Standing Emptiness

Or Why I made a category called POEMS:

You really dont need a category
to write something serious, but
there can always be value
to silly things you write as well.

But the fact is just this,
I write here, right now
only to fill in the space.

I cant stand emptiness,
no matter how many advices
that I get say, "son,
be tactful and considerate"

(2007)

Laila’s Silence

I

Black letters
hanging aimlessly
beneath
the skinny lady
turn red
as the invisible words
from the letter
dance around me, tired.

Making their long way
from the past
shaving the time and
silence that lay
dusty on the tablet,
twelve years and
many brown crumbled
dry leaves later
they will be tired,
I assume.

II

Much of the
crazy looks
of the stubby face
the mirror is so used to
belongs to the past.
Change
   has been slow.

Searching about
in the empty bag,
I realise that
silence is the best word
when it comes to her.

The double headed
metal evil
speeds over the two veins
drilling the night with
a tunnel of light
and piercing
the silence ahead.

III

From the black of
the space
under the covering
comes the words.
I agree, it is time to go.
Drooling rain wets
the mud path
leading to
the rusty iron gates
that seem never to close,
for 
   it matters not.

As I walk away
from the gate
towards nothingness
wondering if
I turned to the left
or right,
With rain dripping
from its stretched arms,
against the dark back drop
the white crosses
stand silent.

(2001)

Loss of October

This is a warm month.
I am fed up of these travels
from ones to thirties.
I long for a distant land
without a March, or a February.

On the sill of the open window,
for some fresh air, I sit.
Mirror reflects the blind glow
of my moonlight plated chrome face.

The breeze that goes past
without ever looking back
plunges a question into my skull,
"Did you wrong, oh poet?"
Blooming a comforting dawn
in my troubled silly mind,
a smile disappears from my lips.

This night comes with
the death of memories. But
I know, it will not last long,
for I have to be alive again.
In my sleep I realise that
I am, strangely,
none to myself.

(1999)

Two Crabs

                            Common by birth,
                            stars on ascent
                            ruled their deeds all.

                            Fell in love
                            ever so often
                            And we bore
                            the burden of
                            cruelty, weeping,
                            for nobodys' sake.

                            No complaints.

                            Known traits, for
                            long ignored,
                            brewed out of nowhere
                            as dark specs of
                            clouds on a sun
                            and never rained off
                            or disappeared.

                            They hung on
                            to our necks as
                            power ties do --
                            mocking a wide
                            tongue and long talks
                            crushing us to
                            the close of ground,
                            preaching loud.

                            Coda:

                            Open the eyes
                            Grass is green
                            and would remain so
                            unless you choose to
                            Nightmares never end
                            Nothing changes
                            except change. 

(1995)

Gemini

                            I

                            When I cried
                            she knew why
                            and fed me what
                            they had given her;
                            warm poison that
                            dripped from her
                            purple nipples.

                            II

                            When he cried
                            I knew why;
                            she fed him
                            with a spoon.
                            As he slurped up
                            the fluid, tears
                            brewed in her eyes.

                            Coda:

                            Flat breasts and
                            dry nipples; I,
                            lying on my back,
                            silent, watched
                            the lizard scale
                            the grey wall
                            abandoning
                            its tail that
                            wriggled about
                            like a forgotten
                            baby in its
                            smelly bed.

(1995)

Puja Room

                           In the room
                           that hath no
                           picture of gods,
                           but a dry
                           chirag and a
                           dusty thambaru
                           guarding darkness,
                           came, as father
                           opened his panes,
                           the light.

                           the chirag burned
                           as he lay silent
                           in white. 

(1992)

Sophie

                            I knew her little
                            Her words had
                            strange accent...

                            As the rain
                            was cuddled in
                            by a mild breeze,
                            she showed me
                            that there is
                            more to words
                            than we see...

                            Does my poem
                            bear an accent ? 

(1994)

Our Mother

                         She split the nut
                         in her left hand.
                         The breakfast was ready
                         from her red palm...

                         Golden bangles tingled
                         as she washed
                         clothes and bathed
                         at three in the evening.

                         A tap in the
                         kitchen broke
                         She wept and wept
                         to put the flame
                         to fumes. In
                         a room where
                         nothing, but
                         fogy silence stayed.

                         She splits the nut
                         breakfast was ready
                         from her white palm

                         No tea or water
                         the taps hoaler
                         in bursts

                         I burn my finger
                         in the hot pancake
                         She dials for the plumber
                         The line is dead
                         her left hand
                         persists

                         epilogue :

                         for you I give
                         half my dreams
                         and half my
                         mothers' unknown
                         tears and a
                         drop of my hopes
                         and a thumb
                         that smears my
                         thoughts all over
                         the face of despair. 

Mili

                        She cared
        		to call me
        		for her knot

        		it unwound
        		all the loops
        		and made life
        		as simple
        		as a line
        		on white screen.

        		I sit on
        		the dead rock
        		tugging at
        		the piece of cloth
        		which makes a knot
        		as the day
        		goes by.

(1994)

Night

                           Falling night
                           behind a
                           vanishing door.
                           Four suffocating walls.
                           A misty smoke
                           traces torn images
                           of my scrawny
                           shadow on
                           the damp walls.
                           On the floor
                           of my mind,
                           dusky colours,
                           fostering
                           desire for
                           rebirth. On
                           the dry canvas
                           -- blank -- stars
                           shed no light.

                           In the port
                           of pale doubts
                           and insecurity,
                           along with
                           the serene
                           lucid moonglade,
                           the enchanting
                           feel of nature's
                           riddles wades in.
                           It, as I
                           walk through
                           the streets,
                           scatters on
                           the roofs and
                           vanishes into
                           the earth's deep
                           in search of truth.

                           Closed doors. The
                           lonely vedettes,
                           guarding peace
                           of night for humans,
                           it seems here too
                           are the walls.

                           Shadows of
                           the rain lie
                           so vast
                           like the sea,
                           and cast a
                           fading question
                           mark on the sky.

                           Wet sand.

                           The night, the
                           breeze swept over,
                           surges into me.

                           'Did not you
                           see ? I have
                           become a man'

                           She laughes. Her
                           laughter, like
                           sweet memory
                           of a sleazy
                           grey cloud,
                           pours down and
                           drips through me.
                           I cannot see;

                           The night...
                           The night had
                           dawned.