Grandpa is a Nasi
Papa a Jew
And me - Palestinian
Grandma, *Gandari
Since Long
And Mom Never Had
Veto Power, ever.
When the Portico is yesterday’s Europe
And the Living Room is today’s Asia
The Kitchen is all-time Africa,
It’s quite natural for
The Bedroom to be Antarctica.
= = = = = =
*Gandhari is a character in the Indian epic, the Mahabharata. Gandhari voluntarily blindfolded herself throughout her married life. Her husband Dhritarashtra was born blind, and on meeting him and realizing this, she decided to share the pain of her blind husband.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
Why father,
has his eyes been shut so forcefully?
Perhaps to see nothing more.
Why then plug his ears and nose with cotton?
Maybe to keep out desires
that sounds and smells bring.
Why then tie up his jaws and toes?
Perhaps to unite no more
Or move no more.
Poor mankind
Laid out on the floor,
What can he do?
Perhaps he is thinking!
Only the dead can think
Seriously about life,
Only then time permits.
======
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
Knowledge is now very simple
Single word questions
And answers in a breath.
Knowledge is now aplenty
Evenly cut pieces of bread
Within easy reach of the laziest
Then why do you
Lift your eyebrows
When forty line answers are spit out
For question that won’t hold in four lines.
The Thaj Mahal is not a wonder, its snobbery
The vain argument goes on.
From the other lone
This lone doesn’t look greener
but only a funeral patch
You are argue with yourself
And throwing a set of fruitfulness question:
Why the evening’s rosiness nestles in the snake bird’s eyes?
Where does the garden lizard leave its memory for a while?
When did the owl start cleaning the day’s dirt to end the night?
Who feeds the pair of rabbits on the moon without fail?
In what soft tones does the ant whisper secrets to its mate?
In which impoverished month did the white ants burp and wipe their lips
Who wrenched the cricket’s courage that they make such noise?
Why can’t the **** wake up the neighborhood without loosing its sleep?
Why can’ t the peacock break its contract with the rain clouds?
From where did the fox gain its cunning?
Which river entered the forest, fighting the sea?
Why war, floods, poverty, quakes?
In word : God’s fury.
Look how simple knowledge is,
Beautiful in its commonness.
Still you argue
You swear
What met isn’t knowledge
Nor the way to knowledge
Then of what
Does it symbolise?
Tell me in a word.
======
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
Piercing with the paled eyes
Doctor gave verdict:
‘’It is spread thru water,
has to be cared’’
"No, it is because of
seeing Vangoh’s paintings"
Friend commented.
"Following the funeral procession of
Jose Arcedio Buvendia every day".
Lover ridiculed.
"Without searching for job
sitting idle
swallowing the news papers".
Father scolded
"Giving no importance to feed
Untimely urination
thinking many pranks.. "
Mother panicked.
"It is the yellow card shown by god
for the foul committed"
Priest prophesised.
Hey, you all those who gathered
with complaints around my liver
coloured like a crock pecked mango
please remember:
Often life turn yellow
when there is no greenery around.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
Grandma never told me a tale
Never scared me by pointing at spooky pots
Never pained me by showing the bird cage trapped in the wild fire
Never forcefed me by threatening to lay in dark corridors
Never slept near me
Nor caressed me.
Sometimes she raved
About the handsomeness,
The extravagance and intelligence
Of our alcoholic, pockfaced, stingy
Grandpa.
And all these like fable
Told long ago
By your Grandma.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
The Poems Hunter who left long back
has yet not been returned.
May be straying in front of
the closed street shops, temples, steps of ponds,
bars, mujara dancing halls…
To fall on a big game, little ones ignored
or the hunted one pierced out cleverly while retuning,
or the prey which was at the gun point long back
hiding slowly behind the bushes, has stuck on the eyes.
‘’No No’’ the revelation eclipses
nothing is greater than today’s
horn of hare shot down.
while searching in darkness
which lost in light
the marrow ****** bone
thrown out by somebody hindered him
Or hesitant to come home empty handed,
putting back the loaded gun,
he may be roaming around at
riverside, bus stop, ladies hostels,
psychiatric wards……..
Having been not seen back home
even after the ghastly night fed up of
given birth to fumes of lava clotted darkness,
Keeping the gruel in that
smallpox clad aluminium bowl,
on the tiny corner
where poetry and light would never creep in,
spreading the raw jute sack,
unable to shut the mind and eyes
while closing the doors… slowly couched.
Yet, out to search the poet in the woods and
was fallen prey to the tiger,
that is what to the seekers from time immemorial.
now, time has given punishment
to the poet
To lie on the furnaced fever,
on the burning sack of the friend
scribbling elegy on the death of the friend.
====
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
Friends,
Most of them are like drums
Emptier their inside,
The more they sound.
Some like bells
chime incessantly
To gleam themselves
but cuts our life span.
Some like Judas
betrays for a nickel and insults
Some like Brutus
Misunderstand easily
And raise armies against us
on the streets.
Still others like garden lizards
feign forgetfulness
Or like chameleons
change colours
Some time slink away
from problems like a turtle.
Or bribe their way
with crocodile tears .
Yet there are a few other
Who float through our dreams
Admonishing against evil designs
Living through fond memories,
Even after their death.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC