time flies

time flies

buzz around

the rotting clock

.

little beggars

fight to mount

the lame horse

.

tortoise drags

the decaying sound

over the sand dunes

.

a smile leaks

from the wound

painted on your face

.

licking it off slowly

i stick a fresh band-aid

healing the joy inside

.

time

flies

.

monsoon afternoon-2

small droplets

of old memories

rain softly

.

smell of fresh pain

rides the breeze

spread slowly

.

your presence

like monsoon clouds

loom dark and heavy

.

i escape indoors

wrapping safe solitude

tight and warm around me

.

pottery

rooted in the same space, the tongue dances…molding pretty words out of the messy muddy clay in my mind… words that are wet and sticky…words that promise to hold very many, very much…even without saying anything…words which then turn and turn on the wheel spun by your thoughts to shapes that you want to create…which you gather ever so tenderly…and gently place inside you where the fire is lit and the oven is hot…firing them to your perfection…nice smooth strong defined…waiting and waiting again for my wet tongue to reach out slowly…so slowly not to touch the breeze, but just the hues of your yearning spread all over your nakedness that you bare bit by bit…for me to touch taste the pain little by little…and smear paint smudge all that is inside…with bold wild licks making those colors scream so loudly… as they get burnt into the words in the heat inside you…and wait and wait for the fire to die and the oven to cool…so that we can take out those pieces that we created without our fingers getting burned and smile together marveling what we see. without words. in silence.

silence.pregnant

despite watching the cycle, despite non-penetration, despite the condom, despite the diaphragm, despite the morning after pill; the silence is pregnant. very. silence is always silent, but only at times pregnant. pregnant as in having a life forming inside. at the moment. as you watch. as you feel. as you shift uncomfortably with the knowledge. a life is forming inside. not just life, but a form which contains the life as well. which will have a full body soon. it will be born. yes, it will be born. soon enough. and it will resemble the father. maybe the mother. maybe someone’s grand father. or granmother. so the silence is pregnant. the words are never. pregnant. words are always empty. no life forming inside. simple. hollow. zilch. but that is wishful. now we have a silence. that is pregnant. it is growing. little fat tummy. soon you can see the form on the screen. feel the beat of the heart. feel the kick on the inside of the tummy. of the silence. which is pregnant. very. truly. now. shit. eat green papayas. no. silence is serene. silence is divine. pregnancy is divine. it is non-penetrative. silence is virgin. pregnant silence hangs. like in mid air. it hangs. and hangs. no one touches. all serene. all praying. let it not fall. let it not rupture. let the form inside not be born. yes. not be born. whythefuck should it. it was not to be. no need. silence. hangs. pregnant silence hangs. in collective silence. just by the rope. round its neck. slowly swinging. slowly. finally. slowly. it stops swinging. yes. dozens of eyes moving leftrightleft suddenly stops. yes. sure. they stop. it stops. silence. pregnant silence. now dead. really. and truly dead. and a smile is born. no. many. smiles are born. Whew!

checking

problem with blog, checking up if everything is working

magician

magician picks one

lemming from the pack

throws it way, way back

.

lemming sails a while

rides the breeze

kisses the clouds with ease

.

end of that bit of time

it comes crashing down

leg crushed head split skin torn

.

runs again rushing

towards certain salvation

sad for the f-ed up magician

.

waiting room

stale smell of chloroform

slither hurriedly into the nostril

chased by different forms of fear

hatching out of thin shells

.
sweaty palms make abstract art

on crumpled reports, frayed files

on which stick random thoughts

faded dreams some little lies

.
multiple projections scream

alive, livid on the wall

re-wind re-write re-shoot

re-play another dream

.
time swings slowly

each wait their turn

as her long fingers dip deep

picking the next number from the urn

.

tarantula

tarantulas are spiritual.very.they have transcended the routine mundane. they swing. they rock. they make love. and then they eat you up. yummmmm. just like that. just so coz you are good in bed. and you taste yum. and well, she is hungry after good sex. always. so i stroke this pet T that i have. gently as she swings ever so softly in her web. the one that she wove between our minds and the pasts and those stubs of insanity that we hold so deep so dear so hidden. within us. so i pet this T that i love. who has suddenly popped up again and connected another strand of the web to my mind. it tickles and she moves gently. crawling sensuously over the crevices on my mind. arousing that restlessness. that little treasured insanity. and as my eyes lock her wide wide ones, that look of absolute innocence. insane innocence. and i stroke. long fluid skin-ever-so-gently-on-skin strokes. just to discover her again. to map her in my mind. not like a picture. but. like a dance. like the water that rushes between rocks after rain. and to reach the spots that i havent reached earlier. when ever i have touched her. with the long fingers of my mind. unbraiding the braided hair that only i can see. with the nails of my thoughts. rolling the balm squeezed from our words in my palm. massaging it gently on her back as she swings on the web. as she crawls on my mind. as she trickles the restlessness alive. and the clock ticks on. and she says. it's time to spread out the bed.

dream?

fluttering thin silk curtains layered and layered till eternity swirling and dancing changing colors and making moving patterns as it traps the dew drops in the moonlight which seeps through the gaps in the dark dark clouds and the intermittent rain as i sit silent i sit alone i sit on that single chair with miles and miles of thick trees and shrubs and green and light green and more dark green all so alive and silent and intensely calm as i sit for ages on the cold rough stone chair and watch the sky spilt into pieces by silent lightning all over the chair touching wrapping my whole naked body and my feet so rooted in the fresh dampness of grassy earth and there is no one and nobody and no being other than the breeze and the trees and thoughts from some far away land which softly touch the mind like the dew on the silk and i sit and i sit and sit and i smile and the lightnings pause to bow to the glow that light up softly gently through the silk all the way to the other world

.period.

your smile still hangs in mid air….suspended without hooks, strings on nails and the like…long after you seeped out through the little gaps and holes I left in between the piled up words and stacked songs and sticky touches and webby stories….all of which came up bit by bit by bit…without you or even me knowing…or maybe it is without us seeing, but knowing, but not seeing…till all these towered above us shutting out everything else and making us swim in their shadows and breathe in their smell and be touched by their sweat which we rubbed gently on each other to cover the naked parts of us that glowed as we talked and understood and touched and nibbled to undress each other of everything that we wore…inside and outside…till our world grew so large with just the two of us and that outside got smaller and smaller and finally got stuffed in a full stop. period. then you just seeped through the hole and slipped out. into the full stop. still your smile hangs in here. without hooks, strings on nails and the like. you gone. seeped out. naked. without the smile. into the full stop. period.

to she who.......

hey she who hasn’t escaped, I touch what you said. I feel it with my fingertips, I scoop the words in my palm and let it slip thru my fingers…slowly. they fall on the dark cold granite floor…like a bunch of tiny tiny steel balls….they scatter, they bounce, they sing, they dance, they paint the air with the screams stolen from the nightmares that you had wrapped around tighter and tighter around you for comfort. nightmares that saved you for a little wee bit longer from opening your eyes to yet another plastic and paint and synthetic and wtf, yet another day…with the only lingering connection with love is the dried wet patch on the bedsheet marking the spot of the act like a tombstone…it even smells of death of some dreams and if you have the courage to put your face on it you could hear the skeletons rattle in the coffin which you had built so nicely…where you hide those little toys and dolls you play with, those little bits of ribbon and pieces of broken bangles of every color of the rainbow and those little crayons with which you write those words which glow with stark darkness which gets me to fly into them and get so brunt ….and give out a stink of my flesh.. for you to sniff and sniff and slowly follow as it leads you to this place where you can come…where the mind can swing on the noose and dance and the body can shed its masks and come alive to some cool rain drops and some gentle touch and run with some wolves and dance in the wilderness to some strange music and draw more patterns in the sand telling untold stories and unsung poems …stories and poems which will be sung and sung aloud by many who travel the wild path around fires and after love and as tired sleep creeps on their minds…and they will thank you, for your escape gave them meaning. meaning To live. To love. To escape.

smog

smog

thick n sticky

.

like thoughts

in the mind

had leaked

.

through

ears, nose

blinking eyes

yawning mouth

.

just

to let the world

know

.

what

really happens

inside

.

2 min 34 sec

more

for sunrise

.

an evening walk

roaches walking on stilts
plucking ripe orange eyes
half-eaten by bats
flying wearing darkglasses
.
little baby rabbits
burrow out pink fingers
by the glow of fireflies
trapped in glass bottles
.
the snake is at the bar
downing jack-on-the-rocks
bidding for the mermaid in the pool
to take home for the night
.
I walk swinging
Your smile in the bottle
looking around, looking under
ripping off bellies, digging out graves
for those bits and pieces
.
of mine
to sew on
to sew together
.
so that one day I can
eat with the rabbits and the bats
drink with the snake
and take the mermaid home
just for one night

.

one more smile

Your smile creeps from the words on the phone screen dangles for a moment on my finger, catches breath and then snakes up my hand tickling as it darts inside my sleeve up my shoulder, pause to nibble my ear-lobe and then treks up my eyebrow and then strips fully naked, dives into the still-dead-pool in my eye, creating lovely ripples that light up all that is inside and outside. One more smile pl. just for the other eye

:)

muse to muse

i wl be your muse
if only you wd be my witch
suck out my soul and spit it
into the cauldron and stir it
with your juice to spice it
the fire in your eyes to cook it
.
sip it and kiss feed me with it
lip to lip
kiss to kiss
muse to muse
.
wait for it to spread inside
you and me and us
and words to erupt
that wl scald the world

and scar it

.
for ever

after

.

long day, young night

long day
young night
phantoms rise
on the checker board
.
finger tips move
tracing the path
a few killed
a few born
.
some pawned
some taken
none given
.
veils drop
shadows split
spirits merge
.
mind hangs
upside down
blind as a bat
.
no moves left
in the graveyard
the raven takes wings
in search of a moon
.
the bat still hangs
upside down
from her beak
.

enough of these words

lets
bury the words
in the womb
long before they are born
.
and learn what they
struggle to say
.
just by
smell touch taste
of every nook, corner
and crevice
.
skin
on bare skin

.

.therefore.i.am.

.therefore.i.am.
.6X6.space.expands.
.sometimes.
.full.of.green.allover.
.thick.green.asin.you.know.
.blink.
.pink.and.blue.
.lights.flicker.
.6X8.8X9.100X300.space.explodes
.geometrically.
.never.circle.
.never.sperical.
.square.rectangle.
.no.triangle.
.sharp.ponts.
.hurt.poke.
.6X6.again.mostly.
.6X6X6.now.
.laughter.
.one.6.breaks.
.black.light.streams.
.in.green.air.
.laughter.
.take.store.harvest.
.under.ground.6X6.
.in.tins.tight.
.blue.and.pink.
.lights.
.flicker.
.6X6…X6.again.blocks.
.sky.gone.black.light.gone.
.cry.trapped.
.in.
.tower.cube.on.cube.
.no.think.no.
.just.feel.
.just.write.
6X6X6.36X36X36.1296X1296X1296
.BLINK.
.spoooooooosssshhhhhhh.
.0X0X0.

.therefore.

.i.

.am.

.

so said the woman---7

baiting your thoughts
with my words
riding it
by its tail
as it gallops
.
i reach
the edge
of your mind
.
as it prowls
untamed by the warmth
of the grip of my thighs
reigned a bit by
my hand on the tail
.
what now
what next
?

stillness moves

the stillness moves
simmering bubbling frothing
in the eye
of the hurricane
.
the stillness moves
red hot and cold blue
untouched unmoved unattached
in the eye
of the hurricane
.
stillness moves
bursting spraying spreading
random thoughts feelings
.
sometimes scalding
sometimes freezing
.
never soothing
.
the eye
of the hurricane
.

haikus?

garland of lilies lie
withering and heavy on your bosom-
dry taste of summer breeze
.
little spider stalks
gingerly on its own web-
time seeps through unnoticed
.
breeze blows dry dead lilies
black strands of broken web unstuck-
time moves riding your sigh

!

you.now

in the middle of that dark misty night, when all the lights went out, the moon was swallowed by the clouds, the stars blinked back their twinkle in fear, the wind tip toed touching the bare body with cold fingers, sitting at the door of that small room on the roof of that old hilltop house with cracked walls and cobwebed ceilings , as the glow of the cigerette tip died burning the fingers, the black cat who came in thru the back window was not seen, not heard but felt. felt like its soul burrowed a tunnel thru the mist and thru some hole in the body and reached deep inside and grabbed something there and sucked all debris out and connected and cleaned up the tube for us the me and the cat to connect, as we were of one tribe. it is so, that i feel you. now.

just some four letter words

hard
kiss
dark
loud
eyes
yell
grab
tear
fcuk
soul
mind
ooze
drip
come

done

!

to she on the orange chair

boredom hung listless matted tangled
heap of black long hair
hung all around from the head
as she sat on the orange plastic chair
.
the pain glows at the tip
as she draws life deep
plain blueish wisp
slowly drift and fade
damp twigs of thoughts
smolder in dying fire
.
come sweetheart
jump into the street
help paint the road
splattering abstract red
.
i wl catch your smile
mid air before it breaks
pour it into the empty jack bottle
and walk swinging it
in the middle of the night
lighting up the life
in that very street

.

random

mind keep chewing old thoughts, random memories..turning the essence like juice savored slowly swirled around the tongue…some fragments stay stuck in crevices between teeth…lips smile at the taste of the memory…living in a tiny body perched on a tiny planet rotating/revolving in a set path in a universe that is moving in a hurry somewhere at breakneck speed….the mind gets disoriented…too many things flash by through the window to the eternal space….even though there is stillness around…..we live stacked upon each other and feelings and thoughts struggle in the crowd to breathe, suddenly there comes a break as when the train rushes suddenly through a country side…we breathe fresh air….like caressing strands of old music drifting aimlessly with the breeze, like an unanticipated unadulterated kiss in the middle of a mundane-any-other-day, like the fleeting smile on the lips of a sleeping puppy ...the stink becomes just a memory for a few seconds….and eyes begin to sparkle looking ahead…making soft dreams out of all that is left and all that is gathered new.

new era dawns

eyes dark and still

dead pool of icy ink

spreading chill

as you give me head

sucking away the stink

of love care and all that shit

.

the waves the waves

hit you in the gut

purple lobsters pop out

of thawing artic ice

.

only roaches in the mind

hairy feet tickle razor’s edge

when flipped they row

row row thick air

.

oh, I’m moving

trailing fluorescent stink

upside down and clawing air

a new era dawns

!

you

fresh from the bath

lingering freshness of nakedness

yet to be shed

the mind searches the cupboard

.

crumpled worn-out faded

sighing with soft musty smell

you lie hidden behind

the crisp the new the colorful

.

rummaging fingertips

pause feel linger

smoothen the creases

in fleeting moments remember

.

all that there was

all that there is

some undressed off the skin

some burnt into it

.

the nest

drifting strands of music
rustles the grass
in green meadows painted in the sky
.
ruffling my feathers as I gather

twigs of your thoughts
one after another after another
.
dry, dusty and brittle
.
softening them
with taste of our wetness
lingering in my beak
.
weaving a nest
in one nook of
the old sacred tree
.
where our silences
pause to listen
to dreams making love

.

a night, a drive and death

dark wind
sings as it dances
.
rooted in the sand
the lonely tree joins
.
shrubs whirl past
moving in reverse
limbs split to strands
by cold cutting wind
.
death licks the bugs
off the windscreen for starters
its breath frosting the glass
cutting off the road
.
reason panics
trapped inside
opens the window
takes flight
.
laughter shakes the car
upside down
the main course served
with warm sticky sauce
.
full, death explodes
embedding bits and pieces
deep inside the rest there
and a few away elsewhere
.

dreams

the dreams
are back
.
the cat
the raven
the snake
.
One ate
the Other’s cry
lest it pierce
the Third’s eye
.
but the Third’s eyes bore
twin holes in One
bleeding out the cry
taunting it to try
.
One wrapped the oozing cry
In its voice and went mute
the Other opened its beak
to swallow the echoes growling at the peaks
.
the Third uncoiled the time
blurring this piece of space
.
eyes flipped inside out
back
to the sets
of real illusion

monsoon afternoon

cubes of silence

fresh from the ice tray

slowly melt

.

on the bare back

of your whispers

half asleep

.

the fingers of my thoughts

trace the wet trail

teasing the skin

.

life pauses

listning to music

of aftternoon rain

.

your bedside clock beeps

struggling to push

the heavy time along

.

controlled insanity

deep purple patches
wearing goofy grins
skateboard wild n’ blind
up and down the dancing smile
.
strange winds blow away
crutches on amputed reason
blurring everything black and white
to smudging shades of colorful grey
.
little glowing dots
step out of dark nooks
lighting up uncurling tentacles
tickling insanity to life
.
come, piggyback ,
free fall with me
.
no chutes
no gliders
no net
.
smash down and paint
the dark gloomy sky
with splattering lovely red

.
or maybe

.
splash into the blue green
puddle of dreams
forever wet
.
what say
you

?

so said the woman---6

i want to make
a baby with you
.
allow our thoughts
to shed what they wear
hold hands and slowly slither
down and around
that untroden trail
many a time we saw
we sniffed and stood
panting
right at the edge
peering over the hedge
.
i want to make
a baby with you
.
allow our minds
to wander free
where hands wont touch
and the lips wont kiss
to those little dark corners
where the toungues long
to make music
to all those moves
shackled and buried deep
where music is deaf
and waltz is lame
.
i want to make
a baby with you
.
with
.
the colorful hues in your eyes
the fountain that bursts at my finger tips
those little sharp edges
scraped off your mind
and the warm sticky clay
spinning on the wheel inside me
where my hands dont reach

.
until

.
the tips of our hair tickles
and unfolds the skin
and the wiff of our breath
follows the tongue
making
rainbows explode
lighting the universe
.
i want to make
a baby with you

!

an old rhythm

an old rhythm plays, on the edge of the mind

.
the thoughts heaped up …like lots and lots of rusty old keys…tied up for long in the old cloth bag with musty smell of pickled monsoons tightly tied up with the frayed double knotted string

.
an old rhythm plays on the edge of the mind

.
the keys are heavy, rusty, some sticky, some smooth, some rough…they learn to breathe again as your whispers seep through the string and the folds and the fabric….bring in the scent of the dance and music from so far away…reaching inside riding the waves set off as you move your body to the sensuous beat

.
an old rhythm plays, on the edge of the mind

.
the fingers fumble at the knot, pretend to play with the breeze and return opening the belly button, releasing the trapped scent of damp forests firing up the blood hounds chasing the playful little rabbit hidden deep in the burrow

.
an old rhythm plays, on the edge of the mind

.
and spreads slowly swirling about from the far dark edges to the toe and all other tips and pores…ready to dissolve the layers of dried onion skins and almost touch the core

.
an old rhythm plays, on the edge of the mind

.
the keys clamor loud as the heart rolls in the empty tin box….and slowly fall silent as the music fades..falling in a heap again in the old old old bag

.
but the old rhythms plays on, on the edge and beyond the mind

:)

my mind, now

green fresh leaves
flavoring the sunlight
still some dried deadwood
dangling limp
chop chop chop

silence just smiles

dried silence like dead animal hide
cake of baked blood thick inside
cloaking the being still long after
the undress the caress and the kiss
.
smell of freshly squeezed honey
readies its long manicured fingers
to dig in and touch the sprout to life
but fumbles, fails, retreats
.
trapped inside, the beast roars
the silence smiles with silence
the blood, oozes in the warmth
the sprout screams in the darkness
stumbling about inside the seed

.

nite,pub,old friends

memories
crabwalk
tickling
sleepy
time-dunes
deep
.
green
florescent
fizz
frothing
thoughts
bubbling
laughter
.
rocking
floating
debris
clearing
sticky
muck
.
trapping
broken
moon
for
keeps

.

2008/9

between one
on
this side
and another
on
the other side
.
blink
.
just
a
blink

?

so said the woman---5

pain dissolves
like virgin dew
in sunrise
with your tender touch
.
the wandering breeze
is trapped in a basket
of strands of joy & guilt
interlocked and woven tight
.
inhibitions drop
like early autumn leaves
still a bit fleshy
patchy with colours
.
mind confused
body denied
soul hungry

.
why ?
why not?

?

sing

sing my mocking bird
sing till you die
clenching your eyes shut
just so you cant see
.
the songs lie trapped
in the labyrinth of your mind
its echos basting holes
even before the shrapnel found the skull
.
sing my mocking bird
sing as you lie
all is well and good

the world is the way it should

.

right now

like
the running spider
trapped by
a piece of cloth
soaked in kerosene
thrown over it

.
the mind is numb
waiting for the
burning matchstick
to strike

Blog 2nd Anniversary---repeat of 1st post

Life is a breeze and I am trying to grab the scent as it blows…….as one would grab the remnants of a dream before it fades, as one would linger on the look which races the heart beat , as one would etch the memory of the towering mountains before leaving the wilderness……scent comes in wisps…soft as a baby's touch and as pure as its smile…it is fleeting as the smile which touches the eyes, as haunting as the tune long forgotten…the scent of virgin rain on mud, the scent of mist rolling on the lake, the scent of sweat after love, the scent of invocation after the prayer, the scent of happiness as life blows…like a breeze......

=============================================================

life continue to be a breeze......new scents, new voices, new feelings come along with it....some touch and move on riding the breeze....some linger...for a while, or forever.........

by the riverside

the crow came again
astride the silent cat
its shadow chilling the pain
of thoughts strung on my bait
.
as I fished in the river from nowhere
holding the mind on its end
still as the heart of the whore
dying alive buried in the sand
.
the cat drops a penny down the hole
dug by pimping crab strangling a song in its claw
the crow climbs and pecks the erect pole
as little mermaids with sewed-up lips take a bow
.
the whore sighs and mountains shift
the sand buries the penny deep
cat claws nail the thoughts to a cross for old theft
the crow pecks out the eyes which see and weep
.
the river, it still flows from nowhere
and i still fish with my rod, my bait
sometimes it is a snake or a dove who come here
and it just doesn’t seem to matter

.
why who when or what

.

diwali

gunshots
and bombs
explode
.
lighting up
the sky
blowing out
lights
.
in
innocent eyes
.
burnt smell
of fireworks
linger
.
mixing
with that of
burnt flesh
drying blood
rotting minds
.
can we
smash the diya

.
instead
touch a life
light a smile
just once
each day
?

no !

no

it is not

that

.

you are

a virgin

your mouth tastes

roasted tobacco

you think

Ayn Rand

is a saint

.

it is

just that

.

may be

just

may be

.

you are

too young

i am

too old

.

and

scared stiff

!

she, the mist and a breeze

soft touch
ruffling hair

drawing patters

on bare skin

.
like a
gentle breeze
sliding thru
gaps

.
in the

rolling mist

which

.
wraps
random thoughts
hides
wild stirrings
buries
them deep and safe

.
away from
the searching touch
of the
wandering breeze

.

rain----6

rain
wet
cold
breeze
.
pain
pit
stomach
freeze
.
knowin
yet
shutting
eyes
.
aim
shoot
kill
please
.

you, me & the beast

trapped

in my body

the beast

seemed tamed

.

till

.

bathed

in your sweat

.

drunk on

the sweet slime

you ooze

.

it broke

the web

of your wispers

.

climbed

the waves

of your heat

.

devoured me

skin bone

flesh & soul

.

spitting out

the mind

just alive

.

to

tell

the tale

.

so said the woman---4

you

.

a strange breeze

never seen

felt

smelt

before

.

flirting with

my dark tresses

.

gliding gently

though my

random thoughts

.

promises of

drenching rain

.

fantasies of

wild storms

.

making smiles

bloom

on parched desert

sand

.

1st poem, on love

when 12

you taught me

the A,B and C

of love

.

after Z

and practicals,

killing your love

and with its blood

.

i wrote

in red

.

the 1st poem

on love

.