To An Unknown Friend

Stay a while, my friend and stranger
The day is still meandering, and there’s still time
Those drinks you had, how are they faring
Does the mind tell you where I am now, near or far
The disheveled hair on your head, is it painted
Or are you yet young at heart to outgrow the Time
The way you walk, never steady and in control,
Does that affect you in what you see
How does the world look, flat or round
Does it look twisted or covered in glamour
When do you sleep my friend, or do you not
Is there a sleep that helps you dream

The world is passing us, the children laughing
Horns honking, footwear grazing the side walks
There isn’t a thing still, all are moving

While we sit here, on this lonely bench
By the side of this antediluvian road
There are flowers blooming, lots emptying
Pans frying, fans whirling and some even hooting
Things are ever frantic, let us be not like that
Let us sit here, till the close of day
Why are you drooping, hold your head steady
We aren’t done talking, my man, you and I
That stain on your shirt, does that sting friend
Did the potion spill into your soul
Is that why you are looking at me fearfully
Don’t be frightened, I am not your darkness
I can be the light you were seeking in your nights

This drizzle, it isn’t from heaven, it’s the tears
That you and I shed together, may be not here
Nor anywhere, but still we shed them together
For we aren’t divided, we, you and I, are ever together
That sagging chest holds a thousand terrors
The drinks can’t still them, they garrote the drink
Don’t get up, you can’t yet walk, I am here my man
Though I don’t even lift a hand to make you steady
I am here still, with you all the way

Stop looking at those happy faces, embraces, and kisses
They aren’t real friend; they are off a passing show
You had partaken in that show once, as I had
They are bland, at least to us sitting here
You are now muttering assent, I see your lips move
Don’t wipe those dribbles off; they are droplets of your pain
You aren’t wagging your head to the music now
Are you, the music stall across is what this is all about
Noise, more noise, there isn’t a lapse to the noise
It blares day and night, winter and summer, burial and birth

She could be your girl, the one approaching
I see I was right, she isn’t happy with me
And is abusive towards you, you are doing great, old girl
He is drowning in your love; we were having a nice talk
About just that and he was doing good
Now you cart him away, with bitter looks at me

Fare thee well my friend, you can’t drink
This sorrow away, for it has claws of steel.

Crossing A River

The Original Story

 

“Two mendicants, having taken a vow of celibacy

 Were about to cross a river

 

A pretty lass was about to do the same

But was looking with fear at the rushing waters

 

The young mendicant suggested that

 One of them carries her across

 

The old guy said:

 

Son, we have taken a vow

Of celibacy, we can’t do such things

 

The other Said:

 

We have only taken

A vow of not marrying, not one of Not Carrying

 

The old guy Said:

 

 Do what you will

 

The three got across and went their ways

 

After a while the old guy grumbled:

Yet you shouldn’t have done that:

 

The young one responded:

 

I deposited her on the shore itself

Strangely you seem to be still carrying her!”

 

 

 

( This was the old tale. Yet what happened was this):

 

The Real Story

 

The old guy

Seeing the younger one quite set on carrying her across

And grasping the dangers of bodily contact

Volunteered to carry her saying:

 

 Just watch our rear, when we are in the waters

 

They proceeded thus to the other side

The girl turning her head to look at the boy often

And the boy blushing when their eyes met

 

Water being a fine conductor of nervous energy

Their rapport was instantaneous

 

At the far side, after thanking the old man

They both took off together

 

The old guy, watching them disappear

In the distance, mused:

 

When you carry something precious

You either don’t put it down

Or you make sure that it stays yours

Before doing so

Touch of Dew

 

Touch of Dew

While young, some girl brought me

A blade of grass with

A glistening dewdrop at its end

It looked like a drop of pearl ….

  

She said:

 

Sam, it’s so cool to the touch, you know,

Can I touch it to your eye?

  I had doubts on its coolness and

My ‘coolness’ in allowing such a silly thing

Yet being kind, I said hesitantly:

“Go ahead then”

 

And that touch of dew over my iris

Altered my way of seeing things…..

 

I don’t know where she is now

But I know she changed my life

On Mynahs and Puppeteers

On Mynahs and Puppeteers

  Amusing is this tale

Some insipid friends, out of congenital debility

Or out of unblushing and irrepressible weirdness

Bought a few  Mynahs

And fed them words only such souls can think of

To show them off to all and sundry

  

The rest couldn’t take to this fancy

Because, those words were from places

People try not to notice all their lives

They smelt of unclean environments

And the sewages that run under their feet

It’s not denied that ‘some’ like these places

And would wallow in them all their lives

(It’s their choice, yet why punishes others with the reek,

By bustling among them shoulder to shoulder?)

They may have applauded this bizarre-

Feint at being amusing, (both the old and young)

But those ‘some’ is not the entire human race

It can’t be, since, even Nietzsche ended up mad

And these idiots can’t be the supermen he spoke of

  

The Mynahs did so well

That by a week they were

Using the same terms to honor their masters

Day in and day out

Though blessed with the skins of Rhino’s

The idiots were a bit worried too

Their Mynahs had started to get under their skins

And make inroads into their squishy souls

That too is not to be wondered at

Since even such souls play with ‘words’

And words emanate out of their own awareness

Of their lovely (lowly?) selves, or the mire they rise from

  

Now they are out to instill some sophistication

In the Mynahs, but alas, the benign words fed to them

Still come out coupled with the refuse of their master’s souls

And with the fumes of the decay they carry within

  

As last seen, they were struggling to strangle

The birds, one by one, unnoticed, and on the quite

Those who have been watching these hapless souls

Wonder only at one simple thing:

  

Why are they so bothered of the shame now?

 

On Didactics

On Didactics

 

Teaching the cute little wild cat

The sum of life is hard; it can turn bad, ‘cause

The darling is wild, and can only be had

By its silly neck—always remember to catch it firm

(And as one of the old masters told me)

 

“It is cute, absolutely sweet

But it is dark and mighty wild”

 

She stands up on her hind legs

Exposing the pristine fur on her belly-side

Her claws spread and her mews rasping

She’s ready for fight, her furs are alight

Her eyes aren’t the same on two

Con-secutive moments

They suck you in, and spread you thin

You be better on the look out

Or she would wound you dead

 

If you aren’t a cat whisperer

Don’t ever think of  teaching it

And you would be hard put even

To get someone to train her

 

I picked on a  poet for the purpose.

But that soul  brushed me off with these lines

By singing:

 

“My love is not speaking( to me) any more

So how can I speak on my own “ (‘Own’ is elongated)

“It is he who speaks through me

And without his words I am no more” (‘More’ is also drawn-out)

 

That’s some powerful insight

So I left in peace, no business in meddling

In love affairs.

 

Well I have now decided to release

The  cat kid to the wild.

 

If poets can’t train a wild cat, who else can?

Saturday

Saturday

Is no chatter day

On A Split Hydra

On A Split Hydra

                                                                                                  (Poems on nature)

She split into two
No one knows how
There’s some who say that
It was a hacked and bisected thing
Just a chance happening-
In a moment of pain

 

It doesn’t matter
How it came about
Where there was one
Now there’s two
And the one clasps the other like
It has iron claws
Everyone who looks at the two
Would learn it at a glance
There is no help for them
They are fated to part

 

Yet once split, it started pining for
The split part
It grieves and cries over it
Over and over
It has turned maudlin
Those who watch, feel the rent of the heart
The tearing of the eyes
The snot blocking the larynx
The juice in the troubled voice
(Even if it’s a hydra and we
Are being anthropomorphic)

 

Yet It’s a sad thing
Who’s there to console the poor being

 

However hard it tries to hold on
It had splintered apart
The more it
Stays separate
The harder it’s going to get
The older part would age and shrivel
And the sprung part would grow
And move off
It’s how the world goes on
You can’t hang on

 

Those that became severed
Can’t stay united
Yet we are all such fools
We think we can find some way
To repair the incompleteness
That we see in ourselves

 

It’s a fact of life that
All repairs need be in the heart
Letting go of something
Is an art
Its learned through pain and
The inevitability of loss
So let us say to the fading one:

 

Don’t cry, you darling thing
Learn to live with the hurt
Learn to let go, learn to
Receive the pain. You aren’t alone
We are all with you.
We are around you, and we know
How you feel. We are there for you
Aren’t we all one after all?

Poinciana

Yesterday

Through the pale Violets of dawn

A traveler was seen slow

Mute tartars were then foraging

In the viscous souls of the flowers

Their faces mauve with the violated blood

And their black hides and swishing tails

Twitching as flies protested at the brutal feast

The muffled tremor distinct and threatening

 

A dead breeze was hugging the ground

Faintly caressing the torn and fallen petals.

And as they fluttered on the ground in mute pain

The sky seemed to turn its grey visage towards the overhanging cliffs

But they yet stood still with the weight of the sight.

On the far side, the distant hills, unseeing and bluing

Were heaving their bosoms up

Surfacing through the failing mist

 

There air had turned still, harsh with its bated breath

And the sun hovering over hills now pulsed livid and angry.

As he passed through them, the traveler

Left the liquidators jolting–still for long moments

Their heads rigid, nostrils wide and flaring

The curves of their horns showing fretted and coarse

Their jaws yet working, eyes hulking vast and scared-

The skies spread through the irises, and something dead in them

 

As he now was stepping carefully through the mushy dents

Made by the hoof marks of the grazing kine-

Some of those still gaping fresh with deep and brownish lesions

And the field vivid in a darkling green, soft and still to his feet

He saw a Poinciana flaming by the boundary, its canopy

Spreading its wings, sheltering e’en the marauders in its shade

Potion Sweet

Potion Sweet

(There’s never a breath in the room

The noon lies like a whale, dead and ashore)

 

She’s lying face down,  like a stream  quite

Its surface undulating, turning now,

A tangle of limbs, the ceasing,-surfacing of ribs.

Paul watches her, its midday outside,

Through the curtains, a window is looking in towards them

The curtains gaunt with age, frayed at seems

Stuttering in the pickled heat of the room

And  he is sweating, it’s a  sticky sweat

 

Unheard, there were knocks on a door

Insistent , urgent, then they lulled, picking up now

Who is peeking at us, he wondered,  god may be

God is the one who forbade the potion we took

Wakeup. He says to her. Her flesh damp and cool.

She stirs so slowly in sleep

Wakeup. He urges, pinching  her nose with fingers

Now she moves to the side and seems expectant

Extends one arm, eyes  clear, lips parting

 

Some god  is at the door. He hush  his whisper

Can’t be, she jerks back. Salesman may be

Sales men  know your name?

She stills now. Slithers out of the bed. Panting. 

When.. ?And  something mutes the question

“Listen.” And there was the call again.

 It was loud this time

Its him she says. It’s my lord and god.

She slides down on the bed,  a crumpled cloth

 

My god will kill me. She whimpers now

But he was not listening. He was worried.

The window latch…… it won’t open.

He was still  fumbling.

Its stuck,  she says. Its stuck

She is getting dressed even now. Teary yet.

There’s death in the air, the lights have all gone out

And there’s never a breath in the room

The noon lies like a whale, dead and ashore

 

Going where? Paul says harshly.

There’ isn’t a back door to this dump

 

Yet she seems composed, and even smiling

Don’t need one, my god won’t know

 

The hell he won’t. He murmurs. The hell he won’t

 

Then …..she’s all sweet to her god. He is kind. Urbane.

Paul works in my section, she says, came to get something.

The god seems pleasant and has a nice smile

“We had head phones on, you know, chatting with the boss!”

Hands are shaken. Drinks  shared

The god may have a cold. And cold smells nothing.

 

Now that the god is at home, he has to leave.

 

Outside it’s a hell of a noon

May be it’s the noon of hell

 

 

Sir, sir , sir

Sir, sir , sir

  

You want air sir? Its pure sir

Bottled in the mountains and at low prices sir

And please hold this as a secret sir, its confidential,

We have a thousand acres

Of pristine forests concealed in the mountains!

And they produce the finest air in the world

You can’t tell anyone now sir, this is a special offer

There is this package, where you can stay at our place

And take off the mask and live like a human for a few days

But it’s very expensive and only the selected get the chance

Would you care to subscribe sir? Oh,  if not, no matter

You can still savor the freshness of the things in store

Just take a sniff of this and you will feel a thousand times better

Please do, it’s the purest air you would ever find on this globe

No need to keep that mask on, shut that meter down too

Just take a little sniff, how do you feel now sir

The government air sir, you can bet your life on it

Is only fifty percent sewer gas

It’s true! You can take my word for it.

Just think of it sir, forget whether it’s purified or not

Just think where it comes from.

From the sewers, the sewers, the bowels of humanity

The ration shops further adulterate it too

It’s full of animal air and bird’s air, you smile!

You don’t believe me (With low voice) It’s even reported

That they tap fishes, and catch the bubbles they emit

It’s a conspiracy sir, your kids and family breathe it don’t they

The old people too yes? They need purer air than us,

Healthy air, country and forest air, happy air sir

Now we  supply you the purest  you can ever imagine

At very low prices too, one gallon of fresh air for only a pint of blood sir

Things don’t come any cheaper than that do they

It’s so low priced  that it would make most people cry

And it’s almost one hundred percent pure too, when did you last sniff

Anything that good? Not in this life I dare say,

Oh, there are other options too, a kidney, or a piece of liver, are worth

A hundred  gallons of pristine liquefied air, it’s the holy truth sir

We are not out to make a profit you know

How can anybody think of making money out of such a venture

And we are  almost giving it for free now

Yet tell me, what is ‘that’ free in this world sir,

You pay for power  by the amps, water by ounces,

And is it even secret sir

That the intake of sunlight is going to be regulated?

A meters is there to  monitor the amount of light you absorb

And aren’t there already taxes on the use of sunlight too

I know it’s indirect, yet taxes are still taxes aren’t they

You are a man of the world sir, you know all this already

Nothing is cheap in the world

Bar the human without means, isn’t that the whole truth sir

Buy it when you can, or you wouldn’t  get the chance

To live like a creature of god, even if for a little while……