Autotomy

He felt like a prey in a Boa's clasp, 

constricted by her tight grasp and

suffocated by her intemperate emotions.

Lazing on his unclad chest, finger nails bruising 

his biceps, toes restful on his arched feet,

She whined and whined to him,

"Talk to me, my love"!

"Flatter me for my brown eyes, 

my unruly hair and tiny lips.

Praise the imprecise lines I form as

I dance and my imperfect posture as I walk.

Laud my nagging concern for your well being

 and my subtle fragilities".

"What is in words"? he spewed. 

"Nothing, nothing beyond dilutions", She said.

What is in words", she wondered, 

Shall I ask the deaf, the dumb and the mute?

She knew - Words are like lizard's autotomy,

a defense; the balancing tail that is bitten off 

Fearful it will become a threat. 

Another tail will grow in its place.

She knew and yet she whined and whined again.

"Talk to me, my love", she whispered. 

The charcoal collector

Be prudent, Invest in gold, they said.

What use is of gold to me? I thought.

Gold is a tawdry shiny metal in my closet,

Which is worth some dimes only when I sell it.

Not contemplating, I invested in dark coal charcoal,

Coal is a catalyst and a propellent, I was taught in school.
Appealing! 

With all my savings, I bought them all,

All the charcoal I could possess.

I saved it in my prettiest boxes,

These boxes, a family inheritance was adorned with jewels
 I gathered over 3 decades, very exorbitant purchases.

I hand picked the coal and placed them in my box, 

Glancing at them with delight and pride. 

After 100 sleepless nights, when the last box was closed,
I was struck by disbelief.

The boxes appeared tainted and drab, 

the jewels sparkled no more. 

Would gold have tarnished my boxes, I
I mused and brushed the thought away. 

No trains run on charcoal anymore,

Electric trains are cleaner and smokeless. 

My fingers aren't long, fine or tender like an artist's,
 to generate from the coal beautiful 

Sketches of children, landscapes or animals. 

Stubborn to vanquish defeat,

Exhausted and dozy, I transferred the coal to the new boxes,

the fancy ones, stain resistant. 

On the 10th working day, my reflection on the 1000th
stainless steel box surface spotted a glimpse of me. 

It saw black blotches all over me.

It saw an imbecile buffoon, inert to the laughing audience. 

I was still cautiously placing the coals,

In the new box, in order, one by one. 

Baggage lost at Chennai

What is really going on- like everything that is happening to me isn't stressful enough? My baggage is missing. All I wanted to do was get home and just take a deep breath. It's been around 30 hours between airports and aeroplanes. 

Demented

Tear me into pieces,

Burn me into ashes,

Drown me in the Ganges.

But when I'm reborn, 

I will reincarnate with this

Same heart; red, blemished and

disfigured by your long lost warmth.

Like the hunch back of Notre Dame,

Let me be dubbed the demented of Nothing Damn! 

Red Sympathy blooms

I planted these red roses in my front yard 2 years ago. I planted 3 other different variety roses with this one, but this was my favorite. Every spring since I planted them, I consistently checked on them, watered them, fertilizered them and waited for a full bloom; but in dismay. While my other roses bloomed in hundreds, this one thwarted my wish, only occasionally giving me 5-6 roses here and there.

With so much going on this spring, I never payed attention to my roses. Never gave them a drop of water; but look what happened. They bloomed better than I had ever imagined, more beautiful than I had expected. These photos don't do any justice to how beautiful they are. They are blood red, not pink as it looks here. There isn't even a bud on my other roses, probably because I didn't trim them in time.

Look at this one. Looks like this plant wanted to bring me some color amidst all the drab.  But the whole time I paid attention, it disappointed me, but when I stepped back, it made me happy. This is probably what some relationships need too, less attention from me to bloom! 

May be it is just a pity bloom, the roses feeling sorry for me; Do not know, but I like to believe that unlike people, these roses really love me. They didn't come to me when I wanted them, but they did when I needed them! Wish us people were so considerate. 

Genie and the magic lamp

I wonder what brings you here

It's not your love for me

It's not your enthusiasm for what I write

It's not your curiosity for my wellness.

Why are you here then? 

I know, you come to seek you

Because, you know you are in here

Hidden between the alphabets,

Weaved in tight, beyond escape.

I rub the lamp and you appear, my genie

With your magic powers, you make peacocks,
frogs, snakes and lizards appear.

Peacocks are alluring,

Frogs, snakes and lizards scare me,

How playful of you!

You keep me enticed, then disappear

I snared you in, my fingers freed you and

I gave you these powers

Yet, I wonder, Am I the genie, and you my master?

Kamala Das

"The maggots" is one of my favorite poems of Kamala Das (scroll down to read it). I haven't read a lot of her, not even My Story, but I have always felt a deep admiration for her. It's almost like I can feel her pain, her longing for love. I don't believe most of her stories of lust. I think what she craved was love, not lust. Her  rebellion and poems were probably her only source of conveying her love. Could they be her secret love letters to someone? I wonder what she would have been if not a writer, probably might have fallen into depression and died premature. Well, this is just my judgement, although who are any of us to judge? 

Sometimes, I wish I was like her. I wish I had her valor, her finesse in writing and her capacity to emote and feel love. But then I remember how she died -- betrayed and unhappy! I wonder if she was ever happy. I think of all the poems that she wrote for herself that we never got to read. 

Kamala Das, I want to dig deep in your heart and live in there for a few days, hiding beneath your poise and feeling  nothing but fervent love. Burry your fragile self somewhere, and up hold the title of the brave lady people have adorned you with; otherwise, your soul won't endure the two of us.

"What is it to the corpse if the maggots nip?"

Rope walk

The cliffs stood high, steep and deep

The rope was thin, secure and long

I slogged, step by step, hands stretched, vertebrae straight.

I fought the wind, curbed my fear.

The harrowing depth stood tall beneath me,

Eager to gulp me in, coveting to defeat me.

Adamant, I trudged and tromped.

Insistent, to vanquish the cliff.

The wind savaged me with a gracious clout

The rope budged in an evil sway.

Groped by fear, my heart wept and feet slipped

I lulled in for confederates to come by,

harness me, and usher me to safety

One by one, they passed by,

Unmoved and non-chalant.

They didn't turn to me, they didn't reach   for me

It dawned on me then; confederates are houseguests. 

I recalled; they vacate after the feast. 

I smiled, and I flew, deep into the cliffs,

in search of a new visitant.

Sensing her senses

She yearns warmth on her skin.

She earns stench on her ears!!!

Oh her poor olfactory, auditory organs,

Their vision brings no sense,

to their senses! 

Mid night ride

It's 1.30 am on May1st. I'm riding back to the apartment on campus limo. Would have taken me 3 mins to walk, but with the wait, this wil almost taking 15-20 mins. The limo is filled with drunk undergrad boys and, girls in skimpy clothes who are returning from their boyfriend's dorms. I think they are all naive and believe in love.  Me? I don't know, may be wise, but definitely sleepy.