the colour harmony!!

She sat there on the floor Cross legged and sterile Among jars of vacuum That he left behind As he moved away. She’ll now breed on one of them, mud made and painted white, Half naked slumbers of horny nights And bring up another one Who will grow up to call her a slut. She’ll show him Her skin depths and match it With his inherited mirth for blood stained thighs. She won’t moan a second time Ecstasies are time bound and slippery She would rather wash and sleep.

I was a school girl then Barely eight or so When, one day my lips mimicked A swear word, popular Upon a friend of mine The first of its kind To begin with. She read my lips From across the school gate sweet shop I missed my candy and drained my nerves As she came along and whispered softly “I shall tell everyone That you called me this” I fell dead For years together Over occasional reminders Of lip shapes vulgar. Later, It was when I fell in love, decades away That I realized Swear words are a necessity.

Every other morning, For decades together, She bathed at five When she had lain Legs spread and plain The previous night As her husband made love She gathered his scent along Bosoms shabby and hairlines disheveled and scrubbed her off his sweat and sperm that ran along her sticky legs Before she hurried Down the stairs Clad in cotton, Eyes closed in ecstasy of pending climaxes, to her new found love in her puja room. whom she could love, at leisure.

Me, my upper lip sweat and rolling eyes, the pulse of urge I feel deep within the gateways cross lipped. Virgin land. Our love is skin, naked painted harsh with beds forsaken. in the name of love, unique. Love breathes heavy among whispers choked and slipping hands. A game of lust of bosoms bare and leg base damp Bathroom slippers or way side flowers.. I, an over turned coat on a prince charming. I kiss him over dinner and hug him in sleep to roll on to the basement rotting My arms are yours Widespread and inviting But legs are locked. The gal who ran away from the butchers knife slaying the pleasures of her shrunken penis. Chain her breasts and Wax her hole For her head rolls upon pleasures withheld over monsoon drippings of wine and loves. Love is something u discover in unison nearby overturned coffee mugs or half opened book shelves when u devour the other, between readings from you and me. My lust map was misplaced at a way

It’s when her summers fade to oblivion That her ashtray smokes serpent curves over her desk. She goes handpicking edged sandstones from the side walks of a blurred out shore line Where in between pavements tarred You find cat fur Sprouting bush garden of discolored golden threads. The spider that fell on to her water jug Birthed, drowning a generation. The crystal jug she threw away had a womb cuddled Wherein a snake crawled deep In to the burning darkness Of steaming wax sealed rapture To mate her in a she-dream. Gliding lust spread on to her skin, bare Like seaweeds on ocean bed Leaving patch marks of red earth Dry and torn. She is insane, a damn sadist In her ways of love Says her man over her jerking thoughts Handcuffed on to a single man Her love curled down Like her plaited hair Forming strands of love Clipped in between For an authentic base That she lost to her dream. The other one With whom she shared her cell Called her sanity c

He seems like a piece of paper On which she scraps endlessly Her ways of cunning loves. He is scribbled over and again, Every night. Only to be crossed, Scratched and binned Until blue bleeds from torn ends Over the silver sky. Letters, ominous night owls Gaze, like night fire Piercing skins of ash. She draws his veins And tag it zigzag As a spider web To swing in oblivion Across pulses slayed Her love is marked As red dots virgin Droplets sinking In moonlight ripples Red oozed out Of his neck lines deep Inkish blue, Her snow white bedspread. His love is found lost Like overgrown graveyards Where flowers bloom from Heavens decayed. They found him dead At the staircase corner Passion bitten With neck marks deep. Blooming white In her vampire lust.

I My mother said, She bought me From a fisherwoman. She let me go For a bag of ice For those lifeless gaze Openmouthed Staring out of silver scales. II Her skin smelled salt At late midnights When gulls made love And serpents crawled Over mermaid lust. His shadow paused For an after smoke To let in deep sea fogs Of oceanic lunacy The sea seemed heavy Over her naked body Draining her veins Of its fluidic essence. Crossing decades For a chosen grave She shed her skin For silver scales To be born again Through his piercing nails.

My grandmother has an almirah in the corner of her red tiled dining  room Where she stores her years in bits and pieces Like shopping receipts Tagged to rusty hairpins and broken mirrors. She sits on the floor and pulls out the lower drawers every other day, eagerly as if she yearns to find, among treasures withheld in small rubber-banded newspaper packs, A baby, she misplaced years aback. Her sarees dry washed and folded are on the upper decks Where, in-between bosoms ironed she hid her market savings for her new found culinary taste From across the street end bake house. Her deserted desires of fleshly warmth and cravings carnal tarnished and disguised as jasmine knots for the backyard demigod. When she dies They will clad her in one of those wedding silks and suffocate her In that unused dusty smell That day she will get her garlands back Fresh and heavy on her worn out heart. They will choke her way with stinking sweat and incense dope

She heard the front door open At midnight twelve. He is back, from his prolonged business trip That cost him a divorce and a bitter mouth. Her grandma had said, Its exact midnight when, The He-god passed their courtyard On Friday nights Dragging a chain Pulled to his ankle They sat there on the portico She counting the rose buds And he untying the shoe lace Years dragged between them, jerking Like the squeaky kitchen drawer. He indexed the strangeness Clinging to his shoulder bag While she sketched The alien features of the little one Sleeping inside. Her dry washed skirts Lay on the backyard poles Drenched in the night rain. She dreaded, The man-god passing would curse If water drips over his face As he crosses over. Words lay scattered Beneath his cigarette smog Like onion peels In that bright wet night. She felt relieved For the silence that came over As a new born babe. At least, now she needn’t explain How she balanced Coffee mugs

That’s where the road turned left, behind the thatched tea stall. Lemons, yellow grape bunch, hung from net bags, swinging like breasts, hanging. Smoke stained tooth and coal taint pots shared the same old sequel, of men missing and women birthing in the dark damn holes of their inhabited forest land. A race is born, another one, of bundled invalids. Human documents of swinish beings. They war for a home and decay for a nation In between trade secrets of political wellbeing. They breed day and night, an army of fantasies. Procreating benchmarks of a human kind, Unregistered, and crawl beneath the annals of history devoid a stamped belongingness of fathers born and land-marks puberal. Outside the glitzy highways of pork and rap, flesh and wine they form a nation, Castrated.            * Remembering the land rights struggles of the displaced in Chengara (in Kerala) and elsewhere.

the only thing unusual about the day was that i met him. and as people all over say, every thing toppled overnight. this time i guess, from toe to head. the day struck me permanently blind of my in laws culinary tastes and hubbys favourite shoes. i forgot to water the barren pot at the first floor balcony that made good luck peep in through the velvet curtains. at beakfast table and later at the kitchen sink i stared at the after meal dishes to find a route map of licked up desires of exhausted taste. i couldd cook up so many as now i claimed to be in love, that came late yet so very different from the domestic one thrusted upon me like a second AC upper berth reservation ticket in a night train. i had loved and lost (and even forgotten the names and peoples too ) so many a time, so much so that i often had hallucinations of love ghosts from bygone births. may be thats why i was not so keen or rather tensed whn i knew i was about to fall in love , once again.(and that

I went to see A man dying. He lived in a sea side graveyard Among random pines and Disciplined tombs Legs stretched and head scratched He spat on the wind blowing. Once he lived in the mountain blues and rock side caves Made love with the banyan beauty and invoked his dark sharp lady. They walked down vineyards green Narrow straits of full night moon. He was raped At the waterfalls Naked woods Danced around His sunburnt passion. He was lame When he moved again To tree top heights or lake side shines With evergreen moths or dragonflies. The man was stripped Of his yellow skin As he crossed the bony bridge To his sand white eternity. Last day At the deep blue graveyard He fed his heart To seagulls mating And his toes to red ants marching. In the shore line silhouettes Of dry bit mist I saw pigeons flying As he lay dying.

Her earliest memory hangs over her wish to stab her grandma sleeping beside So that, Her mom would come back for the funeral. She found her lost, like an arrow in search of its prey on those belly marks of parched earth labyrinths A spider crawled, on the opposite wall, dragging its egg white halo. Posterity huddled, Underneath. Tomorrow, it shall burst in the kitchen sink like sprinkled salt, over mushrooms bleached. Street light poured in through the murky ventilator, the golden elevator, from the heavens She flew out of her grandma’s mosquito net to pick up a forlorn star, to shine above as she red paints her marbles Sparkling silver.

Million rays have set On those isles of grey Half drowned towers Of clustered destiny. Once, even before prehistory As Apollo mated Oceana She soared up high As he drew her close Showering isles astray as morning dews In their celestial ecstasy. Beard kings, short and stout Walked the ramp Of those inland water ways Spread, a linen They dragged along Their potbelly gown Leaving tales of histories In those mighty royal highways Of gluttonous raptures. Chess board lords In their cross checked moves Wrecked one another And blew up blocks Black and white. They had queens Of glittering blaze Moving statues or Antique widows. Had daughters clad In Persian carpets Veiled and pinched To the balcony gaze Of somber stone towers. A souvenir regenerated For the annual harvest. Alms in decorum For the fertility gods. To this land of treasured pork and improper surnames Men came, sailing From the land of marred Albatross They brought with

When the theme seems moving And the idea cunning You write a poem. Sell in kilos The flesh sliced off Garnished. Speak volumes Of love and loss Set on a grinding machine. Pen down From dawn to dusk Market scenes or Street end desires Write about labor pain Or frogs, in your nearby pond. Mom is a female You don’t write about When nights over run Days of boiled lust The lines speak of Hours lost to years In a mulberry bush Of infant foot steps Pasted letters bold Slip of the white sheet In tears imprinted Of ditching memories. The ink should ooze out To cover the drains Of your hollow self Writing is not an art It’s a foul play of moving dice Calculate your steps Count your tales Color your fakes Courier it in black and white Catch it, a red hot iron. Have it plain With no frills or frocks Wrap it over Your lipstick glitter Kiss your neighbor For birth rate high Hang it down The Vienna market Your poem is ready

The lava is thick and gluey. it seeps in to my pores and peels off my skin am blazing within I dived in to a near by sea but a shark spat me out Ran to the fish market to find ice cubes big for that shark but I saw its tail swinging in a prehistoric weighing machine I rushed to a way side hamlet it had twelve ponds and a canal. but the pool saint there taught me new lessons of life. still I managed to dash deep in to the tenth pond from west end I saw a crocodile preaching sermons on how to catch a monkey with a fullfledged heart. Ran for my life to the mountains of ice I saw a man crossed legged tall and straight muscle powered glamour guy He is hot as a pepper end said my prayer room scraps. He saw me burning and skated away, for fear of a deluge, to a nearby city of rivers where I too can plunge for a penance I did it too but under water saw disbelief, a planet, burning red I lept out and now as I rise in this rain I

I am not an angel nor am I a beast I may be satanic, impious and wicked. the one eyed hellish old lady with an apple in hand. who climbed the cliff to drop in that rainless thunder I, a magician, can tear emotions and wink over the blood flowing. I shall paint my home blood red and grow a cherry to full bloom. I stab u left to right and collect those sweat to cover the marks well dead of quivering You a carcass, i knw floating in the sea a feast for piranha me in a cannibal weed. I dust u I drain u stamp ur love over coal and flith I am a sinner wandering below the churchyard for graveyards green and rusty tombs. let not sermons rule me and dont bring me a cross I shall doom erupt a million seeds will rush out of wild and bastard sadists Let me die a slow death dissolve my poison from spreading cover my head cover my toe smash my eyes and shut my breath let me persih unknown but I wish to dream your fingers locked in mine b

Once Twice up on a time She loved. He was Her man in black Made of sand. He loved her live Fresh as monsoon weed. She dragged him deep To her blistered bleed. Labeled love set to tune, alive. A man from nowhere From beneath the ground A dead shadow Followed. He was sheepish With floating eyes. She was lured To intrinsic myths Of love tales crossing births Unlabelled love set to tune, ignored. A man of flesh A man of cotton She, a falling star Of million desires. For her man She was a pebble Beneath a shallow spring Moulded in his dashing current. A needle point Pierced and stitched To his burning urge. The torrent, he Smashed the structures Of her oblivion. She loved with a nagging pain Of declaimed femininity Roasted and shaped In a way side camp fire. She pulled her nails And painted his taste Fertility rites abandoned. On those nights dissolved in wine and lust Her love spoke of Pleasures longed and rainbows fad

I went up, Four steps Once, The wet black stone stairs. The glass door closed I rang the bell The monitor blinked and said The bell echoed similar Deep down the chamber To the one that rung One hour back. Heart beat 1 2 3 and 4 removed. Try once more or hold on. I climbed down And went for a walk Skipped fence white washed And draped green On those rolling hills I sang a shepherd Over clouds of clay I flew a wizard Alchemy drowned. It was dusk When I went up again Those mulberry stairs Door wide open I stepped in With the dripping rain Candles burning lead me Deep down the antique walls Of portraits pale and luxuries grey. To a balcony of weeded wilderness. Through the murky fog I saw her swirling away Near the backyard pool In her snow white gown She seemed a piece of cloud Skating on the ice, thick set. She swayed in tune With that door bell heard One hour back Heart beat 1 2 3 and 4 removed.

I saw a lady moving. A haunting shadow, Crossing the streets and treading hills With a half damp picture Of a little girl. She seemed seeking Men and streams Lanes and graves For her little one Vanished Along the evening prayer. Female in grey Tramping in her ghostly gown Bolt her breast and blast her womb As she walks past, the swaying stone bridge and my swollen eyes, To the valley of broken desires. The shadows she left Over the thick dank fog Gather to carve A man of clay Crouching over A dead decaying log. He was weeping Over a reclaimed son Drifting away In his unshared memory. The pale skinned man Surrenders Before the infant memory. Decomposed And set on a tune different In an abduction camp. It was raining outside When I stepped in to The chilling darkness Of the theatre balcony The corner seat I took Gulped me in to a distant land of Barren breaths The screen shivered And minced In its tale of Children Abducted

I fell in love Last year. It was all so sudden I realize it now, that I fell in love Last year I flew over the hinder land of Castrated histories And burped out My sickle cell loves from my mushroom hut. My days turned pink And nights water lilies We f ight in the dark And kiss by day light Carve our love With tantrum and tear And paint each other Earth and sky. I fell in love Last year.

Eighteen steps descended To a half lit supper hall Cracked up wooden benches Stretched out in zigzag rows. Old age in white, Walking shadows Moved around. The creed that slipped love Through their crumpled skin And frozen fingers Gather every night For a silent curse. They invoke the goddess of abandon ness With their empty breast Snatch it out and Make it their penance. Their skin is blue And howl every night To the lands across valleys Crossing mountain cracks To drench and drown In thick rain forest. They live clustered Like millipedes in monsoon Their backyard room Smell of tears dry and Gods sluggish. The incense burning dope. They crawl out Half opened doors Of pinching memories Deep beyond their drowsy eyes The lust for life Reign their nerves Once, On a frigid wintry night They dragged me in And grabbed my skin. Lead me to a dungeon Of ash soaked bones. Pulled my hair and Squeezed my flesh For a drop of blood and The

She was a concubine Seventh in the series. Lean and pale With a chubby nose Yet, young and fresh For the plump old caliph. Like a newly brought shoes He wore her day and night Around the garden and Within the royal glass chamber. She was b(r)ought From her hill side hut Which smell of smoke Over dry hard ice. She never saw the other number series Only pale mute screams Of exhausted taste. Maids in service Frowned at her For her silence And dry wet eyes. She loved her chief maid, Saya Who brought her lilies And kissed her bruises. Together they swam across The channel of brute night loves They danced, Close together All through the night. Loved in the wild dark backyard When they heard The potbelly lust Panting In another chamber corner. The thick green backyard At the far of end Had a mossy well Shaded with chrysanthemum and Covered with strawberries. The well was insane. Had a legend etched To its thick damp stone walls. It

She was a concubine Seventh in the series. Lean and pale With a chubby nose Yet, young and fresh For the plump old caliph. Like a newly brought shoes He wore her day and night Around the garden and Within the royal glass chamber. She was b(r)ought From her hill side hut Which smell of smoke Over dry hard ice. She never saw the other number series Only pale mute screams Of exhausted taste. Maids in service Frowned at her For her silence And dry wet eyes. She loved her chief maid, Saya Who brought her lilies And kissed her bruises. Together they swam across The channel of brute night loves They danced, Close together All through the night. Loved in the wild dark backyard When they heard The potbelly lust Panting In another chamber corner. The thick green backyard At the far of end Had a mossy well Shaded with chrysanthemum and Covered with strawberries. The well was insane. Had a legend etched To its thick damp stone walls. It hung all