The dusts arose,
The aeroplane bull-dozed
the dreams of the tea-seller.
Lemon and ginger stroke back
and the moon went down
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
And sent back the aeroplane
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
(Image Source: Google)
Your intellect is my poison
You forced me to drink,
Like the menstruating jasmine
Heals the night, waiting
To reach the haven
Under the sun.
Your intellect is my poison
I embraced for my own pleasure,
Sailing my ship towards the doldrum,
I fell prey to my baleful desire.
Blessed was the Minerva,
Who had every knowledge of her own;
A muse she was for the abject poets,
But in you, I find my school to learn.
Your intellect is my poison,
A drug my naval needs,
Churning out the enigmatic obsidian,
I collect your knowledge in beads.
My curls dry as the desert cries,
The heart builds cerebral ties,
Saving me from debauchery’s guilt,
For a pauper like me, the library was built.
There’s no sense when I talk of your skin,
There’s no sense when I seek,
The pleasure of your secured lips,
The warmth of those hands that indite,
The dominance waiting like a thunder to strike.
The poison plays the lawyer,
And policeman gives up his act;
Have you ever known the poet
Compromise and make a pact?
So my quill unleashes my emotion,
Drawn somewhere in a clandestine submission,
I live because my antidote is same,
Your intellect as it becomes my poison again!!
when you vomited the milk your mother fed
mincing a Barbie’s princess- gown;
The knife was your experiment
You perforated a hole in between her thighs
That night, your sister learnt: period.
When you rang the bell and offered sweets
blessings glaring at my bosoms
And dried flowers.
You drank them all.
When my red petrified you
So you used nationalism.
Adorned his casket with prayers and flowers
Dead man can’t speak
So you mounted your words
Upon our red.
So I masturbated
and burnt the moon red.
Sometimes a square, sometimes a drop,
Behind that blue, where my vision would stop,
You play, the azure sky !!
In the music of dusk, smiles the sun.
A mere circle in tic-tac-toe,
Of the playful airplanes,
The moon with her trails of blue!!
Flash, it’s been a long time we traveled,
Our robust love broke the dreams, I gathered the pieces of the world,
I clicked the words kissed upon me,
Flash, it’s your bride I have always wanted to be !!
Tragedies are too clichéd, my dear,
I collect the sparkles lost in the dust, dying within me,
The kiss of your strength allays me from the reality afar,
Transcending beyond the world I wanted to be.
It was a long way we walked, soaked in love,
The merry meadow scorned at the feathers left behind,
The sand drenched us in insanity, cruel and blind,
It was an unconscious dream we walked, soaked in love !!
Delirium quenched our hunger, hours stroke the sun,
The epic died even before the bard was born,
We saw the green losing its hue in yellow,
Our lips locked but we didn’t kiss, our sweat, too shallow !!
We chafed, we bickered, burning each other in rosy lust,
We left our shoes, we freed the hooks, our noses dipped in dust;
The path deranged us in an anesthetic wanderlust,
You saw me dying, I saw you living , in a convergence !!
The story never ends, they say, we smile in glee,
You are the ‘I’, I killed to win the diadem,
I am the ‘You’, you always wanted to be !!
A sudden friendship, a sudden discovery of similar interests created my bond with Paulami Duttagupta, compiler of the book Marijuana Diaries. I liked being with her, I liked hanging out with her, which prospered my love for her. It was reciprocated with equal zeal and we thought of working together, write a book perhaps. When we met around June 2014, Paulami didi, as I lovingly call her, told me of making an anthology, a dream she has conceived for long. In her unique panache, she declared the name of the book: Marijuana Diaries and wanted me to be a part of it.
“It’s on addiction”, said Paulamididi and then the theme of Marijuana Diaries was created. Continue reading