inter-tropical convergence

meet my friends
on the wasted heath
and an excursion to
the world beneath
yielded skulls and bones
and corroded crowns which
we took turns in wearing

the brothers stopped
in the parks and in
the lakes we threw
our lines a fishing
there i sat and
some of us moved by
that forever wishing

let nothing stop
god let nothing stop
but also let nothing pass
i shall come and all
shall come and tomorra
would be today
i would have made my choice



all these pals and peeps
from overseas is
so much air traffic
winds that blow in
and give the townsfolk
nights can't dream of sleep
and much to drink

where have you seen a hole

aarghh this strength
sapping mercury
heading north

ah lemon
cut down
gay splashes
as in the ads

oh to drink
soak up
submerged
to the shins
through pores
enlivened earth
and living souls
would check
to the lees in
the appropriate box

but the lemon
squeezed to
its last drop is
inevitably caustic
and what can anyone
do about it



and I’ll look from
the darkness at
the stone blotting out
the sun you
will see a wall hiding
the door keeping out
the light



come I’ll show you
my cave and yours
would be to
roll the boulder
across its mouth
after I am inside
of course it shall be
the weight you have
carried on your chest


she pushes her pupils out
and her eyebrows rise
in mock surprise she
shakes her head
at all that naiveté
and the feckless poseurs
that dot this world myself
not the least of them but a son


Give me a fever
And il be one
Of them madmen
Shouting
A burning of the brain
Along the tender lines
That feed it
And id have felt
What a man possessed means
Bask in its busy glory
And find contentment
in disturbed states and
the filament shaking



the past
march past
march hare
rushing past
rushmore
engraved past
graveness
entombed past
pastime what
does time care
how it passes
how it passed
so parcels and
in them
ingredients
for a repast
and a taste left
on the tongue
everything that
is eating me

tie and dye

First I see the birds
Soon butterflies
Then a drizzle on me
And I feel to begin
would be the best thing
The neurotic humours
Lurk beneath seat covers
And far from home
wasted emerge
Into blinding light

On the front seats
Nothing ruins
the bright weather
on roads past
giggling heather
under the sun of
oceans, forests and
open fields
in the windshield
and the rearview mirror
the distance passing into one
and I enter through the other

ask bond about
the curse of the back seats
my beasts threaten to
continue talking if
I pretend im not listening



My power over you
is blackmail
I mean baby
Where is your love
If you don’t sweeten it
what else can you expect
but the dark love of
coffee beans
lashing at the senses
and me holding
you to ransom
that when you bring me
the cup you will sweeten it




The lone wolf as the lion
The lion in winter died
snow white mane and beard
under straight lips once more
and shut forever tight
claws that have cut unshod
lines into the plain earth
lines will fill with water
and drown the dwarves
lost in them
when the ocean comes in
the colour of blood
to sweep the channel clean
and all the fleeing ants shall perish
still the lion with bold strokes
beating the waves to the shore
the lion has hunted in the dark
no colour scares him

knives

should it take a knife
To show us apart
Don’t confuse my intentions
Into love for you and
Love for me
But if it gives rest
To aching jaws
Let it tear the skin
till we both know
how kisses work
with a little help
from antiseptic
that with you time is
forgetting and healing

and it will wax lyrical
the blade in contact
with the skin at the edge
of a sharp feeling
your love is
the poetry of the future as
the future of poetry


so the knife to
produce from the hollow
Resin for the bow



I’ll let your conquering
Anytime you want
And I’ll keep
Coming back for more

If it takes a knife
To cut out
The intercoursing throb
Let yours be the hand

But I should be the one
That speaks to it keeps it
And makes it speak as I want
Let mine be the words
That survive the rapture

in the animal kingdom

Baba ramdev’s unceremonious eviction from his fast compels the responsible citizen to once again watch national news at primetime and spend a noxious Sunday evening lamenting another travesty of democracy in the India of his dreams. But the burden of responsibility that has been thrust upon the public-minded individual will not be tolerated a second more what with him being saddled with onerous chores pursuant to joining the selfsame government whose grave execrations on the ramlila maidan reopens old wounds and reignites once more the original fire.
But nuff said. What left me nonplussed in telegrabs of a teargas smoggy campaign tent was the person of a doggie among the listless supporters, like all of them fleeing the scene under duress, albeit with more alacrity than the most casual of baba’s supporters would care to show. So I put this question to the indignant masses. Would canines make better satyagrahis? Also more significantly, are the dogs of the world at last uniting. Are they massing to come to our aid like the phantom hordes from return of the king. Was the one i saw the mongrel herald.
But coming back to my question, will our leaders prefer dealing with dawgs given that there is no chance the four-legged things would ever resort to hunger strikes. That ain't there style at all or am i mistaken. The generic politicians themselves have one that falls somewhere between that of a sabretoothed tiger in a lifeguard's jacket and a shark in vestry white. What is important is that the battle will be a tooth for tooth one and therefore easy to follow. Unlike now when one side says we aren't opening our mouths and the other replies talk to the hand. Of course it spoils sunday's entertainment if one party thinks they are in a silent film and the other believes they are the celebrity bigg boss.
the idea behind democracy that makes it more fun than the other social experiments is that it is a seriously engaging format. baatein banao mat aur bigarne ki to bhul hi jao, batein karo.


Government requires a kind of decisiveness which I would never be able to bring to the job. I revel in a she-loves-me-she-loves-me-not ambiguity.


bubba roach

what use is it
surviving a nuke
when you have one
foot in the grave
and your murder
leaves behind
a nice smell
that effectively
smothers the rebuke
spouses exchange
over a messy affair


dilli, wallah

in delhi
a bomb could blow
and take me
away from you
in delhi
a bomb could
take you
away from me
in delhi though
we shall not hide
in delhi we’ll walk
head over heels
and tired toes taut
every night
in the dark
an inner light
and the places in
your body

one way or the other

As if it wasn’t enough
That I should have left
No more than a scratch
And been happy that
After all I had nothing
To do with the marks that
give away your age
Or for that matter
With your ageing
The convenient scheme
To leave you with
no more of me than
I can carry away
and take no more from you
than I was leaving behind

since I am not sure ive looked
under your skin the idea was
to pretend there wasn’t any
pressing need for a parting gift

for when it ends there is
only a victim and a villain
on the run so incriminating
will be any gifts from me
to you or from you to me

I turn to my diary
To at least put down in words
What the time with you
Has meant to me
But have mercy on me
What love is this
That you won’t beg
That I change my mind
And even in thoughts
Not talk of leaving

What was all that
being romantic
any time of day
of your choosing
suddenly pulling down
a canopy of clouds
and wooing me to
join you outside
or at night like magic
clearing the streets
whipping the breeze and
flirting with me for my sleep

however
theres nothing you’ve taken
that I haven’t wanted to give
yet there comes a day
when I will have to
empty my pockets
on the table and ask you
to do the same and any
buttons of mine I find in
the loose change I shall
have to keep for myself
and some coins maybe
for the tickets

gone are the days shirtless
I could roam the streets
And know that in those moments
even youve loved me truly
Although I know
it was all promiscuity
because I have seen your
ruins of romances past
and know that all youve done
is taken a chance with me
and couldn’t care if I returned
your love or never made to go

if I kicked you or
called you a whore
as many might
have done before

you struggle with your unending life
and only worry what if one day
there are no more lovers left

you will be found many
many times more


this is a premature farewell note to calcutta. the city of my father. but not my forefathers. she is therefore not a mother of any sort but for the two of us a lover. she was young enough when my father first arrived here and the mua remains quite impudent today as i think about my depth of feeling for it. it isn't easy as i discovered. because i cannot help but think that there will be a time when i will be gone but the city will still be here. still someones darling. but i think it is time i was on my way away from this city. a life lived for the love of one whose love i can be never sure i have is a future that doesn't appeal to me. really to claim that she is mine only mine is foolish no, but what other love do i know; to say that her love has set me free will be less controversial. but it is true. how presumptuous would it be for me to say calcutta is my mehbooba. like so many before let me just also agree that im smitten. and i will have to leave. because for myself it can never be said for certain that this is where i was to come ashore, that my destiny is here. all i know is that i will have the city to my left as i swim to the sea.