Benares

Each morning,
the Ganges comes to the 
doorsteps of Benares and washes herself of 
the sins her own sons have thrust upon her.
Here, in our land,

you can churn out any favour
from a woman,
you only need to call her mother,
Sweet sweet Ganges,
your nectar I am fond of,
red red Benares, your skin, a coat of prayers,
reminds me of my thousand years old self.

Those who could have
attained peace in life well lived,
foolishly throng to this city,
to die and gain salvation.

QUIET KASHMIR!

The cry of the cock,The ripple of the Dal,The hum of the breeze,The muezzin’s call,
The laughter of two girls,Playing with their pony tails,Somewhere, a fakir sang hymns,Somewhere, a goat wails,

A singing but broken radio set,Struggles on one porch,The electrician’s young boy,Playing with his father’s torch,
A group of kids engaged in fight,Over a game of marbles,A small girl looks on, amused,An old man doing gargles,
And then out of thin air,An atheist bullet is shot,The shooter unknown to all,And as strange his god,
All sounds, all play, all ceased,Even the breeze quiet and,All joyful faces now sad,Their small children frightened,

Quiet Kashmir! Be quiet dear,Frail hearts enveloped by fear,Morning comes and evening goes,It’s the same, each day out here.

The Gods of Men

‘Ganpati Bapa!’ Said one,
‘Morya!’ shouted the rest,
A truckload of men and an idol,
Two lorries of women dressed their best,
On their way to immerse their god,
In the waters of the sea,
They came upon a white structure,
The beautiful Mosque Ali,

In respect for the faithful,
Bowing their heads to their Lord,
The procession went into silence,
As they neared the mosque’s yard,
When the truck faced the white dome,
In the silence, a mouth cried hard,

And a shrewd fist threw color,
In a moment the white dome now dirty,
A silence in the air, all minds numb,
Blood froze in veins, breath flowing curtly,

Out of the many windows of the mosque,
Flew out a stone shamelessly,
On the forehead of an old woman,
It hit the aged skull briskly,

Her blood blew life in the crowd,
And things changed abruptly,
Shouts resumed, filthy calls,
Honor left their bowel’s assembly,

The crowd of the truck and
The gathering from the mosque,
All mixed in one created a scene,
Such an ugly scene that,
Shame closed its eyes for hours,

Shame saw, when it opened its eyes,
A carpet of dead bodies,
Blood and blood on the breast of earth,
Dead men blind to their follies,
The broken wall of the mosque,
The broken idol in the puddle,

Fathers dead, mothers dead,
No children alive to tell,
The maulvi safe in his chamber,
The pundit still ringing bells,

The Name that you misuse,
Shamelessly all your life,
Shall disown you, grab your collar,
He Himself will then question,
Which Allah would you then call?
Which Ram, Ganesh, which Kishan?

No Hindu was in the crowd,
Who liked not the white dome,
Nor any Muslim did approve,
A woman being stoned, her broken bone,
Their souls were being checked,
They all failed the test,
The mischief of two soiled souls,
Became the destiny of the rest.

Love Note

I ate your flesh once
out of fury,
I tore your hair, too.
I remember
I have drenched your skirt
once when I wept for a week,
and I even spat on your frock
when we were in bed,

Yes, New York,
I love you.
Ofcourse, I do,
but not the way I loved
that cursed daughter of yours!

Deliverence

Deliverence! Famed Deliverence!
The saints say much of it,
Nowwhere do we look for it?
I long for the touch of it,
I know not where it is to be found,
Which way to go, which nation,
How on earth is the journey?
Or is the journey itself the destination!
Your slave is tired now,
Can’t tread this street of deception,
Purify my being, clean me,
Change my perception,
Relieve me from grief, from hate,
Breed in me some fairness,
Save me from the pangs of fury,
Save me from indebtness,
I trust no one but you,
And beseech you to be my Guide,
My Lord, my Beloved One!
Lead me on the path
To Deliverence!

GODLESS TEMPLE

The holy man with the holy thread,
stands proud at the temple door,
honey licked, saffron rubbed,
milk on a black stone poured,
jingle of the coins last night scored,

stumbles a woman to meet her god,
stammers a woman to make a prayer,
a widow she is. Impure!
seeks to cross the door.
her voice is the hum of blasphemy,
her faith a fake act.
entry to the temple denied!

he then turns to move in,
and hit head before the idol,
hoping the fine sculpted clay
will look after his prayers,

not knowing that,
the True Hearing God,
has long abandoned this temple!

ENVIOUS WITCH

Who is this woman
in the mirror that
looks back with discern?
So what if she had in a life
too many heartbreaks for
one four roomed heart,
why does she look at my beauty
with contempt,
envious witch!
You say this is me?
Was I dust or
those nights and evening were
those joys and grieves
agonies and longings,
idle afternoons and
crippled memories- were
they dust too, Going by the manner in which
they withered off the
attire of my being.
Bring me a mirror from that
evening, which fooled me into
believing it will never end.
Or at least, tell a lie to my face,
I need my vanity back again
for a moment before I die.

Before My Funeral

Her finger at my cheek,
Voice timid and meek,
I see the ends of her lips shiver,
Words dying there which she couldn't utter,

She choked and smiled and cried anew,
And her soul whispered, I love you,
She looked at me, her eyes red,
As I lost the love I once had,

Then she asked that which I feared,
'How can you be so hard on me dear..
Was everything a lie you said,
Was it never there, the love we had?'

I shook my head, my eyes bowed low,
I was crying and she shouldn't know,
How can you be so hard? She asked again.
My love, you stone, said her eyes in pain,
I wanted to console but could find no way,
How do I tell her I am dying today?

If I Were Death

Chants and rants of me being
               Your life, your love, your breath,
I hear very often these days,
More often than the temple bells.
Who is averse to life? Honestly!
             Shall not one love the color
The fragrance of living?
             My dear woman, what new is in it,
If you love me as life?
But love if such be
That you embrace me in my worst flow,
                  Disown I will all world’s wealth,
                  Abandon I will all matters of relation,
             If you prepare to love me
Even if I were death!

Quoth Bombay

Come to my armpits,
quoth Bombay,
and flourish to the peak
of what your dreams can fancy.
Stroll on my shoulders and
throw stones at the sea,
here, you are allowed to
hurl pebbles at others even if
your house is of glass.
They came to her and
her breath,
they lapped up the dust of
their wishes in her eyes,
they stabbed glass shards on her arms,
mirrors we need, they justified.
Hung rings in her virgin earlobes
and swung on them,
we need some air, they claimed.
Like any woman, not knowing
how much she has capacity to bear,
said Bombay,
leave me alone,
I am sorry, I called,
you know no mother,
you know no whore,
forgive me for I beckoned you,
stop calling me yours or
I will shrug you into sea
made filthy by your own shit.

New Morning

Each morning
I have to be ready,
To gulp down scores of tablets and capsules,

Be ready to bear the continuous
Prick of syringes, the whole
Troublesome day.

Be ready to see father hold back his tears,
And be ready to escape the vision of mother
Smiling fakery, while her heart bleeds
At the plight of her blood son.

Be ready for the momentary visits of people,
Relatives, cousins and friends,
Who come with heavy hearts and leave with silent prayers.

But today it is not that morning,
Those mornings are left far behind,
The grasp of prayers has pulled me back,

And for this new beautiful morning,
I thank with all heart,
My Caring Lord!

THE THANKLESS WIFE’S JUNE

Children from the houses

to her left and right, call her,

aunty!

and she longs someone someday

call her mother!

in the first rains of June

she fries for them delicacies

and plays with them on her porch,

as soon as the rains empty their fill,

as soon as the clouds drift away,

the streets are filled with children

children of other men and women.

and how she admires their

playful shrieks,

their toying with pebbles and marbles,

the sinking of their paper boats,

and how she discerns and despises

the emptiness of her house, where

she cannot hear

even the flap of a dead leaf.

Noise Umbrella

I have forgotten my umbrella;
Not that I am irresponsible,
I was going insane
That was possible,

The deafening thump of
The hundreds of rain drops,
The loud crack of clay, and
The timid lightening
That cracks like a smile,

Where is she,
who said the world was me?
where is that liar,
that blaming authority!
In sun and rain, she told me.
Now where is she?

She must be in the arms of
a good man, unlike me,
she must be brewing beer
in his hormonal brewery,

Without an umbrella,
I try to feel it is not raining,
without her, I believe
I am a lesson, not parody.
Without those who are fine without me,
I am at peace with the world,

Raindrop, clay and a heart,
they are not shouting at the moment.

ROJO

An irreligious pebble struck
my temple
while another crooked one
asked out my skin.

Some pulled me by
my forelock,
the way God will pull them
on the Day He will judge.

An woodcutter
offered his axe for
my slaughter, while a

Farmer presented his sickle.
Small kids jeering from the crowd
hitting me with very small
stones that hardly harm the skin.
But these smallest ones hurt
the most for I was
keeping hopes with those young lambs.
They were now scaring me
with the prospect of an
ugly tomorrow.

The hotly scorching grains of sand
burning my skin,
destroying my human form,
my last offering to her
in her very favorite color,
red-blood.

THE POTTER’S ALLEY

In the cool
heat of one night,
Blank
clouds killing the moon’s glow,

The bad past was feeding
On my hopes
of love,

It could have been my last dusk, 
In the city that broke my heart,
I could have begun hating that town,         
Which I had loved since the start,

Walking
down straight away,     
From God’s excellent factory,
An angel
descended to me,    
Behind her a fading trajectory,

One look at
her and I know I was hers,
One single gaze and she left me amazed
One astonishing moment and I was in love,
She moved away, moved far,
Made another turn, and looked again
With the
promise of meeting again,
With the
assurance that the last
moment was spent not in vain,

My footwear
unclean, my heart pure,
 Her clothes filthy, soul chaste,

Losing that
moment of the night,
 In the quest to prove our purity,

Awaiting
the day, awaiting some day,
To gain
love, to lose sanity,

For we were
not thieves

 To plot in the dark,
 We were honest lovers
And shall
wait for the dawn,

 The potter’s alley
where he worked,

Carving out pots from clay,
That place,
love, at its own pace,

Sculpted an
image of her,
In the
quiet alley of my heart.

THE MERMAID OF KURLA

In her town, Kurla of Bombay,

She was rushed to the

Hospital,

A life squeezing pain, the

Final one after months of hurt.

As a result of which she gives birth.

Boy or girl, it was asked.

Its mermaid, said the hospital

Worker, even so her own mother,

Sirenomelia, the doctor in

His language said.

Legs joined as one, the baby

Born of prayers and hopes.

Destined to breathe maybe two more

Days. Not human to live

But in many ways, shall

Stay fresh in the memory

Of a distraught mother.

Wife

Some days or years from now
Some place some land some home
Some girl be born with some name,
Who will give birth to my song
And then again be no one.

A MAD SAD LOVER’S BRUNT

I may be a liar,

But the truth is,

That I had loved you

And always will,

You may forget me,

As a dream or a lie,

But there will regret be,

In your heart,

I denied my dears,

All just for ye,

You were but dishonest,

To leave me in the way,

Your heart was not stable,

For you to love one,

Or I was not able,

By riches or by love,

As you often called me,

I would be a fraud,

Or would be a mad poet,

As people did called,

Or you may right be,

You too may have loved,

Then breaking of our love,

would be the Order of God,

I could’nt but forget you,

as an age or time gone,

Because my love is only one,

And you are that one,

Don’t be discouraged,

For with ye I am not,

To us He did all good,

Thank God for the lot,

It must have been better,

For us to be apart,

I said not all this,

Said this my heart.

GONE NOT GONE

You still cherish his touch,

When I foolishly caress you,

You still hum the same song,

That you two sang in the rain,

You frown when I mention his name,

But my smart girl, you act in vain,

Ofcourse, your lips haven’t forgotten,

That first ever…….

How well do you remember the passages

From that heart rending letter he wrote,

And you call that girl, my friend, an affair?

Who considers even my touch wrong!

You saw eating up her glow?

Seeing in my case what has never been,

And being blind to all facts for you?

Accuse me not of playing away,

Don’t console me with those damn words,

Don’t’ tell me it has all gone,

Each time you deny it, I am more assured,

What is gone is not yet gone!