Showing posts from July, 2010

Towers of grey

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 them
Skin, white and pale
and over run the throne
In a tongue unknown

Wiped off tales
Of blasp…

Art of Faking

When the theme seems moving
And the idea cunning
You write a poem.

Sell in kilos
The flesh sliced off

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 for sale.

Castrated Catharsis

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 see a queen in red
burning bright
in this twilight.