Friday, July 9, 2010

Shadow Song

I met God for three seconds, his skin was made of electric
I was busy shaving a lion’s mane before the maskmen got busted,
They were carrying a cross across some cold deep desert
They were singing.

I open my eyes every morning. Busy ants crawl through
Busy snakes coil and uncoil, but it’s just another cigarette-dot in the sun
Or is it the sun?
Curtains were thrown open,
Light! Divine light!
And I know ghosts who promise themselves the rainbow,
Can you believe it!


Happy roads with sad trees.
Trees. Flowers and shades. Trees.


There were saints in the mirror,
The curious dead.
There are saints in the sky
The holy dead


And every time I look up,
I see the Milky Way, on fire!
And every time I look down
I see my unwashed underwear.
Isn’t it funny to break things?


An ostrich walks in, like some ancient Greek philosopher with a burning halo all around his head,
And I see my mother, before she became the rain
And I see my father, before he became the clouds
And I see my baby-self, before it became this thirsty bullet hole


And of the million colours you sell, I’ll buy the red
and the blue,
I’d have preferred the white, but you don’t have
it with you


Ah, these epiphanies
Ah, me!
Am I not the centre of the world?
I guess not, but at least I’m standing there.


And when I stand in the rostrum
I feel like Caesar
with no Rubicon to cross and no henchmen and heartmen waiting in the stairs.

Am I? Are you? Are we?


Well, I’d given my faith away to the morning star.
At times the skies open up.
At times, I tremble in sexless elevators.
And then, the storm brought in all my jubilations.

Stone. Scissor. Paper.
Stone. Scissor. Paper.

Take a right turn from here and you’ll see my face etched in the mahogany and cobwebs of this night and these nights. Like some mummified high-priest from Discovery Channel.

I woke up in a garbage can. The prison roared out!

I had shown my face to Petrarch. I swear he was repulsed. Blake loved me. At times.

Wish I were a rainbow in sunset.
Wish I had wings.


But wherever I step, there’s this splitting headache following me
And I’m a giant fly with a million blue eyes
The highway becomes a river with strange flowers floating
The town becomes a circus-tent with happy elephants and sad clowns


And I saw those death-convict houses wearing shoes, shoelaces stretching to the horizon. I might join the army, or the Red Cross, or get run over by a mad truck somewhere in between the two bridges of sunrise and moonrise. Hah! How many times have these words been repeated? My eyes are on fire!

When I want everybody to talk to me, to give me some time, everyone seems busy licking their own wounds.
And when everybody wants to talk to me, to give some time, I remain busy inflicting wounds to myself.
It’s a bloody war out there!
And I’m talking to the insects.
And I have nowhere to go
And I have everywhere to go!


I need to take my head out from the refrigerator.
I need to put it on.
I need to paint my floor

Darkness, my poison whore!
Darkness, my door of hope!
Darkness, my crystal cup!
Darkness, my kingdom of gold!
Darkness, my wild love!





And then, for three seconds, I met god
His skin was made of electric. He was god

2 comments:

Rudrani said...

I like baby self and bullet hole. :) Love, in fact.

Quintessence Of Illusion said...

whoa......explosive piece of poetry