with people; It’s crowded with nobody in particular. Their faces slowly peel away and, floating nowhere distinctively, Gently land safely out of sight. And dreams—like restless ghosts— remain forever lost in search Of faces which once held them. I Wear the World. ****************** I wear the World, An itchy sweater on Bare skin. Sticky stains of sweat Mark the spots of my resistance, Of the furious skirmishes with it— Shadowy graveyards on top of Forgotten battlefields. And I squirm inside it, Hoping to gain some Breathing space, Trying to put some Distance between us, And create a neutral zone where We can both agree on something. I offered it a truce, And in return it simply Went on its daily business. Not Human Enough. ****************** I can see you; From the corner of my eye I watch your every movement— Your awkward probing, The way you always end up Near me, no matter The initial configuration Of celestial bodies in the room. Still I will remain deaf and blind, And numb if need be, For I am not human enough To appreciate the aesthetic quality Of what you have to offer. Inertia, Not Love. ****************** Inertia, not love Governs the universe; Galaxies spiral away from One another Even though in the Not so very distant past— Just a little over Fifteen billion years ago— They’ve been one, indivisible. And on the street Absurd is the word; Spread out by hobos and Underpaid computer analysts. They quietly whisper it In sensitive ears of violinists And construction workers, Marking the demise of The Roman Empire and the Initiation of the New Deal. The Barbarian Invasions merge With the war in Iraq; Attila the Hun leads the Iraqis To a spectacular victory Over the plains of Gaul. Inertia, not love Governs the universe; Lost human souls hurtled Towards one another by forces That had their origins in the centre Of a long gone galaxy, then Spiral away at close to the speed of light— Their fingers losing grip. It is almost funny how In this grotesque masquarade I’ve not yet given up the try; Perhaps I too am solely powered By inertia. Beware. ********* A blank page; That laughable creature. Yet it’s loaded with empty words, Still unborn— My fingers ten lethal triggers To wedge them deep Iside your unsuspecting pupils. Fragile Beings. *************** The most fragile beings of all— Human beings; Stabbing and breaking and Bleeding and mending. But can they fly? A Tulip. ********** I’m kinda bored now, So perhaps I should give you A tulip— Just because, If for no other reason. I won’t say That your cheeks Are far livelier Than the bud of a tulip, Or how your fingers Are much gentler Than its elegant stem, Since after I’ve said it Those words will lift anchors, And silently drift away In the lazy current of time. So please accept this tulip, And these words from me— Unsaid. Nagging Papercuts. ****************** Growing up is Walking through a corridor With long heavy curtains, Hanging at unpredictable angles From an invisible ceiling. In reality, It’s not a corridor at all, But a slow conveyor belt, Only fast enough to impose Its deadly gravity on you. It burns the skin, Not letting go of curtains, Leaves you with nagging papercuts. The Texture of Your Scent. ************************** Please tell me why is it that even under a pitiless shower of water, I can still analyze the texture of your scent? In Anticipation of Life. *********************** In anticipation of life Idleness rules. My hands Tremble with sweaty expectations Of being enveloped By a berserk stream of Gushing water, And I remain oblivious To my outbursts of Wild laughter in public transport. Long Bridges of Affection. ************************** Reverberate and echo here, The murmurs of false prophets; The fearless fled in disarray And only we remain— In pleasure and in pain, With nails through our veins In unison are bonded. Through mazes of insanity, Through doubts and through vanity, And lonely nights of enmity— We slither and we slide, With hopes of new serenity We swallow and abide. Reverberate and echo here The murmurs of false prophets; They cushion us and caution us, They portion us and ration us With whispers made of shadows. They weave a web dividing us, Distorting us, depriving us, Confusing us, colliding us Until we sink in stupor; And yet each time we rise. The fearless fled in disarray And only we remain— In pleasure and in pain, With nails through our veins In unison are bonded. Yet gracefully we bear the strain, Although our palms are scalded. My Soul is Safe in Hibernation. ******************************* My soul is safe in hibernation, As bitter gusts strip bare thin branches And toss around rotten leafs. Deep down in its hidden cavern, Beneath the frost, below the weather, It soundly sleeps and gathers strength, For it has had its share of angst. All I am left with is its dreams, And reassurance that the seasons Will once again bring forth The spring. |