infectopoesia

A snake in the soul

2006-07-31T00:09:00.000+05:30

He creaked below the burden of brain
or shouted froth above, for time
as a serpent scaled and crawled his chest
to gobble the hours hidden inside

"Time", chuckled God
is what I made to
stain your fate...

A jarring glue
from my harmonic hands
to bind your destiny

So tell me are you
tired enough
to preview the end of time.

He said yes
and ran with light
(for light was God),
to end of time.

Where stood a road
with no more turns

And a
granite darkness
in which
the Cosmos died
with one last hiss

that sounded
same like
the snake in his soul

Fairy..Tell

2006-07-24T02:57:00.002+05:30

A story cut in ice, isn't the one best to hear
But it carries a lot of weight,
a lot indeed.

If you consider the motions frozen inside
..As vague as the appraisal talks
pointless as a moist cloth
Trucks of crap beneath
a routine sun

Some spices too..
bifocal sincerity
dollops of work hurled inside
words inside
this that
brick bat
lives flow
tic-tac-toe
Carrying sad gutters in their stride.

Then they grow old...
the gutters
grow old
become chasms
the chasms
grow old
become seas
Seas as grey as fungus within diamond eyes.

A story cut in soil isn't best to hear
Sorry
if it's stale
because its a tale
that every dead man whispers below the earth
to fill up his oceans.

A story cut in fire isn't that nice to hear too
for it burns our peace
revealing the wretched destiny
we hid behind the blanket
and sprayed over some lingering smile
to shy the smell away.

Then what's good to hear?
Who knows?
and
who cares?

Perhaps something
that tugs our past
rides our present
blends our tommorow.

For is it not
the best story of all to hear is that....
which we already know
from out and inside.

None..theless !

2006-03-14T07:52:00.000+05:30

Next best step to freedom

Is sleep…

For neither can be attained

without long hours of struggle

…Wakened defiance against the masters,

Imperial hands

on our sartorial destiny

Only yesterday three guys died

and four more bought new iPods.

They weren’t exactly related you see,

other than a shared space

and shared time

And shared lack of concern for each other.

Yet Time rocks our entwined fate

Merged as a nation,

As a race

or some hollow vase beyond this imperfect universe

Oh! You there

What more can I do to ease your pain?

That you are no better than the others

hit hard, right?

Let me tell you this, I have polished that feeling

beneath a remorseless sun

Then

when your match gets over

You too will find

in tones unkind

In a made-easy earth

it’s no big deal to be

Big anymore.

Now Drexel, act like talking to me..

2005-11-24T19:29:00.000+05:30

He banished the stub of that stubborn cigar
A carefully careless hand swoosh
Down the guttural way
It flicked and hit a slow-mo taxi
The driver cursed –an Iraqi face
Who got a wrongly addressed rocket
With tea and morning post;
Well, our hero
Like he could care less!
Lazy nonchalance intact,
Drexel showed his genital finger
In that Texan Cowboy style.

We were fooling around the Ghalib Street line,
Late November sunset harped with her chilly ring tone –
A cacophony cooked up an all consuming bubble,
Rickshaws and feces, potholes and power cuts
Were gathering pace round our sky.

Drexel rested against a lamppost, feet crossed in Filmi V
The cheap drain pipe with soiled white shirt
Exposed the orphan street car that he was.
I, his unlikely partner,
Contrasting Bhadralok
In Punjabi, Jeans and wrapper of a shawl
Somewhere somehow we got this idea
Middle class people feel colder these days.

In my late college years
I had gathered this habit of NGOing around
Enjoying my stint of course
In that Park Circus destitute home.
Drexel was a prominent item,
half-Anglo, little-Goan, bit more-North-East, rest proud-Christian;
But that was debatable too,
For once he told me
That now faded father in his toddler memory
Knelt and twisted while praying on ground.

He was already becoming an intractable rebel
Late nights, alcohol, and punch ups ruled
The better part of his time.
Other vices toed in line,
With his flowing black hair
Was intriguing to the girls.
“I have seen so many of them wasted in my time”
Father Demello nodded his rue full head across the desk.

The searing whistle divided all sleep
Sluggish eyes failing a dimly lit profile
Scuffled down the road,
Till someone spotted the mane,
“That’s our Drexel bhai”, he cried.
“Yes and that’s the Taltola police station’s van”
Quipped another.

They could not keep a convict anymore,
Anyway shelter came in handy
From the local gang who paid his bail.
For days stories abounded on his fate,
Before the years gave them regulation death.
My touch with the Home too ended.
With post-college, and a Delhi job.

“It’s so good to meet you dada”, he smiled
Alas! Could I share that enthusiasm?
His hair cropped short, the eye bags full,
Not much kindness from the orbiting sun.
“What have you been doing all these years?”
It blurted out
Before I could check my spontaneous mouth.
The vacant grin spoke his mind;
“Yes, it’s been a lot of days”,
A quiet soft voice trailed off in the breeze.

The searing whistle divided all sleep
Drexel sprang and cleared me
With one rude thrust;
But some rare fit cops outside action movies
Grabbed and nailed him without much fight.

All this while, I stood transfixed
A decade older seemed my heart.
So it could not protest
When the Inspector screamed
“Also get that one!”

“Wait! That bastard’s not with me”
The Inspector eyed him coyly-
“Then why were you speaking to him?”
“Bastard’s got leaking penis, wanted a loo!”
-came a vulgar crackle,
“And you were good enough to show him one?”
The uniformed man followed in with a smirk.
“Yesss…of course”
A quiet harsh voice trailed off in the breeze.
He put his left hand inside that pocket,
From ten large feet my wallet could recognize me.

They had left ten minutes ago,
The Inspector parting with a
returned wallet and a sympathetic pat.

Come to think of it
There was no need for him to do it.
I could have faced the truth.
Hassled though be it, still the truth.
Come on Drexel please,
Give me that much courage.
Next time even across the street,
Act like you are
Talking to me.

One Nascent Soul

2005-11-17T21:08:00.000+05:30

Childhood was my innings in innocence
Unsure steps to malnourished dreams.

And age is what your eyeballs count
Whilst I walk around the witness – sun

The story of a child is transparent,
So transparent that it can hide gray hairs
Older, wiser shades of gray….. dismay

Infancy has its unconscious obligation;
To stay happy
With its compelling simplicity.

Yes Sir
That’s the truth;
A lifelong achievement can leave us unfulfilled
When as a child
Satisfaction came so handy.
Narrow victory in narrower lanes
Lazy holiday noons
Building broken house of cards,
Fighting unfair carrom games.

Sir!
Even you don’t need
Tarots to tell
In those other days and years
nascent tears....
Life was good.

P.S - Thanks to Shamasis for his inspirational "Age Of Innocence"
http://www.i-satire.blogspot.com/

Past Success, Said A Man

2005-10-29T15:29:00.000+05:30

( In his famous poem “To the Indian who died in Africa” T.S Elliot wrote that immortal line
“a man’s destination is never his destiny” )

Unlike the millions,
routine existence
mocking their dreams
I’ve been a successful man.
My destination was my destiny
and all due respect to Mr Elliot at that!
Indigence ne’er cooled my bosom
nor my soul wasted in languid despair
I’ve attained all I bargained for
I’m happy, I’m content, I’m in bliss if no more
And that is it.

That it is.
Yet
I do not know
where next to go
from this point
to leap to what unknown.
Darkness fogs my eyes
all my plans ruffled in vain
my very presence a stain
Call it wanton human greed
my heart crave and whine
the fragrance of victory
intoxicating than wine.
I wish for more..more success
Only I do not know in what

Analog

2005-10-17T14:34:00.000+05:30

My old cassettes
   Have lost their sheen;
   Better music
   In circular plates
   Less scratchy, less space.
   Have displaced them from my life
Like old breadwinners,
  They replaced
   from their factories
   With gadgets.

Chaotic stacks in which they lie
  Gathering dust and negligence
  I do not have time left for them,
  Yet they won’t ever take offence
   My disorderly old cassettes

Just sometimes in the middle of the night
  When silence creeps beneath my soul
   And faraway tunes of walked down times
   Brings fragrant whiff of tales untold…
Bygone melodies of coming to age
  My old cassettes I listen till late
  Rewind & play not the tape,
  Deep within my grown up head.

Prognosis

2005-10-13T04:11:00.001+05:30

Late last night when phallus was high!
A few sad sky
  invaded my dining room
grabbed and robbed!
Fertile tomorrow’s futile plans

Putrid dismay prints of blood
Tsunami washed off alcoholic films
Negatives of a critical mood
  cloaked in hood;
Impish winks luring teens
Snapshots from my sleepless dreams

Golden drops of brilliant wine
  trickles swig past desiccate lips
I, a stamp on blank blank sheets
Chiseled emotions on void breeze

Pallid papers; whiter than life
Chronicle sagas of hedonist greed
Crying birth on sidewalks spree
Wanton lust for carnal sins

Dear dear I now see clear
Mellow lights on died dusk feast;
Nature calls to embrace romance
  few cared but me shall heed
  Affected grace of polished swine
Urbane vandals distort fresh souls
  A dictate heart can never accede
Beauty ,I just can’t destroy you
                            Your gold;.

And finally
End will come
Superficial and inner me beneath
  constantly warring ; now climax comes
Confrontations will teach
Who shall inherit the streets
Who shall rot in grief
Neither inside outside me
Nor u can predict
The semblance of correct path
The Prognosis

Foul

2005-10-13T04:05:00.000+05:30

Foul, a four lettered entropy
Whistling noisily beneath the humdrum of your skin
Foul, a c, o and k away from fuck;
In other words
A “cok” away from fuck!
if that’s what you will
The missing l can serve as your philistine organ.

Foul, an action the world takes
To retard your limbs back to inactivity.
Foul, the finality feeling
when the boss kicks a ramrod up your ass
The torn shoe on the middle of the road..
The glorious false position
When it’s busted that last Wednesday you missed your cousin’s wedding
Not for office but for a date
And that too at a thousand-eyeball-staring-at-you family function!

Foul, so harmonic an irritation
Traveling with you all your life
That it doesn’t appear to be an irritation anymore.

Foul, the acute dismay when you find
The torn ten rupee the bus conductor duped you with
Loss of “Oh I am so smart” ego
So more intense than loss of cash,
Or it can be the other way round too
Who cares?
It’s a give an’ take cycle dude
The victim can be your local electric guy
The mute horror in his face when to his
exasperated “I can repair one transistor sir…not a computer with 160 million of it”-
You quietly say “Try them one by one!"

Foul, the blushing destiny of virgin vaginal lips..
Their redness as green as the wound within your heart;
Medieval apothecaries marauding as state of the art clinics
Foul your best friend’s kidney,
Plugging in that routine unapologetic smile
A defiance, only ignorance can show
Foul cried the local MLA
And the cameraphillic scribes
A media orgy wetting the tragedy white
While you quietly stare
Fouled by a best friend
Marooned in a crowded world

Foul, the inevitable pestilence – each and everywhere
The incredibility of your eyes - a foul
When they shun your ‘mature’ flick as porn
But the French masterpiece you stole from is hailed as art!
Foul, the tacky green interfering sky
Foul, an indolent mood a bovine world tramples by
The angry knocks on heaven’s door
Never realizing
Heaven was within your mind
Foul, the summation of all the ways you lost all your life
Foul, after surrender came the most brutal punch
Foul, another weary day’s food to crunch
And like ever before
The odds keep mounting against us
In this uneven game
After all, Foul..
Just another four lettered word
From the final scorecard
Of a lousy football game.