the colour harmony!!

Today Everybody Speaks of holocaust Tell stories Scribble memories Draw sketches Make movies Hold lectures Submit research thesis And paste it On their drawers Bill boards Evening benches and wayside lamppost To know war You need to become war And to fake a revolution You need to be one. Thus you know how it felt When flesh slipped off their skin Gassed, white, pale and parched Like shadows on dead snow. And how their eyes bulged As they lost their smell And calves tore Over anticipated miles. We watch the mounts, Of garbage Of clothes Of bodies Of swine Of disease Of death Stripped heads crawling Over bodies of bones Swept together. We close our page Shut down our cable Stretch our legs Over coffee and snacks And call it holocaust.

They were dark buttons in a public booth Numbered and starred And bulged out On a yellow box Coaxed and whined Smooched and smashed. Women in veils Pressed them hard And gasped behind the lanes they crossed. Running away, hasty. The glass door closed Peeping in, the secrets left bare land to land Of over heard symphonies of unkept hair. They stood there Dark and inviting On street end corners or on narrow highways courting, men from work to let them taste contours of their home made dinner delicacies. The glass panes had loves etched In marigold white. Epitaphs of burdens buried. Men kissed And women drained Over the plastic warmth and curves of buttoned libido The cramped interior With a caller id And hanging receiver Choked In the rabid chase and burning powders Of a faked revolution. They are the black holes screwed When nights passed by. A call of the wild From a bolted cubicle.

I once went underground sleeping. through      tunneled mud lanes       of   broken castles there were armies marching to the kitchen store and beauties waiting for the enrolled whore. yellow shade       came thru velvet strings of day light GLOW                                          sun-tan baths                                 over                        flew kites and birds of narrowed beauties soaked up spicy in...

Nymph nodes I   Childhood has an attributed nostalgia like ventilators that sustain life. It’s like your wish to return to the cellar towers Where you watch, the green of weeded walls. The damp air The dusk and the rusty care taker fill your breast, While you watch your shadow curve in the lantern shade. II   I was a girl of eleven with a cot of my own, When fingers, thick and dark spread on to my skin. I lay bare, by the window cot watching afternoon leaves flutter shades and breeze. It was a nameless tree, next to my broken fence, marked as my floristic guardian angel in the annals of my birth star logics. Climbed on it, every other day my pores bled, To paste its pulp in-between slices chiseled. It stood straight, with a thousand limbs stretching. I must have hugged and kissed its belly red. For I feel, I am cuddled within.

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.