tales from the animal farm

in herds we die,
battling fate
of a destitute
cry and more cry
sniffing blood
in the cage-hound

in herds we die,
by callous hands
that bow before man
seeking charity
to buy expensive knives,
slitting us pin-drop

in herds we die
gradually sometimes
eating fleas,
that come to visit
saving us from disgrace
of throwing up every meal

in herds we die
snorting faeces'
of brotherly love
as we huddle
to exchange sorrows
and sometimes sleep

in herds we die,
weeping in one corner
at the corpse,
of our comrade
cursing him who jabs
pain through sterilized needles

in herds we die,
jostling for space
in our wrongful notions
of mankind
they-who built us shelter
and forgot to build us home


in herds we die
at night and dawn
because life behind bars
drags like toothache
forever,
in dingy thoughts
of escape.

- a bunch of dogs

semiotics of solitude

why do rivers meet
did you ever think?
o wanderer of infinite space
travel beyond the horizon
the claws of humanity
savage only the meek
open your eyes and seek

"the hoarse of their voice
disturb me most
through the daily ritual
of their uncanny vice.
they growl and tether
and feast upon me"

and you hark back
to dooms in ache?
pronouncing victory for them
dumbfounded in extravagant tears
employing mercy-plea
oh is this how solitude is defined
in your vocabulary?

wandermusk

a musk so raw,
a fume so rich
like gravel of sand
clutched in peasant's vow

nothing spectacular,
no heavenly blow
whirling familiarity
that is yet to be known

a musk so raw,
a sense so bright
like nebula of dust
hugging hurriedly the moon

reminisces of bygone
an epic? a legend?
devoured by saints
in the tricks of modern men

a musk so raw,
a sight so rare
like wet geraniums
in the wings of unicorn

look how it escapes the naked eye
like ashes settled on the quay
heeded by none, in the hourglass of time
yet a musk sets in, forever in the mind.

un name

It all began from christening. A name, a superlative, an alibi!?. Trekking all the way up to the canyons of knowledge in search of that befitting syllable. A Shakespearean character is too mighty for him while a song can barely capture his essence. A poem is subject to varied interpretations for him who's sparkling clear in his otherwise construction of conundrums.

days ran in frenzy,fudging anagrams to arrive at a tailor-made sobriquet.
puzzled, riddled, quizzical, were all the words she could decipher. The wrecks of previous attempts were too impressionable to stray and the phonetics of victory were no where in near sight.

The popular voices reckon that journey defeats the destination, in her case it was words that had cast a spell. The hours of play stretched up to dawn-break.The verbatim gradually translated into a bond that evaded vocabulary, in dumbfounded ruminations.

Her struggle is not confined to christening him anymore and words evade her like never before.

home-away diwali

I revel in the solitary trenches of my burrow on the festive night.in thick contentment, i animated my teeny-gesture of lighting lamps in the room (and walking 4 km-s hunting for silly diya's). The radiance which apart from glorifying the i-don't care-mess, induced a sense of calm. while there was pompous display of lights and sounds in the make-belief celebration of a home-away Diwali, i stumbled upon the association between family and festival. A new definition, a new symbiosis, i maneuvered.

Yes it is rife to say that festival is synonymous to family, like it or not. After talking to half-a-dozen of relatives, i felt a strange gush of affection towards them. Good to know that the idea of society persists in the black corridors of my solitude. The entire experience of being away on one of the crucial celebratory days, was undeniably unique.

tripped on Mj's videos just for the heck of doing something different today. Shared sweets with my pooches, bought some tit-bits for friendly-people(note the word usage please!), called up grand-parents(even though i went mute after 180 seconds).Noticed a long, marble-finish candle standing like a recluse and felt happy(diwali).

ode to cuckoo

spun in mahogany,
she greets me,
in her friendly scents
and uncanny snouts
like a long-lost companion
-she, a maverick,an errand

whistles
and pooches
and coochie-coo's
her only language i know

fanning my sweat
with her own grime
and ants that
thrive on her tail
she jumps on to me
in her petite frail

i look at her
with an eye of sympathy
for she's often
dejected as stray
but to me she's beautiful
like a butterfly may

we learn

the mist of his gait,
pierces the hallway
hallway; that is
sullen and sore
in its mundane bowels
of false answers
to fake questions
of battling yawns
and twitching moans

he walks like dust
on the flesh of absurdity
seen, heard, felt by none
like carcasses of
ash,forlorn
at the chimney dorm


the mist of his gait
in sepia of solitude
the fading footsteps
that occasionally gate-crash
run,run,run
he soliloquies
no, sings
a rhapsody,
birthing an identity.
(perhaps!)

chimes

the chime of your eyes
run through my nerves
noiseless,
filling empty vessels
through silent glances

the chime of your eyes
exhibit tales and toys
lost,
in the the embers of
grizzly adulthood

the chime of your eyes
perfumes desire
soiled
in purple lilacs
and purple rosemary

the chime of your eyes
sing every night
soporific
in pillowing dreams
of valleys and woods

the chime of your eyes
becomes sunlight every now,
blinding
infernos and black-holes
of lesser societies

the chime of your eyes
vocal and vibrant
disquiet
even when you turn back
and walk backwards

the harmonious hushes
in the metallic glimpses
hear would you ever?
the chime of your eyes
through my very own pair

old and new

In the repository of silence, I hear words flowing out of my body like bells voicing out of the rustic corridors of the neighborhood church; unstrung, unheard, enchanting(?) sinking into an internal vortex of unchained syllables. let lose; sliding through the magnum of old structures. old structures that reckon new smells, like a freshly preparation from the daily molasses of same, stoned bakery. savoring freedom so to summarize.

The purpose of a vacation is to reverberate sight and smell of newness in your thoughts, which amusingly i attain here. In the absence of human dystopia, the tic-tac clamor, of herd and heard.

Solitude redefined, painted in fine absences of brightly red and flashy pinks. and grey strokes inked in dotted whites of silvery clouds. This painting is devoured by no intellectuals in their salty criticisms and sour presumptions.

'change must come from within', triggered by changing skies perhaps. my babels lay conciliated in pleasant exchanges with the vocal wind. As i holiday in the old structures, feeling anew, afresh and aroused.