Your Language

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Your esoteric words tamed me,
A script fashioned like sketches
I couldn’t see, I couldn’t read
Like the blood of my womb,
Protean,
Giving shape to my emotion,
A prodigal epic.
I often leave blank verses
in between.

Distance jumps into the act–
The God, the Fate, the Destiny.
So I picked up the remnants
Of Lucifer.
I tell my eyes– “think!”
I start learning the unknown.
Alphabets I draw
Like the first word of the epic.
I become the bard
And the distance paints my character,
Dropped in a well of coins,
Thwarting, challenging–
My body is tied.
So, I help my mind escape,
Feeding it hopes,
Just lame hopes
Who know well how to swindle.

I make a mistake;
A diacritic misplaced;
Just like me– my resort,
The strangeness,
Where perhaps I shouldn’t be
There at all.
The distance laughs in satisfaction.

I close my eyes,
Scared to look at my own face.
Tears tearing my skin.
Bullets fired—
Yet I hear my heart breathing,
Taken over by someone.

Words stitching my torn body,
You know exactly
Where you need to penetrate.
I rest as you peruse,
And inject the saline of grammar.
The distance feeds on my pain.
But soon, I shall
Talk to you in your language;
In the journey of a repetitive ‘How long?’
I shall move a little bit closer
In your mother tongue.

#NaPoWriMo #day30;  #Poem 30

Waiting for the Rain

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My hands starve as I embrace the pain,
Poem consoles my restless heart,
Counting its beats for the rain.
My charred nerves move
Like a dolphin,
Lost,
When the shooting star
Broke fire in the ocean.

I giggle as they tell me,
How across the western shore,
You gifted your cognizance;
Across the meadows, across the forest,
On the wheels always,
Among the people, you rest.

My heart lost count of the outbursts,
Tears burn my aching eyes;
Then I feel the clouds
Of chapters you wrote;
The vapor creates oxygen;
Moments desire to be set free;
They pick up your quotes
And torment the pain.
Thunder writes the bleeding dream.
Rain! Rain!
Oh Beloved!!
I wait to live in the rain.

But you are summoned elsewhere,
Where very few people
Know the alphabets
That write smile
On faces in need.
It’s a pride, I cherish
In those wee hours ,
When the darkness fills my room,
Reeking uncertainty,
Trying to incarcerate my hopes.

I smell the rain as my hand
Crawls up to the pain;
A word with you,
In an hour or two,
You put the pain to hallucination,
The wait tells me,
Stories of its enigmatic charm.
Oh Beloved,
I listen,
To the promise of rain,
Oh Beloved,
I wait,
Staring at the western sky,
My arms wide open
To embrace the rain.

#Day29 ; #Poem29

To your Voice

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The rusts of broken sleep
and the sweet candor of sleeplessness—
I saw the eyelashes spreading
Their wings;
Across the meadow of another day.
Structures brimming with positive leaves;
The students need justice ,
And the stray dog sniffs
For his daily food.
The care contradicts his experiences.
There’s a man filled with guilt;
He needs an ear to dump
His insecurities.

I hear the eyelashes yawning,
With the voice,
Childish yet sharp,
Ready to put on your role—
The savior.
I found the scent of slumber,
A desire to stay back for a few moments;
Perhaps feel the pampering,
Not emerging out of the smile,
But pouring in,
Greasing the lazy beard;
You shrug off with your ‘have to’s;
And wash your hands
With exigencies and pending proposals;
Your voice talks with me;
The voice delivered in juvenile secrets,
A little bit of care
For the self,
Stealing seconds from the hours in need;
I hear the voice,
Half-asleep, yet conscious;
I hear your voice,
Telling me a story,
People rarely know.

Day 28; Poem 28

 

To your Utterance

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Language is my space ship,
Where our orbits clashed
like your utterance;
Oh how delicately you tamed your tongue,
Without any inkling,
With the flouroscence of the Dravidian script,
I skipped into fantasy.
Distance lost its memory.

An instant souvenir,
Another on insistence —
Those Bangla syllables you embraced,
Like the jasmine and the petrichor.
Somewhere in some parallel universe,
The states merged– west and the east,
I felt the tremor!!
And it happened–
I heard a flower bloom
and a star shine,
The moment you uttered those words,
In a language I considered only mine.
Those delicate pronunciations and your silence,
Minute tales colouring your eyes,
Oh, how can I even dare to ask for more?
For this, in the zeitgeist of the new year!!

#NaPoWriMo #Day 27 #Poem 27

We played with Words

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We. played with words

Like roasted clouds
Lighting up the stars;
Your eyes– radiant
as you picked up the letters
In a gossamer delight;
They had picked up the little girl
Already
Diffident and scared,
Fulfilling their paedophilic duties.

You took your Ace,
Vying the protocol.
‘Trump,’ you said,
Is not a name
But our creation.

You took my script
And initiated me into
Your world
Where solecism fails to breach
Your woods,
Leading me to indulgence,
I feared to afford.

‘Look,’ I wail, ‘ the chemicals,
They scathe my flesh!’
A drop of blood falls.
A child dies.

Your smile generates the storm,
A propulsive doctrine
As you place your hands
Upon my heaving flesh,
I forgot the name.
I sense the burning in my womb;
We make words
As I fall asleep
In the lull.
Wake me up,
When the words are
Churned enough,
To bleed!!

#NaPoWriMo #Day26 #Poem26

The Feast of the Drain

 

 

The drain cooked

Red, hot boiling stories,

Garnished with perjury

And we relished our

Anniversary siesta.

 

The saprophyte comes alive;

I increase the temperature;

Time moans under your hair;

You set the tables

Sprinkling pawns all over

My eyelashes.

 

The drain cooked,

Stories, now arrested

For enticing us

Towards your vanity.

The egregious water

Smoked the time of chaos

When we tamed the fire

And returned to our Dalit nests,

Growing acid in our tongue,

To taste our anniversary delicacy.

 

#NaPoWriMo #Day25 #Poem25

They say it will rain again

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They say it will rain again,
Today.
The crow splashes perfume
As I look up;
The sky is drinking red wine,
Perhaps intending to travel,
Leaving me,
Bickering with my dreams
And songs you hum,
Clearing the foam gliding along
Your wet arms.

They say it will rain,
Oh, Beloved!
The silence of the Evergreen Forest
Shall give me company,
Here.
I wait for the thunder;
It draws your stentorian exploits.
Can I ask you…?
Oh, but wait—
I hear the exigency across the poles
To purify the ice—
It smells of cold storage;
Missiles of human flesh
Need more than just a casket;
Heavy hearts mate with graves
And they feast upon chrysanthemums–
White, the fairer goddess,
A delectable breakfast platter.
Still, the rain might come.

I will touch the water
And pretend it’s another
Hormonal attack;
That I have too many tear glands.
Cramps suffocate me,
Deriding a sudden revelation.

They say it will rain again,
Today,
Oh, Beloved!
I stitch my verses together,
Till the sun comes,
Thundering
Flooding my barren life,
With rain.

NaPoWriMo Day 24; Poem 24

It’s raining here

 

(Image Source: Google)

It’s raining here,
The raindrops and my desires,
Contentious, on their guards
Infuriating my collar bone
and a dormant soul
Saw the ring of fire.

My emotions were desiccating
Before they remembered your name;
The thunder travelled all the way
From moon.
The horses neighed,
Breaking the dusts,
Marching towards broken clouds,
Sold off to dreamers
And the remnants of tattered childhood.

The thunder came like your voice
And it rained!!
The raindrops and my emotions
Broke the shackles of responsibility.
The earth stopped rotating,
A moment escaped
From the prison of the Milky Way.
My intellect sapped;
I wish to embrace the raindrops,
Now!!
And feel Tristan’s potion.

Perhaps you would smell
The restlessness in my wet curls
And remember…
There— yes, there—
Dreams failed to
Allay the acid burns
And the children looked like toy guns,
Made of Legos,
Words they heard
When they saw the child of their Moses
Crying for a missing piece.

It’s raining here,
The raindrops and my emotions,
The desires,
You have released the floodgate.
The glacier has started to melt.
But let me ask you,
Oh, Beloved,
When will the sun
Set the ripple from the West,
Water of the raindrops,
To the longing East?

NaPoWriMo Day 23;Poem 23

I coin my erotic Hymn

   (Image Source: Google)

I coin my erotic hymn,

Hidden under the scrolls of Valmiki.

The sylvan emotions drew

The vagrant,

You theorized as my name.

I buried my desires

In a tureen,

You called my erotica.

But it was not our Amarusataka

or an amoretti I would sing to you

On an evening;

Checkered with riot.

The words are not my alibi

To imprison you under the sunset;

Neither an offering–

A submission adding electrons

to your machismo;

But rather are expressions

Which conjugated with yours

In a truce Valmiki denied,

Suffering as leftover petals,

The ants got tired of eating.

#Day22; Poem 22

When the Dusts arose…

The dusts arose,
The aeroplane bull-dozed
the dreams of the tea-seller.
Lemon and ginger stroke back
and the moon went down
To Earth.

You rhymed with your tea,
Parrying the intrusion
and drank the dreams;
When we met last night,
I, curled up in your blanket
while you trimmed your beard
and we heard the aeroplane
Knocking at our door.

The news was a stale one,
Like the dew drops
painted in saffron;
My curls fell like chrysanthemums
upon a rosy Kashmir.
You made love to them,
Swilling the music of rebellion
We created;
And sent back the aeroplane
To terrorize
Our countrymen already dead,
Embracing their own euthanasia—
That button of the ballot box.
So we went for a morning walk together
And drank tea!!

NaPoWriMo Day 21 ; Poem 21