News to the silly girl

November 26, 2017

 

Imagine what the tiny green

Inside the seed does!

Fights and punches to

Crack the shell, to

Feel the warmth of the sun.

Silly Girl,

You are not the Sun.

With its face full of seeds

The sunflower turns and twists

To gaze at it forever, but,

Silly Girl,

You are not the Sun.

And the tides?

They swell and fly to

The moon,

Causing waves and ripples

Banes and boons, but,

Silly Girl,

You are not the Moon.

And the stars?

Stealing sleep from afar

Home to dead,

Dead to home,

Asleep in sad painter’s art,

While they wonder what you are, but,

Silly Girl,

You are not the stars.

 

Silly Girl,

You are you.

Hardly celestial,

Nothing new.

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Toxic

December 19, 2018

 

When I lower my head and sniff at my skin

It smells of toxin.

Something festers in me

On my tongue, in my words

In the gyrus and sulcus of my uncouth brain

In my vanishing heart.

Somebody warned, “Have a heart!”

And I laughed

My toxic laugh.

Words, the most inexhaustible source of magic.

True.

Mine are too.

Of devilry.

Of black magic.

I touch and flowers don’t bloom

They wither and die.

But I don’t cry

My tears are toxic too.

And if I do

In an ungodly hour,

I lick them from my bony cheeks

Disease kissing the diseased

Toxin blighting the toxic

To the effect of not dying

Not forgetting the half-lived life.

I’m allowed to breathe

For every fifty six, I plant a tree.

Few survive.

I can’t die.

I’m forbidden to.

My corpse is contaminated, contagious,

Toxic too.

Only I can stop it from spreading

By living

And by not.

Sorry Elvis Presley

December 30, 2018

 

I refuse to fall –

Fall in love,

Or into a puddle

Or down the stairs

And scratch my knees,

bruise my arms,

or heart.

 

I wish to fly –

Fly in love.

I mean –

Ride (on) Sire Cupid,

Kiss his wings,

Steal his awkward arrow,

And stab the bastard in his heart.

Once and for all.

 

And then I will fall

Right into love.

Red, Blue, Green,

Sin, no sin,

Purged and pure

Just to be sure

I’ll never have to fall again.

 

(Published in the monthly online issue of Delhi Poetry Slam January 2018)

Gasoline Rainbows

January 02, 2018

 

At 9:32 am

When the day’s lesson

Enters my left ear

And hurries through the right,

I see the sunshine

Bathing in the rain

Like a happy,dancing, summer child.

I pray, I pray and I pray for

That upside down seven-coloured smile

Or atleast a half-smile

Just a glimpse of it.

A game of hide and seek.

At 2:20 pm

The last bell chimes.

I’m still praying,

While rescuing my bag

With its belly full of bloodthirsty , unfriendly ghosts.

I’m their guardian.

Legally.

I look up for the last time

Hoping to see the dull white

Having learned to control hopes

(If you hope Wrong, you get it Right)

But it wouldn’t work.

So I look down

At my shoes

To step into the puddles

To do what they wouldn’t do

And Hey! I see you!

A seven-colourd gape

Whispering ‘Wow!’

Saying to me and only me

That you heard my prayers.

(But the sky was busy

And you liked me a lot

So you fooled him with your gapes

And jumped while he talked)

A gasoline rainbow!

Not one…Hundreds!

Trapped in the soaked streets

Ready to fly to the sky

When it’s (finally) dry…

But before all of that

I say, “Hi!”

“Nice to meet you!

Thanks a ton”

I hop on each

At a time two

Before the gapes start to smile

I jump for a mile

(The unfriendly ghosts retch)

And I think, maybe…just maybe

Let me get some rainbow

Stuck under my shoes

And fly away too.

I do.

Stuck

February 23, 2018

 

And tell me,

What do you do when you start to hate yourself so much

That it’s hard to breathe?

That it’s hard to open your eyes and see

Knowing it’s Your plain eyes, Your plain sight,

Your potentially wasted eidetic memory?

 

What do you do when your worn out brain cells can’t manufacture

Pictures of sunflowers and sunshine anymore?

And your head is a broken, haunted projection machine

Showing you slide after slide

Of the white lace of one half-buried coffin

Of the time you didn’t say goodbye and they died

Of the time you were pushed against the wall and you hurt your head

And she didn’t believe you

Of the time you laughed when you had to cry

And cried when you had to laugh

And dreams of dead people were more real than life?

 

What do you do when dead people replace cakes

And cakes replace connection

Connection,love and

Love, need

Need, habit and

Habit…you?

 

What do you do when the wall won’t crack anymore and the only door is jammed?

When you’re stuck inside with only that much sky that you have allowed for yourself,

Only that much air,

That much void

And all the voices outside?

 

Tell me what do you do to make it stop?

What do you turn into?

Who do you become?

 

Tell me, who do you become,

If not you?

The pillow and the mosquito net

February 25, 2018

 

The mosquito net asked the pillow,

“Doesn’t her breath tickle you?”

The pillow whispered, “Hush! Speak low,

No, it’s warm, and cosy too…”

 

“I”, said the mosquito net,

“Guard her from the wretched brutes

Standing tall I tire and sweat,

While she snores and the owlet hoots.

 

“But look at you, in bed all day!

Don’t you feel down and dull?

When everyone is on their way,

All you do is lull and mull.”

 

The pillow smiles, “True my friend,

But I have other duties, see?

When her dreams come to an end

I learn them to my memory.

 

“When she’s swimming in the deep

Groping for things that she let slip,

I dig her dreams out from my heap

And breathe them into her precious sleep.”

A few unreasonable things

March 8, 2018

 

My clock’s running slow two hours.

It’s seven but it’s five.

I wish it was five,

I wish it was night,

Or that I was loved, really loved

And loved right.

That I was needed,

That I was craved,

That I were a stupid damsel in distress,

That I was properly saved.

I wish it was 1980, or at least 2002

I wish it was the pinkest room,

The curtains pale blue.

I wish people would shut their mouths,

I wish they’d disappear.

I wish I were the prettiest boy

Just to make it clear.

My clock’s running late two hours.

It’s seven but it’s five.

I wish I could turn off the lights

And just be alive.