I have one tree in my back yard
with deep roots
and few leaves
and from it I have tasted a dozen red and gold crisp apples, still
this is the only one that has kept me past
the first bites
and I will gnaw it down to the seeds
and then I will devour those too

1.
when the morning sets in
with the sun rising in the east
i put on the dress of a beggar
extended up to the horizon
and the canto of my begging starts

i beg
beside the big-bazar
beside the fly-over
beside the college-campus
beside the cow-market

you then put your elbow
on the body of the day
giving a perfect and unbiased pose
to attached to the album of life

people of the working-class
spread hither and thither
to write some more decimal fraction
on the notebook of life

2.
in the dusts and soil of rural-bengal  
in the testament written by the grass
i am a son of the immortal

my begging-bowl is the most
favourite go-ahead of a alone man

then speaking around are
the chop singara aluposta

and the love-story of a hyacinth  
blooming in the pond
blind by mud

also in the overflowed dustbin of the city
waiting rightly with an erected head  
the excitement of your absence

3.
coming to this canto of begging
do you know
i  enjoy both
your intensity and your sharpness

your secret current flows me to the pore of the skin
of the body of the puller of a hand-barrow
your cold attracts me
towards the syllabus of waning moonlight  

i do realise now that the stale afternoons
saved in my pocket
stitched so many new muscles
with my vocal chord

and i’m howling in joy…

4.
what’s an enjoyment… hahaha…day after day
spending too much chaos
and living to so little extent
tell me is it the least

within the left-over on the leaf-plates
after eating by the baboos
i can discover more and more
love

the mango tree the grass-hopper my begging-bowl
and from the tune of the laxmi-panchali
coming from the middle-class houses
listen, how flourishing is my mother-tongue  

5.
all long the day i beg

i beg rice pulses oil salt
royal blood

in exchange i also distribute
peace… peace… and peace…

and the horses of the gypsies making
a dip-swimming in the peace-water

in the canto of my begging
holding a whole body of love
i learn how to be burnt
by the shadow of the trees  

i give up all my courage
to book a room in your youth
only for me

6.
going upstairs on the railway foot-bridge
i see the strong light of neon-lamps

the girl from the avtar of the flex
induced trance

the aroma of chhatim-flower in the air
and the song of a blind-beggar
with tambourine

those neon-light flex-women
beggar’s-song and flower odour
i see they are all alive
in the canto of my begging

under the evening-star

7.
in the canto of my begging
at the day’s end
the moon that rises behind the rain-tree

i put up in her hands
the lemon-leaves the water-balloons the goal-kicks
that i have had throughout the day
by begging

and i beg from her the magic-wand
by the touch of which the date-palm
that was someday burnt by a thunder-bolt
in front of the church
looks very infatuating

and my dress as a beggar gradually
becomes a royal-dress

I wish that I could breathe
I wish that you were here
I wish that you had fought for me
Instead of giving in to fear

I wish that I was worth it
I wish that you could see
The love we have is something rare
And you belong with me

But...

What's the point in wishing
When they never, ever, come true
What's the point in living
When I'm not with you

Did you ever read a poem
that you thought was about you
But you couldn't be really certain
yet so much of it rang true

Was there a line that caught your eye
something others wouldn't see
did you ***** your nose up,
twist your lips and think "nah, couldn't be!"

Or maybe there was a moment
hidden there in that verse
that grabbed your attention right away
and made you let out a curse

Of course we could all be mistaken
though our subconscious it may persist
But wouldn't such poems be clearer
if they came with a casting list?

We are like two oreos from the same package
So why do I sometimes feel we go together like orange juice and tooth paste?
You are ALL of the things that I've ever wanted in a girl

...Except for a lot of things.

Am I selfish?
Is it you or is it me?
It's sort of like that Clash song.
Should I stay? Should I go?
The trouble is guaranteed.
Are you worth the trouble?
I want you to be worth the trouble.
I love you.
Whether you want to hear that or not.
I must be selfish.
I'm thinking too much
I ALWAYS. think. too. much.
I know I love you.
Even though I think too much.
No thought required.