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,
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

The Poisoned Chlorophyll

The fecund forest now
Breathes effluvium,
You teach me to chant,
‘Jai Hind!’

Your unctuous Mangalayaan,
A pride you constructed
to refill our poverty;
and we drank it;
Like the poisoned chlorophyll,
Your anti-red potion,
you consider inveterate.

Your saffron scientists
have classified our forest;
Their filthy fingers,
Our scientific names.
Genus stating religion,
Species stating gender,
and a hundred more
categories, distinctions,
They fix the dosage and inject
The poisoned chlorophyll.

The trees are dying;
Their red flowers plucked and crushed.
The chlorophyll breeds saffron.
There’s a new element in the brain,
That reacts with your injection;
The scientists focus on Mangalayaan,
The new saffron matter
makes them conscious.
Funding for other research
is not needed.

The trees bear your poisoned chlorophyll;
but the child you are;
The sanskari vermillion,
Genus red,
will heal the dead foetus.
Do you know your poisoned trees,
Can dance in the wildfire?
The fire, my dear mitron,
Is Red!!

NaPoWriMo #Day 20  #Poem 20

Dear Mother

(Image Source: Google)

It’s an outlandish love I chose,
On that auspicious moment,
When I discarded your pink ribbons,
Dear mother,
and you wished you had just a son.

You remonstrated
And I became pregnant again;
My salacious heart
Brimming with words,
You can never consider as your grandchildren.
You draped yourself in
the garland of sundew,
Hiding the macabre intentions,
You sought to trap my flying poems.

You castigated me,
Extolling wedding pictures,
Abashed brides gloating in beauty;
My age or perhaps younger;
They smile in their husband’s arms,
Amidst the silhouette of in-laws.
Let me tell you a secret, dear mother,
The photographer asked them to say, ‘cheese!’

My children are your threat,
Those dreams you nurtured
are now my poetic siesta.
The clock had a different plan.
Your little daughter in vermilion,
Enough!! Just enough!!

Our fates are twins,
Our children are our onus.
But oh dear mother, I’m too destitute to afford,
An ignorant father
Who will trash them in the black-hole,
The only pit you created for them.
‘You should get raped,’ you curse me.
I go back to writing,
Immune to your curses,
Oh, mother, I detest your dolly love.
My nomadic verse meditates.
If he comes,
I will dig the black-hole myself!!

NaPoWriMo  *Day19*  *Poem 19*

To my dear fascist Comrade:


Oh my dear fascist comrade,
Do you wake up in the morning,
And brush your teeth?
Feeling good, aren’t you?
To see how her tears supply the salt
For her teeth;
The advertisement advised,
Salt gives strength to our gum.
Her gum is strong now.
Remember her?
You just gave her the luxury to marry again,
Yesterday — you killed her husband,
A Muslim.
Such peace!!

My dear fascist comrade,
Don’t worry, I won’t tell them,
Beef gives you allergies;
But poor souls– they think you are,
Your mitron’s puppet;
Come on, I know you have duties;
Give it some time for research,
Soon they will invent a detergent
That can wash away blood stains,
And that feeling of guilt.
That traitor made you befriend
Sleeping pills!!

Oh my dear fascist comrade,
How long will you rape us
With your Nationalism?
How long will you inject
Vitamin saffron and
Mock a monster?
Can you replace haemoglobin?
Don’t you know?
How our blood can grow?
And hijack your saffron?
Be the rancid fluid in between your thighs
My dear fascist comrade,
You will suffocate like a zombie
And wish you could be a human!

#Day18 #Poem18

Poisoned Root

The pleated saree scorns,
A nod, a violence;
Red bordering the white;
How I love the colour,
A sensuous rendezvous;
Oh how I wish to drape it around my waist,
Like his arms locked
In my bosoms;
And a sprinkled ankle scintillates,
the fallen petals of my roses;
You tell me,
They want garlands,
Heavy, white garlands,
Snarling around my head,
Like a terrorist.

The rashes demand
the orange robe,
My panacea.
and you rape me again,
In the way you raped me,
In my childhood.

Decorum, you say;
As if I hear the word,
For the first time,
To challenge the scholars
Who brought me up.
Fascism you breed,
Isolating me;
I abhor your Rabindrik,
A fashion, an elitist theatre.
Raping young minds,
Creating servile robots,
But I shall violate you,
My unfortunate school;
For I am the daughter of
The insurgence;
My university taught me to be independent,
And I know how to cure poisoned roots.

#Day17 #Poem17