Sunday, November 28, 2010

Scenic Rhymes for Sinners

The irate pirate lived life king size

Till he got that pleasant surprise

In the form of faceless masks

Since that day he’s dry and cold

And from what I’ve been told

He bides his time thru ceaseless tasks


Now the elephant, he was greedy

He begged for food from my lady

So she took him to the pirate

The pirate stared into his eyes

Which were heavy with untold lies

He waved at him and said: “Bye, Mate!”


The captain’s steady with his ship

The barmaid’s ready with her whip

I know not what to do now

Laws and rules to fool the fool

And Statues stare with eyes so cool

To cut thru your heart somehow


The pirate scratches his dusty jaws

The clock stretches her rusty claws

But I am tired of this place

Every fortnight he skips his lunch

He might die, and that’s my hunch

And Mother says my room’s a mess


Once upon it used to snow

But that was oh so long ago

And now this thirst is ruthless

The elephant was a tusker once

And Mother Goose shall ask her sons

For naked truth is toothless!


So the pirate shall ride the songs

straight to hell, where he belongs

And the same applies for Mother Goose

The elephant chewed up the decanter

And this very sight had weakened her

And I’m way too busy kissing my shoes


And this is where it must end

Dig for gold and find a friend

But never forget those dry goodbyes

Lock the door and wash the floor

Ask for a little and ask for more

The irate pirate lived life kingsize


Another Facebook Ode to a Dear Friend

And here's Monidipa Mondal who doesn't hate rock and role

As much as she hates cockroaches from what I can gather
She's read Robert Frost and she's read about Robert Walpole
But she won't sit for examinations, she would be one rather


Charge along, Cat Ballou, like snot gushes through nose

and blood rushes through the veins when fever runs free:
Beyond the kingdom of poetry, across the realms of prose...
(And once you're done with reading this, try your best not to kill me)

A Facebook Ode to My Favourite Lawyer

Protik Prokash Banerji rules the brazen courts
But oftentimes he starts throwing tantrums
Protik Prokash Banerji knows the loads and efforts
But from what I can gather he's still searching for the fulcrums

Ride, O mighty rider, ride to the sunset
Thy glory shall be sung, by men and by mice
CPC is thy shield, Shakespeare is thy lancet
Protik Prokash Banerji, ah blast me I've already tagged him thrice!

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Friday, November 26, 2010

Moronic Verses

Two Liner

When the mind is new

It needs some cud to chew


Don’t worry, I’m a rattlesnake

The night is starry, and the battle’s fake


They place it in the cake, they call it art

They face it by the lake, and they get hurt


Even sadness has its own pitfalls

It skips the dinner, it misses the meatballs


Don’t write to the grave

It doesn’t make you brave


You think this is a rhyme?

HaHa! You’re wasting your time

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Three Liner

I have this strange knack

Of looking back

To say hello to the railway track.


I have this strange wish

Of tearing off this leash

And making love to the goldfish


I have this strange habit

Of being the rabbit

When all I need is to stab it


I have this strange dream

Of hearing drowning children scream

While having my favourite ice-cream


I have this strange window

That shouts at the rainbow

And says: “I’m blind, you know!”

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Four Liner

Don’t think you’re too smart

Your smartness isn’t worth my fart

I have my map, I have my chart

It’s just that I’m yet to start


Don’t think you’re the god

And though it sounds a trifle odd

They took me to the firing squad

But they couldn’t find their fishing rod


Don’t speak when you don’t know

Which way the naked winds blow

And which way the pilgrims need to go

To learn all these just book a ticket for my next show


Don’t take me for a jester

The last time I heard from my sister

They were trying to arrest her

She looked gorgeous, her name was Esther


And don’t take me for granted

For the platoon lies stranded

And before the dreams get planted

I’ll be thoroughly disenchanted

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Five Liner

Eye for eye, tooth for tooth

High and dry, telephone booth

Sigh and cry, and fuck your youth

You need some luck, you need some truth

And if not, just hire a sleuth


Well I know that it sounds strange

But just beyond that mountain range

I’ve got some meetings to arrange

So kill me and take your revenge

Now, have you got some loose change?


Henry Miller and Friedrich Schiller

Saw a girl and planned to kill her

And as they hid behind a pillar

Henry said: “We need a Healer”

And hence they called up Ben Stiller


Don’t worry baby, I’m here

I’ll just stand, and I’ll volunteer

To make all bad things disappear

But keep in mind, never to endear

Yourself to Santa Claus or his pet reindeer


If you come here and touch

It won’t really hurt much

But if you steal my crutch

Or, for that matter, my Swiss watch

On our next date we’ll have to go Dutch

………………………………………………………………………………………….


(Abrupt Sadness, and hence) the Mood-Spoiler

I’ve left my sorrows behind

Just those occasional letters

To remind

Myself

That once we talked of sunflowers and cauliflowers

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Carnation

Come Celestial,

My lips are brown, like heaven is

With dreams to drown, the seven seas

Waiting

In the old chapel

The cold dorm

The sold apple

The bold storm

Come, celestial,


Be milk for the dust

Be silk for the rust

Be the one eyed night

Be the rawhide fright

Just hold me tight

And forget the wave

And forget the grave

The toothless beggar

The ruthless dagger

Come Celestial


And wait for the hours to decay

For Haddad comes,

And he’s here to stay

It’s not my shame

And I’m the clay

Before the dusk,

I was dust

I wore my mask,

I wore my lust

Children of El

Down they fell

The milk was stale

So come, Celestial, honey and frost

The sand’s too dry

And my eyes too lost

And the distance burns,

With the symmetries

With analogies

With lies and sparks

Which often wear the veil of words

And remains naked otherwise

With the unheard sighs

With the deadbeat dead

With the arrowhead


Forget the skies

Forget the trees

Forget the eyes

Forget the breeze

Forget the days

Forget the nights

Forget the haze

Forget the rites


Celestial…With a million sparks and sparkles and lakes and snakes and valleys and green green green green gangrene…. Colours, lights, sacrifices, photonic interfaces, momentary and nebulous….all electric, all musical, like death in chairs and seated pet skeletons with cords, Tommy-guns and saxophones…. Back dated sketch in the back of some old postcard

War calls. Whispering. Faint.

Painted pains

Of flowers, of skulls, of blue erections,

Through poison, intoxications, mother and the harmony

One moment.

One eternity

One communicative speech

The internet-voice, the mother-voice

The celestial, colder than dead

The coldest is somnambulism

The lunar projectiles

Seeping through dreams, violins, pride,

Eating and shitting, rainbow sunshine clouds mazes

Of our ages, voices, multi-linear choices

Little flickers

Little stickers

Superhood calls

Like cobra-head, cobra-eyes, panther-fear, pantheism for the masses

And unification through microcosms for the classes

New religions,

New wines

New bottles

All new

New new

Like old news

And chewed views


Through handbills, pamphlets, manifestos pointing to olds anew

Anointing the dried-up wounds, monastic, like fire, cold and the mad

Through colloids, hemorrhoids, tabloids, tablets, inventions, intentions and carnations.

Throne. Thrown. Shone. Shown.

All Weird anachronisms

Patterns of freedom through electronic birds….



Blood in my tomb

Flood in my womb

Blood in my skies

Flood in my eyes


Blood in the breath

Flood in the death

Blood for the creatures

Flood for the teachers


Celestial.

Let me enter your silent prayer

In that violet veiled church

With time, dust and layers of care

For the ancient owl to perch


Drowsy daisies, nightbirds, whistles

One drunk sorrow

Two drunk sparrows

Three drunk arrows

Another day

Decadent. Bloom. Exorcise.

Another dead song

Verses to nurse

Curses to curse

And yet another

Again. And never again.


Fits of glorious strangeness

Vanishing hands of speedometers

Distant rumbles,

screeches,

Humble bitches

For one drop

Gory, agoraphobic

To trust

To fade past

Pasted and wasted

Everything. Watery, symbolic.

Like clocks in synagogues

And peace in sanctuaries

Feverish, like life with shields and swords


Someday, Pandora will be your rival,

Old lovesick moths will creep through

Their little wings shall be mine

All mine

Phonograms

Tears

Jewels

Faith

Stings

Illustrated pornography

All mine.mine


Until then,

Celestial

Incessant and innocent, my prayers remain

As true as they were in the cave

Before time and god and earth got chained to this thunder

As true as they were through the wheels

And between eyes, joyrides and joysticks

I remain. Illuminations beckon…. Elusive and illusive

Like bullets

Like a terrible battle

To worship

To bow down before the broken altar

To think of doom

To be

Not to become



Intense, Incensed and Sixpence,

Celestial. Almost like love.

Almost fatalist in fatelessness

Almost like never

Sunday, November 14, 2010

That Broken Flute

On nights like these I feel like hiding

from everything

From my own million eyes which follow me everywhere

From my own thirsty fingertips which touch every grain of sand and every drop of rain


On nights like these I feel tired of just being there,

Of catching up with every train running through the mist

Of plucking every rose that wilt by the silverstrung lake

Of staring at the naked trees guarding the river from the faint feverish whispers of the wintry breeze


Wish I had a blanket to cover up the relentless moon

Wish I could wish away all my words, sighs and laughter

Wish I could be an owl and perch myself atop some broken temple-roof for centuries, oblivious to the arrows, the distances and the motions…..


I want to hide behind the dark waves and sleep like a beautiful child forever, without having to care about the masks and the mirrors

I want to trust the paper-boat

I want the sun to turn into a sunflower…..


Someday, all songbirds will fall off their nests,

all the puppets will plant poison seeds in the sky,

it’ll stop raining in the quaint green hills,

and the classrooms will remain frozen in the cold and empty silence for an eternity or maybe two….


But I don’t feel like waiting any longer

I am weary of sailing upstream,

These wounds are weary of hiding themselves behind my wings till they fade away

And the pale music yearns for some hollow cave to bury all her sorrows…


Baby,

Be my child

Be my worship

Be my hatred

Be whatever,

just let me sleep.

I’m too tired.

And the stage is not for me.


na rupam na vedana na samjna na samskara na vijnana

na chakshusha srotam na ghrana jihva kaya manah

na rupa sabda gandha rasa spistavya dharmah

na chakshur dhatur ya van na mano vijnanam dhatur


na vidya na vidya na vidya kshayo va vidya kshayo

ya van jaramaranam na jaramarana kshayo

na duhkha samudaya nirdoha margajna

na jnanam na prapti na bhismaya tasmai na prapti….


I want to sleep.

I want to go away

from everything,

from everyone,

from everywhere,

from this endless endlessness…..

Friday, November 12, 2010

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Monday, November 8, 2010

khan pNachek kobita









Dilli-te boshey ekta payra-khop p.g. tey boshey kichhuta matal hoye lekha.... shombhoboto egulo bhoyaboho bhabey orthoboho hoye uthhte parey ni tai...)