1
Oasis in memories
of desert rhythm of wilderness
sand is the poetry
2
Man turns a shadow
under tree arches rainbow
is the moonlight fog
3
My restlessness blooms
not thought but ulcer in the
stomach the flux of
shadows shape loss of
my son in the picture hall
I ‘wait interval
4
Do you hear pulses
of memory in graveyard
she groans in her dream
I search my voice in
echoes that break silences
of the soul in space
5
The mirror is so small
I can’t see the ocean
beyond my own look
6
Is it her quietus
that she roars
in herself
like a sea
waves upon waves
leaps upon herself?
7
He unpetals a rose
searching seeds through
tangled fingers
in thorny womb
it’s bleeding hopes
8
She picks out black seeds
of some flowers and says: “Papa,
these are souls, let’s sow them here
tomorrow they’ll grow as ghosts.”
9
As I curled ‘long her
we became a small rainbow
playing earth and sky
in half-dream weaving
legends of love in moments
unmemoried years
10
I leave my memories
in prayerful trance
float above my body
till rapping her fingers
at my soul she breaks
the silence: “I’ve come
with my dreams promised
years ago. Won’t you
once kiss and melt in me?
11
Blessed is
the bedroom
the bathroom
the kitchen
the drawing room
the terrace
the lawn
and every little
place and spot
where we prayed
or sexed together
we glorified our house
and declared His mysteries
12
Love is efflux
from her body spreading
all round the parabolic hue
enlightens the self
my being I merge
in her glowing presence
13
Dancing shades devour
waking tensions for a moment
closed eyes dissolve
years of clog
within the four walls
the flame is freed
from cloying dalliance
for a moment
it’s all calm
in her presence
14
When I wanted
to change seats
my friend said
she can, only if
the door’s locked
the lights out
and her mommy in
another city
15
She slams the door
to powder herself
or spray Eau de Toilette
in bed strange
I hear only
the kettle sing
16
While I sweat
in mosquito-net
waiting for a kiss
she goes to sleep
loosening her breasts and
removing her feet and eyes
and covers them under the sheet
for safe-keeping
17
If passion breeds beads of sweat
in winter night the plateau is reached
too much love can run one out
18
Down the corridors of night
I see love dying
for a chance vegetation
in sleepless dreams
19
Among the white hairs
a solitary black one
keeps her hope alive
20
Layers of dust thicken
on the mirror water
makes the smuts prominent:
I wipe and wipe and yet
the stains stay like sin
21
My wife laughs when I say
man seldom loves beauty:
when he sees a woman
he only sees her busts and bottoms
and length of bone in mouth
intelletualising his itches
he yearns to sink in mud
by the fig-leaf hue of hair
22
When the oleander was drying
I peed at its roots
three times a day
she laughed at me
but the shrub survived
and bloomed all red
“How beautiful” she said
when I plucked them for puja
this morning she shouted
“Don’t defile my goddess
these flowers smell pee”
23
Their nude dance
is no mean art
to rouse passion:
with apple flowers
they race
to find match
for upstanding nipples
under transparent blouse
24
Charm is the
spirit of beauty
divine
mysterious
honest
expression of the self
not seen
but felt
25
Away from myself
I need a little breathing
with my back straight
for a spell of privacy
in my happier deep
the womb of December
and hear the first cries
I cried with the sun
in a pure moment
26
The quietest moment
when one is ones own
is in toilet or bath
reflecting inside out
through daily deeds
listening to whispers that rip
cosmetic simplicity or
split the landscape in hands
when elusive strength
blasts in silent search
in hollowness leaving
a dazed mind in crypt
27
The gates that clang
won’t still with poems
between their jaws
I must stop winds
to prevent them tossing
into the empty void
28
With the passage of time the sun’s become dull and unrefreshing
like my dreams turned weaker than weariness now
in the desert of desires no cactus blooms
nor a hand beckons me back to a world of hope
here breathing fossils and watching snaky waves
let me grab a moment for poetry and live:
I pity the mind that harbours ages of anguish
and crawls consciousness through knots in wrinkles
29
Poetry is not
just functional
like brief-case
it is personal–
an extension
of my self
30
I live with
ailments like
fretful years
creating gospels that
support the world
and sting my days
with cold fictions
31
They say Jupiter
reveals the inner man
the invisible hidden within
and my horoscope spotlights
the direction of my destiny
the sanskar of my soul
well-placed as benefactor
but what is the spiritual progress
with a strong drink in hand
the visible heaven in the present
the pitch that directs the runs
the battles I fight for existence
in Saturn world without
energy, life or joy?
32
What is this life
like the sun rising and dying
someone beginning and someone stopping
without presence being felt
without effect, striking, ending
long rituals of waste?
nothing saved except
years squandered in bed
feigning and unfeigning
the blood flows but doesn’t complain:
time seals the strife
born, married and dead?
33
Each one fears
each one is insecure
here each one doubts
with clouds in the mind
each house is a secret
silent arrogance bridges
distance between the hands
and what they need
they don’t speak out but search
their fate in circles of coffee
if bored of the drudgery
see terror in their own piss
or dig atoms of betrayal in walls
that make up the secret
and sleep their drugged nights
murmuring the bank balance
34
Their hands are sulphur
with butcher strength
above the pit they drift
like shadow against dying sun
longer than themselves
against the floodlight from dome
they create new ‘glyphs
to feed night to sunken world
35
The morning’s withered flesh
and swollen skin of the day
by bloody nullah in smoke
tears shade tomorrow
like today, everyday they cry
but nobody hears groans, or sees
dark eruptions on naked walls
that hide maps of bones
and skeins of dreams piled
beside broken hearth hate
is a luxury of helplessness
they won’t believe or accept
if there is a hell on earth
it’s here, it’s here. It’s here
36
Boneless shadows
empty lawns
moon through ribs
of the arbour and tumult
of the flesh crack
shells of pain:
whose are the hands
that weave nightmares
with ashes of rose
and face of a woman?
37
The old rats
in nature’s breach
design new rooms
to negotiate disgrace
and belief beyond election
with plastic sense
enrich their substance
drinking, voting, smiling
38
A horse-headed thief
bullied the bearded man
like the mythical demon
who disappeared with the Vedas
but no fish appeared
to rescue him
39
Every face
is a finger
peeling off
skin like banana
erect or twisted
40
Man
with head
twisted like a
manager’s tail in chair
before boss with
pen in
blood
41
My bones have holes for eyes
I search my teeth in the muck
leeches have sucked my blood
where’s the lout who ate my flesh?
42
Beard grows like fog
on their cheeks
in half-dead streets
night slides like yoke
to release them
in glass chambers
mummies need no sun
43
Sheep grazing the rainy green
after days of sunless day
crouching I stir from hibernation
seeking a handful belonging
in aloneness of wild growth
eluding the mossy gateway and
patterns of walls, sheep and sun
44
Suddenly through the spring
blows hot the wind
circulating colours of summer
shabby roads and houses
dust inside outside
melt silence like tar
or bleach skulls that thought
once, now fossil like rocks
in ageless hibernation
my quest ends or stirs
lewd rituals stomping
about fresh bit in thongs
I don’t know what it is
the cheek of terror or sweat of skin
or wind is grasping for breath?
45
They take away the day’s flower
husk I retain for tomorrow
nobody knows what the robbers may look for
46
What I write shows
my past even if frail
like leaves of years:
I love the wind if
it makes the city flutter
47
Harmony in duality
is unity of tongues
to sculpt new dreams
made of living rock.
we aren’t different
in our same land:
our poems are woven
from the same skein of language
weathered by time and nature
48
The solitary bird
like uninspiring tracks moves
alien homeward
49
The whispers of the forest
inside me
will be quiet tomorrow
and no tree will weap
no one knows
what was the weather like
in the heart
negotiating ideas and images
