Uncompromising
years ago he dreamt of four streets
all of them were covered with pythons
dejavu was such that he ended up living on
the fourth street
here he was slandered to the extent
those one reads about in books are slandered
priests and saints
he remembered one of those holy
books he had read
it said losing ones reputation was essential
when chasing piety
what piety was it he often thought-
to be scarred
hated
swirled around in abyss
he kept proceeding on with life
executing life
day to day he ran on
pythons were there yet he held onto his own salt
some called him a loser
some the very definition of what a man is not
supposed to be
he learnt to be a step ahead
his personal diary was published posthumously
he was eulogised as a saint
as a steadfast walker on thorns
no man is supposed to be as brave
his cathartic nauseous day had so many triumphs
yet the salt was zoomed onto
the pythons died one by one-
but by the time the streets were safe-
he was no more
he manifested the pythons
they had died way way before
but he had given in to what he thought
that was his disease
to think of what never existed
and johny even if those pythons existed
he could have focused more on gin and tonic
tulips and butterflies
kiddo gave in to those sketched pythons
could have lived- atleast tried
Blue bird
i threw a bird in the bin
she tried to fly open
upon her first thundery burst over
i clipped her wings and banged her against the base
tremble she did
bluey reddy bird breathed her last not much after
i said a prayer for her and buried her
her time in the bin resonated with the ire of so many
we write obituaries of those we murdered
we wrap their stories in beautiful remorse
while they live we never spare throwing shade over their blue and reds
while they sleep we acknowledge their once flight
this bird is amongst the many i murdered
but this is the first obituary i write
a new low even for me
do you
do you brisk at irrelevancies
i marvel at them
im plagued by my own self
remember the class three myself essay-
that was the simplest explanation there
tara wrote she wanted to be a mom -
instead she became a cocksucker
im the cock she sucked
i wrote i will be a pilot
shes the plane i flew
this drippy conversation will never be pope sanctioned
boom
boys at the mosque fondle each other
the fathers at vatican fondle too
the fondlers have declared me a sinner
god would have judged better-
so where are you taking this bullshitty nonsensensical poem
is it even a poem
its a fuckfest of so called stanzas
nah a fuckfest only - spare the stanzas
i dream of shakespeares yellow
freddie mercurys bare chest
leo kissing kate still better porno than all the rest
im a figmentation of too many imaginations
the head at the receiving end of hbk's sweet chin music
the leg at the receiving end of bret harts sharpshooter
undertakers tombstone
bidens cognitive absence
the fondlers thuggery
wet drippery of porno unbound
those who blocked my way preaching
were cunts unbound
me a saint
Man up
de-fictioning my miraculous fantasies
boy cycling around golden minarets
boy orbiting one sky after another to find golden minarets
boy sits at a circular gold slung bench
boy receives divine assent
boy goes back to classroom - gets his nicker pulled down by briscoe
boy goes home stands before a cross and remembers divine assent
boy goes back to classroom tomorrow briscoe does more
briscoe doesnt stop
boy is told he needs to deal with briscoe himself
boy goes home and livestreams a mass
sprinkles holy water and prays for briscoe to spare
miraculous punditry and the cry of crucification
boy goes back to classroom - another tomorrow
briscoe turns him red
briscoe does more than turning him red
boy walks home and locks himself in his room
eats pesticide and is taken to the emergency
boy recovers and goes to classroom
briscoe be it
boy walks home for the last time
sons lost to silence
daughters lost to silence
may you have survived
Wag spill
the punctured pulse of time replenishes thee
nothing but a burst balloon so many are
while i orbit around the longitudes and latitudes of he and she -
they whipped me well
i am so obsessed with 'they' compounded
that somewhere i lost i
walk i do
breathe i do
morbid existence type calls do exist
necessary pessimism is such a buzzkill
why don't you look at his stiff tail wagging
why dont you do something
why dont you laugh at his stiff tail wagging
smell spices from the broth
unteach and teach
you be better dear damned son
Chehrezade
Chehrazade didn't really know what was happening.
While she sat on a white sofa stained with tea, orgasmic mist and ash, she devoured the white sofa with further ash. She puffed on hard red cigarettes. She got up, went till the kitchen with bare feet. Her feet had black charcoal type layers beneath them. Amazing how she would tell me about the cost of this white upholstery only to lie on it with dirty feet - dirtier after each round to the kitchen.
It was 10:00 am by now. While I was leaving for the courts, I sat before her to admire her. Her hazel eyes, light brown mane, tanned olive complexion, sleek nose, mole over her not so pouty lips made the charcoal layers under her feet irrelevant. Even after three years of marriage, I couldn't resist her and slowly sneaked my way to the white sofa trying not to meet her eyes. I kissed her lips soft enough that she again didn't know what was happening. Slowly, ebbing on the deceit that began with a kiss I roamed the periphery, the expanse of her chest. If her face was beautiful, then her boobs were better than all those silicon infested hollywood babes. My Chehrezade was like a vintage coupe. Button start but she showed the road its way. While I started with a kiss and my cavity infested teeth nibbled on her nipples, she showed me the way. Showed me the way to further orgasmic mist. It got so intense- (beep) - intense enough that the two cups of half drank tea on the table by the side spilled on her precious ispahani carpet beneath with little terminological splashes on the white sofa. Maybe it was never meant to be white.
I wore my shirt, tie, pants, socks, coat and left and she blew me a kiss while she surfed through netflix . I’m sure she must have watched horror after I left. While I was driving or arguing in court or working on my draft, my mind was fixated on her. How could this woman clip sunflowers, paint, read, fight to the extent of turning a city into a graveyard, how could this woman be beset by so much that it didn't just add up. How could this woman born into wealth in which nothing was impossible marry and leave everything for a struggling lawyer like me. Who was she? Whether someone who clipped sunflowers or someone with dusty feet or someone who clapped to exorcisms or someone who was a charade yet my charade. She was mine. This woman had packed her bags and left everything for me. She had left a life of luxury in northern europe for this fuckonza. But this is her summarised. This is not her lived. I often think about the disparity between us. About the disparity of us lived.
I just got back home. She is still fitted in that white sofa. Yet I don’t see any stains anymore. The carpet is apparently sponged. I can't see the sofa because she's clearly on the very expanse of it. She just opened her eyes and looked towards me,“How was your day Dave, how did the defamation case go”, I told her about that stupid prolonged case and the conversation just went about.Something was not right though. There was a certain stiffness to her this night. Usually when we make out our moods remain good but tonight she was cold, reserved and even less talkative than usual. She went to the kitchen barefeet, made me a sandwich and put the same before me like putting milk before a cat. I tried talking my way in -whatever that means- but it was resisted by an orchestrated silence. I kept badgering on - a few odd sentences here and there- usually it worked- tonight it didn't. A couple of hours later I heard her laughing to this youtuber nikki glaser. This was new. A woman who had placed bible on the top of the main door of this house was listening, laughing and smirking to a talk dedicated to the power of dildos. Maybe men were replaced by dildos or maybe this girl was just a bloody good comedian but be that as it may she was doing a better job at interacting with Cher than I was.
Night was transcending into its later layers- dawn still afar. She kept on laughing to Nikki. I kept on peeping out from our room to see her … at times she had shut her eyes. At times she was wide awake. She was to herself this night. I went to sleep thinking that she was also mine but she was also hers. Why was I emphasizing so much on who she was this night? Why wasn't I letting her be her? Rather than picking on a fight or punctuating her laughs with my opinion I decided to sleep. By the time I woke up she was asleep, I showered and went to the courts with all my individualism intact which I was so trying to deprive her of.
I couldn't focus at work. I couldn't focus while I gave dictation to the steno. I couldn't focus while I appeared before the judge. My mind was in absentia. I kept on thinking whether she would still be on the infamous white sofa or had she moved to our bedroom. If she was awake then whether she had eaten something. I was trying not to think of her but she was all I could think of. Maybe I had no one else. Maybe she had sheltered me to the extent that I had even lost the audacity to think about anyone or anything but her. This algerian-american girl in my office makes great tea. She just stepped in my chamber and held my hands to say, “ Sir, you are really quiet today, can i be of any help” - I don't really know what she meant by help here. It was almost a pass. Thank God Cher and I made out yesterday or else I would have taken this ones help here. This algerian american one- called tania- has been looking at me with a tenacity of want. I have to resist. I can even see through her white shirt, I guess she purposely wears tight clothes. Thank God she's on the clerical side of things. She has interesting racoon type green eyes. A black fringe almost straight out of porno. She distracts me- she just took me a leap away from Cher. But something, something termite like is also slowly eating Cher. I just entered home to find the white sofa empty.
Cute Blank Slate
splashes of magenta on pink fire
clueless butterfly splishing yellow dip
hansel and gretel lying low on green grass
rapunzel paddled in toorak
cobalt skies in yokohama
hazel eyes in the sahara
pedestrian finding shoes in a barren landscape
paws matter
feet matter
jackson boy finding black in white
white in black
indian girl called pinky smoking pot
bonanza be it
julia running and running on thick white ice
dust of nouakchott still on her mind
julia splashes thick white ice on her face
julia goes home to wear a deep red gown
julia marries latvian prince
hodgepodge type world it is
wisdom be meek
i shall only be in gratitude
we shall only balter to frescoes
mirages and miracles
boomtings
she married herself
dressed up in white
stunning she looked
mirror reflected a thunderstorm
she had a ring on each palm
and then she adorned one on each hand
she read her vows
she kissed herself on the mirror
she undressed and made love to herself
she had a perfect life
she wanted tragedy
she wanted to be receiving a soldiers uniform when adorned in white or
walking over a sea of red
here nothing was tragic
every other day amidst thunder reflecting on that mirror
she prayed for tragedy
it didnt arrive
nor did she marry him
but she married her self
she is her own widow
she is her own wife
i am not her husband
Seventh Sky
i am in a village with some priests
there sits in between us a black dog with a pus filled lump
there is nothing in site but mounds of mud
all of a sudden the priests have begun to clap in unison
theyre thumping their feet
and his years old lump just burst
there is a shower of pus
amidst the spectacle of prayer
of miracle
this black dog puts his tongue in a water bowl
the priests bathe him with saffron
and he runs and curls in the vast vast mud