mistake deliberate

the moment comes untried
a moment for to better
a line have prepared
but how is one
delivered of the burden
to fight the burden to escape
first looks are stolen
last glimpses exchanged
oh for one whole
line to have said
maybe a kiss
maybe a hug

im all ounces
do you hear
do you mind
if i swear
for you cut
like a knife
like love
on a hot evening
and i don't know
the roots of suicide
the tree of life
justice denied

on the platform, wait
from the station i left
koo jhik jhik
the bird of paradise
is decoupled in hell
into two halves
each miles apart
yearning burning
and lost

now im become jajabor, traveller without baggage

get on to the road
only when you can
cross it whole
don't hesitate
once on it don't dither
lonely by its side
wait if you need to
till you know
you wouldn't stop
in the middle stuck
till the moment
presents itself
for it is also
lonely in the middle
without help
let's complete a motion
without pause
for a rambling story
whistle at crossings
a song non-stop


don't want to be
aimless on the streets
and going nowhere
i want to have peace
when i have peace
want to have peace
when i don't


i was shot
today afternoon
in the chest
and i reflect
how i am not dead
but always dying
that for me
it is never
over yet
but continuing
but not
a death liberating
this is only
a kind of sinking
in a bog
more horrible
than the end
this stench
that won't
let me breathe

cocktail

for ages burying it
buried and rising
from the ground
like from the blood
of some mythological demon
sprang armies of dust
waving scimitars
nothing will end my fears
no angels appear
only a mirage
the sky snaps
at the horizon
and is a gaping hole
mocking my soul
with wonder that
i have my head
buried in the ground
my mind should have
really been a sparkler
burning down to the handle
in bright red
blue gold silver
orange flakes
over in a minute
and no further
joyous lights
in my fingers
waving dancing
wilder and wilder
till it burned down
and she lit another
i come from the ground
i of the sky
the air the water
i am mixed in this weather
i of the elements
i rise every morning



i wasnt drinking yet, that puja, nor smoking nor smoking. and yet there i was at the epicentre. but i had seen her that night and i remember. she, they, went off clubbing and pat brought down the door, they brought down the house, we thought pat was dying and tried calling a doctor. but all we got was an elder sister. and i had eyes only for you. my early love is by now an admission of guilt, what she hadnt known then and now only suspects. if i am forced i will recall her black linen trousers and her pinkish, sequined strappy number. oh i havent seen you in those clothes it has been such a long time, but i never think how much longer i have. i have already died and im not even suicidal. from my youngest years that has been the case. i have fought tears and have never been able to leave the fight

captainofmyskip#%^&*$%$&^

a part
now dismembered
now cast away
now swimming
against the tide
then it was
a late sun
late evening
late nights
the day was whole
and my eyes
took their time
days that began
in the morning
and waited
for me to come
to her that i
could shake
what moisture
was hidden
in the grass
where i was a mole
i surpassed
in what i was
good at
burrowing and
bringing up loam
but cut from my earth
with every high sun
i am impatient that
there will be
nothing to quench
my thirst not
an ocean not
rivers of lust
i should learn
the prayer song
of the crow
that sat on a jar

mourning further heavens

paradigm shift
drat that whore
never knocked
on my door
i went from
the sofa to
the bed to
the floor moving
one place
to the other
but the mother
won't budge
or i am there
and she is
one step ahead
shape shifter
new places enter
my dreams i
dream of new places
she in between
i hugging her sides
i dive right in and
am hung out to dry
what alters in my eyes
is the rate
of their blinking



topics for
moving stories
i could narrate one
from the side of a field
and another in the motions of
a somersault into a progressive age going backwards
plus in the crossing of a bridge joined and sundered
in the late afternoon it thundered she cried they split open the skies
there is one on the terrace soaking up rain and laying the blame
on the city oh how it gets flooded but dont you know there is enough droughts
how at the foothills bright green thorn shrubs sprout
there is one about getting stung by these blessed nettles
retrieving a ball and having picked up the fallen
all that gets swollen burgeons
true of clothes also woes
before it was stone then rock then dust then down the river gone
but the hungry worship the flow wash by the banks grow
then back to stone
what phenomena this love
what bludgeoning memory
the earth has promised me stillness of stones
returning all with the one face and repeating after louder
yet no more no less equal
but silent throughout

probhato kale kali kali

lights
lit in electricity
luminous in oil
this darkness invented
to celebrate lights
this darkness mixed
in our eyes
and to look deeper inside
lights
every once in a while
we are happy
we have seen lights
oh how lovely is this life
that it isnt blinding
all the time
lights
seeing or not
believing or not
hearing psalms and prayers
or not
in the darkness hiding
in the dark hide
the leper soul
the stump, the gash
and there await
lights


this life is certainly the waiting game. but look at me. sententious already and ive just found one gray hair really. at the barber's. that too deep inside in my scalp. i shaved it close and then in the mirror saw this one rogue strand. worrisome, but expected. but this life is the waiting game. and i mean life in general here; not my life. otherwise why would i say it. as i was saying, there cannot be a greater virtue than patience. for wanting and receiving, for giving and taking no greater art than patience. because that is all we are supposed to do. wait it out, wait for it. even when we are powerful we are not omnipotent; we are rarely blessed in our desperation. in all these cases, stripped of the elements of strength, broken by that which we are out to make, we deceive, ourselves, friends, lovers, police, government and god, for those who flatter to deceive. the easier option faced with lies is the long wait, the long march, the longing, peaceful longing, patience.

aliens and predators

ive gone from
orgasm to organism
a cog in the wheel
as the autonomous being
but this is a wild land
they wink
oh the cold wind in the evening
so inviting to quench
the thirst of parched
weather beaten mornings
so harsh on the skin
to live is to drink
in this parched rocky land
but yes the evening chill
there is peace
look or don't
or look and still do not
or wait
open your eyes slowly
breathe


advice. that inescapable outgrowth of experience, the irrepressible appurtenance of human existence (i would have said existence, but outside of bagheera ive known of no animals giving or receiving advice). but even if it were so that there was that little bit of friendly guidance, a small word of caution exchanged among animals, i would not think less of them for that. we all need to be advised; only the following it part is fuzzy and therefore its cool if we never did use it. there is an ideal world for you: coexisiting with the word to the wise the triggers of obstinacy. i havent had any truck with advice for as long as i can remember. but i havent been out like this either in the same timeframe. so no i didnt seek advice to come to hyderabad. but then i needed it. some said, just breathe, others thought i should just chill. not advice of the kind that puts you on your guard making it one kind of advice that is amenable. not the kind to make you wary but the type to make you put your guard down. i like that. just let go. good advice. "listen to me... let go". thanks, i will.