aash

Posted by Picasa

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Insult

Suddenly, one day You become a weed on a courtyard wall   The wild green that nourishes on the intrinsic bliss of his domesticity.   Their murmurs of yesteryears gather on your body, hanging down the dilapidated concrete, and write new epilogues for a play, that ended much before the first Act   Your hapless nerves become, the scorching summer intruding, their frozen corridors. The melancholy whore, You spread like evening rays over, the impending silence.   Your words Your skies Your cuddle Your newfound womb, shatter over a forbidden land, mutilated.   The snake bite on their moonlit nights, You ooze out, from a million pores.    
Read more

Re-turn

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...
Read more

Drifting birth

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 ...
Read more