Rush

An occurrence is slow,

painful, rare.

Staid

like a bridge construction on sea.

Hot

like leather on a sunny day.

Fast sometimes

like two drunks fucking

and as such,

all consuming.

The pain steadies then

numbs.

The rarity is emboldening then

starched.

Until one goes limp.

It is then cold; like

water

rushing over rocks

onto a fevered body.

A pack of Marlboros

lies out in the sun.

Fevered body’s

last solace.

Ashes exhume,

orange suffuses

Ecstasy.

Nothing exists,

life is stubbed out.

Death ends.

The occurrence reprises.

एक उम्मीद

    It was a quiet evening. The roads were deserted. No lights in the houses. Reshma knew it wasn’t safe to be out so late but her work mandated the stealth that only the night could provide. She walked to the place decided upon and waited. Any minute now. She’d broached the idea to her friend. He thought it was a bit too extreme but helped her anyway. She looked at her watch. It was time. She pulled out a package. Placed it down. Then pulled out a gun and aimed.

    Chickoo liked to look at the empty road from her bedroom window every night before bed. It looked like a giant worm with streetlights for eyes. Tonight the road wasn’t empty. She could see someone, a girl, walking on it.  She went and stood near a lamp post under her house. The light illuminated Reshma didi’s face. She waved but didi didn’t see her; she was busy removing something shiny from her purse. Chickoo wasn’t sure what she saw next. She wasn’t sure if she should’ve woken up ma. So she just went to sleep.

    Suchitra hurried in the kitchen. She had woken up late. She still had to make Jaideep’s breakfast and wake Chickoo up for school. Reshma still hadn’t arrived with the eggs. She cursed the day she hired her. Never helped around the house but always audaciously asking for a raise. Suchitra just knew there was something shady about her but she couldn’t let her go. You try finding another maid in this dastardly city! Eggs! Damn!!  Suchitra picked up her purse and stepped out to get the eggs herself.

मेमसाब,

अब्बू की ज़मीन कर्जे में थी। अम्मी बीमार। खाने को कुछ नहीं था। मैं पेट से हूँ। साहब को मत बताना। वो दिन हम दोनों से गलती हो गयी थी। माफ़ी। सलीम से बन्दूक ली और अम्मी अब्बू को मुसीबत से निजाद दी। मुझे भी निजाद मिल जाएगी तो अच्छा लगेगा। आगे अल्लाह की मर्ज़ी। चीकू को मेरा प्यार देना। आपके अंडे देहलीज़ पर रखे हैं। एक दर्जन। छुट्टे पैसे अन्डो के नीचे हैं। खुदाहाफिज़।

 आपकी,

रेशमा 

    Suchitra read the letter five times after she looked at Reshma’s bloodied body. Five times before Chickoo woke up to her mother’s screams. 

subterranean mist

so a man walks into this bar.... no no no... scratch that. a girl walks into an underground club. she's young. 19. exploring avenues. it’s her first time in a place like this. its new. scary. scarier than a normal club. better. all sorts of people here. in feathers, in robes, in neon, in black, in leather, in spandex, in really hot sweaters, in things where certain body parts get chilly. Xerxes' Other Harem. that's the name of this extraordinary place. people say forbidden things happen here. things which set you free. the place where Hedon himself roams happy. scarves... yeah... pretty forbidden. no time for personal idiosyncrasies. a lot of leather here. miss 19 comes in here wanting exactly that. a little variation. not fun though. that was out of her agenda. overrated shit, happiness and love. it took her years, but she came up with the most apt definition for what she thought love was. to love, she felt was to trust. and to trust was to sign a don't ask, don't tell agreement ridden with perpetual, incessant and disappointing curiosity. she just wanted a good feeling. something to alleviate her frustration with all the shit that was going on in her life. dealing with her new identity, trying so hard not to hit the downward spiral. tonight though. she caved. convinced herself that if she did this, things wouldn't seem so fucked up. rest assured this was her last resort (this is for those lousy hypocritical half ass bastards who think what could a 19 year old possibly have to worry about that would make her take such drastic measures. and if you are one of those lame ass idiots stop reading right now). crying, entering copious amounts of "dear diary", even went emo for a while, cutting, blood, the works. drinking, smoking... wow, i she could really use a smoke right now. the cool menthol lifting your innards to a lighter universe and make everything, momentarily, seem okay. but i digress. the point is, she was at the edge of the rope,  at the end of her tether, at the... think of some good metaphor, will you. i'm tired and sleep deprived. she decides to do it alone. many who know her know about her situation, none care. not their fault, such level of comprehension was beyond them but somehow, for that very same reason, she was more fucked up than any of them. coffee used to be her reprieve. she gave it up because she had nightmares. 3 days and still going strong. not that strong, though; Xerxes wouldn't have a new customer otherwise. she saw things there. not that she didn't expect to, just that having a grotto inside a basement club was strange, even for this place. and a guy slowly OD-ing himself on chameleon blood isn't quite what she had in mind either. ooh... a guy just shot himself... cool?  this night really was turning out be the stuff. she spots a target. all units converge. "hi, i'm miss 19. you are..?" "seriously screwed up, so fuck off!" and the target retreats. two tries later, same shit. brilliant morale boost for miss 19. she knows it. this is the edge of her rope, the end of her tether, (insert your awesome metaphor here). shit. an underworld of all things unsaid. a place which bound you in worse. a place where no matter how fucked up you are, people still need you for their daily fix. and yet. and yet... a little 19 year old bisexual doesn't get acceptance. satan rejects stalin.

an unusual number of people are wearing scarves tonight. still no wind in the grotto. at Xerxes' Other Harem, Hedon lives.

a sudden revelation at 5 am on a thursday night.

Funny thing, life... things change, but no one sees it. One suddenly goes from listening black metal to 80s French and American house music. From hating one piece of electronic equipment to absolutely adoring it the next day. From wanting everything money could buy when one is 16 to being mildly bemused by the uselessness of it all when one is 20 while watching a 28 year old obsessing over the very same things. From wanting nothing but to study one’s whole life, dedicating it to academic research to just wanting to earn enough money to make a living for others. From having to worry about one’s emotional problems to becoming so detached that the not-worrying becomes a cause for concern.... but only slightly. From yearning Death to escape it all to planning a well caliberated end to a structureless life.

Blades

Shift,

I hit a block.

Love,

Schizophrenic insomnia.

Mist,

The sad moon's heartfelt elucidation.

Silver,

Teeth, in the paling crimson sky.

Cross,

Mere love craves anarchy.

Heart,

The nib drips slowly... wholly.

Cobwebs,

Restoration of the subterranean progeny.

White,

The lady with the rock clears the bed.

Rum,

Divinity freed in my own backyard.

Destiny,

Caused efforts are no longer jealous.

Gloom,

Wake up, dear chrysanthemum.

Evening,

Confessions of a lustful proclamation.

Blood,

The pleasure of broken glass.

Rain,

A liminal mind enabled.

Death,

A warm winter's night.

Life,

A flimsy cover for sheer beauty.

Performance Anxiety

No one wants it to happen, you know. No one thinks it to be possible, until it does. Writing all that shit about how you feel or what you want to do or talking to a friend doesn’t matter.

Any normal day, or night... lets pick night... I like that time. So... any night you are in your bed, but somehow you think it’s getting colder. So you move out to the living room and lie down. All the while, you smile constantly. You think what the note will say, what will happen in the morning. Then you sit up. That sugar from the midnight snack kicks in. Boy... smiling never felt so good. You lie down again and try to sleep... you know... so that people would say that you have a smile on when you sleep. But it’s the couch and your back acts up.

The smile won’t wear. Fucking sugar. Then you go pee, come back and watch a movie on your iPod. Now your eyes hurt cuz you had to turn the brightness down to minimum (to save battery stupid! How would you like it if your movie stopped at the turning point because of low battery, huh?) which strained your eyes.

The smile stays. You start thinking, what if I was a psychotic killer? This would be a cool look J. So then you sit up and look outside the window, smile at the shadows cast.

The smile gets worseL. Now every few minutes you chuckle. Can’t go louder than that. Parents are sleeping in the bedroom. Oh yeah... one of the reasons why you left was because of the congestion on the bed. Really annoying when you can’t move about while sleeping! You think shit, you know... in the night. When somewhere... something falls, your heart beats faster. Just for some time, cuz then you realise that nothing can happen to you when some lady in the neighbourhood turns in bed and her bangles jingle. Hey... I love the Bangles! I mean what a band!! Eternal Flame might just be the most awesome romantic song ever!! :D

Anyway... then you realise how quite it is and about everything you could do... you know... watch TV, work or play on the computer, read... but of course, you don’t end up doing anything like that. Lazy fucking arse.

You don’t understand what the smile is still doing on your face. Maybe you are “feeling” happy... but you don’t “think” so, do you my little rationaliser?! So then you think some more and your rational mind tells you what to do. You have to go sleep; you have to get up in three hours.

Ah... another chuckle... I was beginning to miss those. So then you lie down. Good... that’s a start. You try masturbating, but you realise you’re dry. Guess you aren’t so happy after all, huh?

So now you really don’t know what to do. You contemplate on having a lot of coffee and staying up through the day, but decide against it. Rationally, of course. ;)

Ooh... the chuckle againJ. Louder thins time. Then you......... I don’t know what you do anymore. Maybe you could write the night’s events down. That’s an idea, right? Hone your writing skills? Nah... fuck it. Lethargy still prevails :P. You drink water. Got up to get it and everything.

Ahhh... as long as you are up... why not? You’ve got nothing else to do anyway. So you decide to do it. It wouldn’t be rational, you think. But just this once, you also think that this is as good a time as any for a bit of spontaneity... so you do it!! J Smile still there... two continuous chuckles, whoa! :P Your neck is poised... stiff I’d say. Guess its performance anxiety, eh? ;) Nothing to worry about though. The blade wasn’t so cold anyway.

The hinterland summons,

The last instrument torn

Roam the earth freely, comrade.

Shadows shall be left to mourn.

Bring in the mice.

Let the black feast begin.

The crows stand by the edge,

Shadows don’t scare them.

The white priestess ascends

Grave fervor

A scarlet toast…

To Death, my lover.

The reaper approaches,

Beckoning the era of dread.

Night descends.

The shadows have fled.

The commemorations of the day

Are far worse than the weaknesses of night.

Moon. You cloak all revelry,

You hide.

Thou hatcheth into the sweetest sunlight

Of thy morning glory.

To thy lore, we march.

Breathtaking silver, we bow.

Material Mortality (Working Title)

Another riot missed. Every city I went to, I would reach just as the final dirge began. Another city. I steel myself for another disappointment. This time she comes with me. A lucky charm perhaps.Scouring the sensitive areas, dejection starts to creep in again. Then. Gunshots are heard. Something heavy and wet falls by my side. My lucky charm has struck me gold. I take out my rapier and get to work.

Mercy to the Nightmare

He runs. The shadow of death lingers


A slight shiver
The glimpse of beauty


Mortal attempt
To talk to thee


Thou alluded me in past
Still thou allude me


Via clouds of Death*
The conversation begins


The first wisps
Sweet pain… joy


A gruesome turn
Look to my left child
The scarlet’s in the urn


Shadows beckon
Grave-l path


Restoration promise
The blind floundered


The path advances
Vengeance encountered


The blade strikes
Lustful complacency


Doomed resplendence
Thou bleed beauty


A maiden smiles
Silver slits the dark
Stolen pleasures end sublime


A howl, a cry
What childhood reverie!



I capture thee
I capture eternity


Almost crossed
The robes slither


A soul rises
The heart withers


A kindred dream
Yearning a mundane road


But the Persian sings
Listen now…
The hymn of the White Sword


I bow to your spotted perfection
I follow you … my moon


Thou art hallowed

 
*The phrase “via Death” was used by my literature teacher, Prof. June Dias, on 19th December 2009 in one of our literature lectures. Her prior permission has been taken to use it in this poem.

Sedate Reconciliation

It happened again.
The quest for reason
Futility

Really,
The chains were too tight now
Rust
Foster-child
Damn!

Constant sitting
No grass
When, if ever
Speed. Oh the speed.

Linen,
Muddled memories
Why not?
No more.

Taste it
Addiction is key
Now the door opens.

White peacocks
Poets
Wicked ice

Cheer comes
The scythe of pleasure
Cherries

A conversation
Pure passion
Paper against paper
Sweet inked kiss

The bus arrives
Love
One stop only
Melancholia

The stone never turns
Let it go
Throw

Rampant dreams
Wood angles
Music sounds
The scissor listens

The rose cries
Caffeine
Restoration
Bloom

Ramifications underway
The apple is presented
Fascist mud
The cards fall

June’s glory
Snow
Minuscule black
Bones

Selling trees
Mystery lives
Mercenary
The fig tree

Repose comes.
Pardon reprieve
The mind still recalls,
Speed. Oh the speed.