Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Rag-Tag Voodoo

on the surface, like acupuncture
the shiny steel pins find their way
into a doll 
swaying to a hindi song
even till yesterday,
with a tiny little bell
in her hand
and the needles can tell
if it is wheelchair for life
or a speeding truck
struck by thunder
or quick-burying sand.
on the surface,
every little pin
is innocent acupuncture
but there's hell,
just fucking under.

Arrivals and Departures

I brave the rain on the roof
scanning the sky
for an approaching light
blinking in the drizzle
you'll be on one of them, tonight
and soon the green of the messenger
will tell, you landed
but I see a shooting star, instead,
unblinking and bright
and forget to ask if you reached,
and would never get to know
are you richer for my not asking
am I richer for the star?
and if i go again, tomorrow,
whom will it be for?

Alternative Reality

Alternative reality taking over you and me.
I forget which is home.
You forget vaccinations, but defend,
"This one's 4.5, dude, am on top of things."
He forgets the brand of scotch you love,
coz you passed out in his arms, hun...
although he wouldn't get to know
how I pressed you against the red, red wall
begging for a kiss.
And she?
She goes ranting in crepe,
unready to drink, smoking a Black
staring inanely at the rudeness of skirts,
baring her fangs, but only in a private smile.
I don't have body hair, I whisper into her ear.
Alternative reality has begun,
no more alternating between reality and dreams,
Waiter, can you play some Black Hole Sun?

Thursday, May 07, 2015

And then he asked "What about love?"

And then he asked, "What about love, then?"
"What about it, sir?"
"You say you want a romp with a 26-year old when you are 85, but that sounded so insensitive and blatant. I can see someone else putting that idea in your otherwise chaste wish. You are, from what I see, generally losing your libido, aren't you?"
"Yeah, you can say that. And it is effing irritating to talk to a person who knows it all, already. This is so weird. And I thought you would look like Morgan Freeman."
"I don't, actually. I don't know it all because when i created the brain, I never thought it would have thoughts in it. It was chalky, tasted bland, and I stuffed as much of it as I could into the skull. It was meant to find you food and shelter. It evolved, and evolution wasn't something I had accounted for."
"No wonder. Before meeting you I kept thinking if you had really created and willed it all, how come the world's such a dark place, someone's spread a jet-black sheet of night sky, and scattered only a few bright stars, as if you had thought of Blackle before us, and then given us pollution."
"I hadn't thought of the mind's capability of thinking. I had kept thought exclusively to myself, and to...err... some dolphins, but it seems there's an evil design that had gotten into everything even without my knowledge. Like what do you call it? Virus? And that brings me to the question I had been meaning to ask you all this while. Why demonhead?"
"Eh! That's supposed to be secret, maaaan! Am not the devil in anybody's mind. I ask them to invoke the devil in theirs."
"See? Now tell me about love. Haven't you loved?"
"Oh yes, and you probably know about all that too. Yes, I have been madly loved by two, almost unconditionally, where one embrace can lead to a koala snore, and another conversation can remain open-ended in 'when you decide to come to me, don't think twice.' And then I have chased three, obsessively. And that pretty much sums up all."
"Who was the last? The dancer?"
"Yes, and you wouldn't like the term bimbo, would you? You being effing G or whatever they call you."
"No, and I hate the term romp as well. I don't understand why you created language and created slang in parallel. That was like a virus in your original thought about how effective communication would be, with language. See, it is inflicting all of us."
"Slang helps make communication precise, sometimes. You wouldn't happen to know Bengali, would you? A term 'baal', meaning pubic hair, can be used in almost every sense to communicate a range of emotions. Very nice, in fact. By the way, about this dancer, what do you want to know? Why I was obsessed and what I got out of it? What if her husband reads this?"
"He wouldn't reach till here. He has very little patience in life, and you must have heard about it from her. Every morning he stands in front of a picture of what he thinks is me and utters some unintelligible stuff in Sanskrit, which he himself doesn't understand. I didn't feel any prayers in his heart. He wouldn't reach till here, am sure. You continue."
"It was obsessive, that's about it. And now it is over. And it left me scarred, which I thought wouldn't heal for quite some time. But strangely, there's no pain, and there's nothing left to say."
"So, the open-ended, lifetime offer saved you?"
"You can say that. Sometimes she is quiet and her hand, with her nails painted shiny black, is placed on mine. And nothing throbs. That's peace."
"And the snore of the koala?"
"That too. In a disneyland of her own dreams."
"Why is it that you don't talk much about what you genuinely received as opposed to stories of how much you have given in vain? Do I smell some vanity in that? What does it get you?"
"Where, you should ask, non?" I replied with a sheepish grin. He knows me inside out by now.
And then I offered him a drink of a local whiskey. He said he will be back to hear more and that he is drawn to demonhead. He asked why he is seen as ugly in some parts of the world. And I have the answers.
I wonder if he will ever figure who the devil in our minds really is.