Ditty Titty Shitty City

Washed up, like dried fishes hanging from the stonewalls of heart

There’s a sad war-song playing somewhere.

It’s nothing. Just the silence. And me leaning back

And and appreciating the splendour of doom.

There’s a road there’s there a there’s love a love in shadows and reflections

Swaggering, stumbling, careening along the shores, white shores

Creatures with white bellies, rotting, spotting a dot of yellow

in caravans. The finest fuck, the finest wine, all fine

everything’s okay everywhere’s okay just that this road that there is is bending through body through mind through numb soul is tying city tying mountains rivers in knotted meshwork

floating balloons, oh, o touch my fingers and submit to meek submission. Dogs bark at horizon. Cold night falls. Creatures of night creatures of cold make merry. Joyous heart, rebellious heart

hears trumpets

hears dogs

smashes through the end-points.

Dear child, you were not as mad now as you were when we first met

This fluctuating what

This, fluctuating, what

Flukchuate fluk flipping fallacy

Gasoline linoleum bowel

Fuck suck dick

Kant can’t cunt

Can’t Kant?

The motherfuckers are closing in on me

Bullshitting our heads twisted glands glans bitter minds glands glancing at plump dancers

In chiffon slurp. Prehistory rages storm strom strotrrrm scrotum. Dream’s mother. Dream’s splendid women bending down, showing ass, showing eternity on asscrack tickling scrotum with tongue-tip

It all ends in shit.

I’ve noticed that it feels better to slump a thumpload of shitty shit solid slunk shitpot flush down like flushing down sad memories of separation on shitpot of heart with alcohol than to write poetry and pretend poetry. Poetry is bitch. I’d rather masturbate.   

 Hot dogs hot bitches red hot hot

Hot tigers in fury hot lions in kingly savage rage

Hot heating heated universe hot all hot shit hot vapours of total absolute unqualified annihilation of the self.

Hot pain on getting shot in hot ass.

Go, rue

Arraborra arra starra

Go, rue

Other spillens have spullen

Authored by one big iron hand

That vanished yesterday

Today, nothing

Arraborra

arra

starra

nothing left

ruins, chewchew, formaldehyde

arraborra blurra blarra

spillen spullen angst

smitten by ebb and flow

of ever-changing conceptions of the All

eaten by eternity vlod

vlad

vlaha

perceptions fucked

arra

nothing

no reason to mourn

child, child, why?

Arra, starra

Nothing

So

Go,

Rue.

Big child playing big child lost

Where’s your room, child?

Who’s your mom child? Who’s your dad, child?

Or is it just this evening

Coiling up

inside?

Big child playing

Big child sad

Big child in clouds

Scared of city

Scared of roads

Scared of decay

Like hemlock. Like Hamlet. Like an elephant brutal in passion.

Wining with long haired women dining with brothers of love

Hatred suppressed, love beats forth. Stop. No further

Sadness dangling down jackets hanging from socks

Stuck to shoelace sadness choked smiles masks omelette oollala

We’re told to be patient even if they’re doing shit to us

As if respect to shitters is due.

To worship the ill-spending of lives, to live for other people

To be denied the choice of denial

is, supposedly, the way to go.

Advertisements good advertisements absence of pretty women presence of misery

Party was good we sang we danced vodka was smooth absinthe was hard passed out before having scotch puked on carpet on vanity puked on boobs of cosmos party was good was good good

Touch the sword a flower blooms

Pull a switch the flower wilts

Humping the horror

Tribulation of the masses

Fatigue and decay

Fall and death

Individual lives long fucks short

Masses repeat

Cock throbs pussy throbs rain throbs rainbeat whores and piped windmills throb throb in patterns of definite congruence.

Mother i can’t associate with this sanity anymore

Tiger jumps

Edge, sharp.

Jumps!

Eighteen defeats loom

Eighteen climes of doom

Urban days, fertile nights

This is a game

Of deathless life

Tiger jumps

Cliffs smoothen up

Rivers flood

Beyond this city these roads these buses and trams and automobile fumes beyond porches driveways slums sewers all beyond mountains forests broken pianists violins in fury beyond all beyond

words and spaces

dots and dashes

ditty and turbulence

soporific fixation of repetitive beats drum heart fuckall world there’s

this

Terrified silence, something great, like a heavy voyage this loveless cruelty cruel love it looms

Something big and brutal.

Maybe this perception is of a ship carrying unspoken thoughts to the realm of unspoken thoughts. Wonder who rules over there. I’d love to wage war against him.

Or maybe it’s just the night rolling down some mountain of darkness pressing me down bending my bones bending my mind.

Whatever, it’s still out there somewhere. Very big and very scary.  Like the king of wolves. Or the queen of whores.

 

Dying by own hands is preferable over contingencies

It’s like, i don’t feel like being here’s worth it and so i check out.

Society fucks the elements up

Death of one may not have got much to do with society or any such shittyshit

For me, sitting here and waiting is not worth it.  

So i’ll get up and i’ll search for something sharp

And the guards will be stationed such that they’ll get to see the first light. An ocean in stormy turmoil. A city of inane sanctions. Wherever pointless junk pointfuck bloodshot aim revenge turmoil.

The average won’t feel this.

They’re too busy losing and loosing. They think that they’re winning. they thing they’re tight.

Brittle Damnation

Red cherry

Red ass

Laughter and temples

Daughters of the sky

past the hour of love

past the naked domes

stoic kittens shot to silence by good-will and automation

the king of hearts still makes merry

pink frogs laugh out loud.

Dance with me, nice little fuckers

Dance with me

it’s all going away

And i can smell the earth rotting

And i can smell the sun burning

And all the leaves are curling up

And it’s all going away

Like a dog

Like a delightful summer song

Like death by some blasted waterfall.

...............................................................

Bullfight

Bull fight fight

Mad bull

Fight

Mad fight fight bull

This be the arena

Raw furore

Red eyes

Red blood

Fumes from nostrils

Panting. rage,

The audacity absolute decimation

Poeting downfall of gods

Poeting all brutality and madness

Man fucking bull

Bull fucking man

Asshole tears up

All in the arena

You. Me, down and out

Too weary to contemplate escape

And the raging raving bastards out there

Hooting for a good fight

Rooting for victory or defeat

Pumping hatred from the depths

Will tear you up, tear me up

if you-me attempt escape.

..................................................................................

This mind in iron chains

This mind in boulevards

All in a haunted place

Ghosts point and laugh

Coz mind’s in chains

And boulevards

And sunlight with sharp edges

And moonlight with bitter honey

Aim straight at the heart of mind

And days and nights in lined up

Agony and linoleum

All fall down

The body of this mind

Browbeaten

Till it’s a gooey mass

of flesh blood balls guts and irony.

...............................................................................................

Shooting arrows at breasts of blackbird flying straight to surrender

Ripe soft cherry gulp heart down in beat monotone

Cows moo

The sky is blue

Again and again

That nasty train

Here i am: wholesome, turgid, uncompromising

And there the blackbirds are, flying away from one misery to another

Sorted people, fixed people move

from event to event, job to job, women to women, death to death

and tides ripple in merry May

like aging whores taking medication for flatulence

like this savage city of flat-tires and flat-beers

there’s something waiting something bad mad

something calmly gruesome

the hemlocks and hammocks and ants and flyovers and ovaries and butterflies and soldiers of the world will go on till they stop going on and then there’s nothing more to this

and there’s nothing left to live for

blackbirds shot dead dying floating on lakes on rivers flesh bitten off by fishes blackbirds don’t mind being dead though thy mind dying.

This, from a deathbound voyage

I see you

You see me.

Nothing more   

Nothing less.

guess god meant it all to be like this.

...........................................................................

Long ago there was a demon called kindness and a mole called love

I don’t know what has happened to them

Last i saw them, they were fighting

And both were losing

And the great big army of the enemy that swarmed down streets of blood

Were way too busy fucking little virgins with smooth backs and slender arms

To care about their fate.

.........................................................................................................

You are not good to me

I am not good to you

People are not good to each other

We beat

We are beaten

We shoot

We get shot

And this goes on till the great big loneliness that rolls down like avalanche

presses us flat against the roads.

Chained to boulders from hell

Whipped like hounds of blood

Gutted like colossal pigs stuck in muck

We stay. We lack the choice to choose. We were sold

even before we knew it.     

...............................................................................................................

  

This sorrow is so great that there’s hardly a way to describe it. Objectivity be damned. Damnation be damned. I love you.

.....................................................................................................................

Music from Spanish bordellos

Schoolgirls raped in broad daylight

Proscenium razed by flying bombers

Inside the palace there’s a secret staircase that leads to a playground where fresh children play and wrinkled sex-freaks stare at them and smack their yellow lips with their sweaty brownish tongues ready to lick little droplets of blood and puss off the tiny scratched pimples of children in tears.

The doors of this palace are locked. Priests loom large with stilettos.

Thieves and doctors discuss iodine and God

Poets hump barber’s wives. Politicians smell own armpits.

And then of course there’s this bunch of sorted out people with ready smiles and little distress

Playing cards, buying cars and women, cowering at the idea of lunacy, poverty, solitude, defeats, Revolutions, thunderstorms, whatever. This demographics is here to stay. Conceptions gather moss. concepts sink in own void. Mind and body decays, and the idea of being here

withers away.  

..........................................................................................................

Bust life bust shit bust candyflames

It’s still not raining here.

Bust like a bullet in the ass

Bust like woebetide pamphleteers

Crawling through wilderness of the city

Spitting at death-smeared faces of lives

There’s a pretty girl

Go to her

Lift her skirt up

Unzip your flyer

Heave hip forthright

To know

That it’s a mannequin without pussy

The understated understanding

Of desolation,

Misery

And overwhelmed silence

Is too bland for a second glance

Hence

All that bust

And the doom

And me here

Smashed

Brutal

Brutalised

Free within doom

Waving beer bottles

Stumbling from room to room

Of this great dark castle upcliff

storm rages outside

seas with Fury on waves

flinging hair out at skies

lashing out at the trap of pointlessness

bells tolling

me here

bridges, burnt.

Rubicon, crossed.

...................................................................................................

  

Lucknow: Rambling Through a Lost City

College was over, i was broke and an opportunity of getting a job came by. And thus i found myself in Lucknow. The station was crowded and dirty and it was a damn hot place. I’d got a tiny shack for myself off Faizabad Road. It wasn’t quite a place but surely it was a quiet place. The good part was the cheap Beer Joint right outside my window, the bad part was that electricity was a luxury and spending ten straight hours in the beat summer-scorch was a part of the whole deal.

Office-work was okay. All I had to do was teach law to a bunch of nice little brats who reminded me of myself. But let’s not get into that. I’m not here to tell about how i moved my sore ass around in office and you are not here to hear about the same.

Like all bums and all the members of that great lost tribe who keep on rambling without caring about destination, heat couldn’t deter me from roaming around. I like busy sidewalks and crowded marketplaces of unknown cities where one can safely hide and can observe the maddening tumult of folks strutting and tumbling around to procure food and a place to stay and to keep themselves clothed, with sheer awe that comes with the objectivity of being invisible. I felt like being this phantom haunting the streets and slums of a big city just for kicks.  

And then of course, there were these country liquor joints throughout the city. I would sit there for an hour or two and drink in silence, with bits and pieces of stray conversations of the fellow worshippers of Dionysus-in-His-desi-avatar bashing against my eardrums and falling flat. And when all these bored me, I would trudge back to my room. By the time I would reach my 15-by-15 room with pink walls which had faded with years of indifference and lassitude like all pink and red and green and blue and yellow and white and black walls do, i would inevitably be:

a)      Drunk

b)      Hungry

c)       Horny

d)    All of the above

Taking care of Option (c) wasn’t possible. I hadn’t got my paycheque yet, the city had no brothels and the tawaifs and courtesans of the Lucknow we get to know from books and movies are lost in the quagmire of apathetic time because of its attempts at globalisation and because of the junkload of morality that is being heaped upon the heart of the city by politicians of every colour since independence. There were no kothas, no tawaifs, no shayars and even the music there has been butchered to death by Bollywood and its lackeys.

Inside my room, i was pretty much cut off from the world. Telephone and internet bored me and i stayed away from those. It was nice in a way. I’m not a sucker for solitude and neither do i hate it. To me it’s just one of those inevitabilities of life. It’s there like other stuff. I remember those sultry summer nights which were so lonely that even the dogs refused to howl. I would lie on my back, and listen to the crickets for hours till i passed out. There’s a blasted poetry in life and you get to feel it when there’s no one you can reach out for living or dying within a physical radius of around a thousand kilometres and a virtual distance worth the effort of a pressing a few buttons. Sadly, the allure of reaching out gets to us eventually. And I’m not sorry for digressing.

Mornings were painful. I would wake up, often in a pool of vomit and reeling under a giant hangover, rush to the washroom to clean the bedsheets and my body. Luckily, i believe in nudism for convenience and in a power-cut prone place where the average day temperature hovers around the mid forties and the night temperature hovers around late thirties and given that i was staying all alone and all by myself, i had acquired a proclivity for my flabby hairy birthday suite dotted with juicy red boils. Hence, i didn’t need to wash my clothes – washing my puke-stained body would suffice. Nevertheless, bathing was a sordid affair. There was no shower and bending down to scoop out water from the green plastic bucket with a red plastic mug and pouring the same over me was an enterprising endeavour for which i was too lazy and way too much in pain. Even the water was hot. After pouring a mugful of water or two, i would stand there and itch and press the boils and feel droplets of puss oozing out, and i would stand there and observe ants moving in nice straight columns across the washroom walls before pouring water on them and scrutinising the frenzy as they drowned like the inhabitants of Sodom and feeling godly in a way because i was relieving them of their misery. The world’s surely a bust place when it’s this hot and when you can feel real blood smashing the walls of those arteries around your forehead and temple in brutal rage, seeking to burst out and devour what that’s left of you like a pack of hungry wolves.  It was on those enlightening minutes and seconds that i learned what being deadbeat is all about.

Sunday mornings were different. There was no compulsion to get up early. I would lie in bed for hours until the power-cuts, the heat and the screeching and honking of automobiles got to me and then i would get up, and indulge in the following activities:

1)      mutter curses aimed at the world at large and at the god of electricity in particular

2)      light up a crispy bidi,

3)      sit at the loo and spray rum-shit and whiskey shit all over the shitpot,

4)      feel good about that

5)      wash my ass and flush the shit down

6)      clothe myself in whatever cloth appeared closest to my reach

7)      lock the doors and get the hell out to face the first blow of searing gust 

I would naturally be more hungover on Sundays than on weekdays and that used to perk me up to fight my relentless duel with the blaze. I was constantly walking and riding up and down the city, constantly swearing at the heat, challenging it to throw me off the burning avenues and bleating alleys, to get the better of me. My eyes would burn and i could feel gallons of blood mixed with gallons of alcohol rushing up to my head, but i was tough enough not to buckle. It was thus that i got to know the city.

Folks are similar everywhere, pissing on their own lives, making a mockery of living and dying, existing for someone else, enduring through all sorts of pointless dump. They are all the same, just like mannequins.

Then again, each city has its own smell and Lucknow smelled of harshness, fuel, kebabs and gutters.

It had its own say in history: there were bullet holes from the Mutiny on the walls of Residency, and the imambaras and mosques and clock-towers were there too, all stone and concrete, and there was this sturdy dark passage where morons and tourists get lost and pay the guides to show them the way out. The idea of the lost ones paying someone to find a way out amused me. And it still does. Suits all morons and tourists I guess.  

The city has eaten all its history up, digested most of it and has crapped, farted and belched away the rest. Now all that remains are the towering structures which might well have been at some other place without making much of a difference. It has become like a canful of stale flat beer, beyond all grief and compunction. The gardens were nice.    

Despite everything, when a city affords you good cheap food, it’s hard not to grow fond of it. I never care for the big and famous eateries because they don’t offer that real deal which lies in those small shacks that sell food for the street-folks. And having those kebabs sold for 20 bucks a plate from near the Railway Station was one of two the things i used to look forward to after weary days spent slogging it out so that my employers could get richer, the other thing being returning to my room and drinking myself to sleep.

I’m back in my hometown now. I haven’t quit my job or been fired yet. I’ve been transferred. I hate attaching the load of worth to things or to experiences and all i’ll say about my one month out there fighting with life, hangovers, the heat, and with the inevitable necessity of jumping into the bandwagon despite being fully aware of the pointlessness of everything is that i was there, i was alive and that’s about it.      

         

ভালোবাষার কোবিতা

Mother of all Constructs

Look what we’ve done to ourselves

We weren’t supposed to be here

But now that we are,

to fuck with it all.

I’d rather lie down on my belly

and rub my cock against the bed

and be indifferent

to passion and pain,

than this.

I’d been to these fabulous banquets.

I have wined and dined and slept

with these splendid women,

shaken hands with their husbands

and discussed Orson Welles with investment bankers.

I’ve seen dogs dying,

Cats screwing,

Horses running in moonlight.

As if any of these matters.

This wishing well

is a nice dream

These children

will never become kings and queens.

And the women

don’t love

And the men

don’t exist.

And worst of all,

The boxers don’t dodge punches.

This is a sad place

Dying of tedium and lassitude

Dying of wretched indifference

The mountains have moved away

The oceans have dried up

The dark that once was an idea of pure marvel

stinks of pee and puke from ordinary human perception,

worn out with thirst and want of care.

We were all on our way to glory then

We are all stickers on beat windscreens now.

I can’t choose between beer and icecream

I can’t choose

between being here

and not being here.

Blues Booze Whatever You Choose

Roaming throughout the city in heat,

Beat and mostly drunk. Bridges burnt down,

Ideas of life and love bedamned

This life, is an eternity

Tall electric monsters wailing from the skies

Rats scamper through the depths of heart

Rats die but unlike me rats do not think of death.

..............................

Waves bring pirates closer to heart

Roach infested heart. Big booming heart.

I’ve seen wolves sniffing at the stale sky

I’ve seen wolves scraping meat off the floors of this chamber within

Even the wolves of the world are going crazy

Surely, these are dark times.

..............................................................................................................

Dogshit all along the street from here till where the sun sets

One thick Calcutta, thicker than my reddish brown flesh

Showing its ass at god and gasping like a huge whore

With tits pressed against the earth and against the dogshit

On macadam.

In and out of this sinuous monstrosity we wander

We’re bored. We kiss because we are bored.

We rise up to meet the sweaty rainsong skies because we are bored.

We’re all bastard children of boredom that bore us till it got pissed and hurled us out.

This city is bored as well, way more bored than us.

It lies, indifferent to the sweetness and to this pain.

........................................................................................................

No dope or alcohol can benumb the soul so much as boredom can

Echelons of fiery whores raped into eternal silence rage through the mind

Trampling the roses of the heart

Ravaging through the virgin tracts of brain

The mind that was once an old wisdom-tree

Shall no more be

What it was.

It’s all a hazy blur of blue

And it’s all so fucking true.

The phonecalls have stopped since a few weeks now

Butcherknives get sharper every passing hour of mourning

And guts get ready for that pure awful battle.

I get goosebumps every now and then

But i’m too strong for all these, i know.

Crowds of fake poets with false teeth and long hair

old lechers with their shiny yellow eyes

staring at little girls who chase butterflies.

The gods should’ve killed them off long long ago

The hookers are chasing my heart down instead

And this fucked music keeps on whirling across the skies

In blue electric fury –

Roaring and ready to unleash hounds from behind the clouds of glorious doom.

Come to me child, let’s forget all these and let me paint you a rainbow instead.   

The bottomline being

If this boredom doesn’t get to you, you will get to it soon enough.

.....................................................................................

This strange sound coming up from the centre of the earth

In dreary blue fumes, the sharp bright monotone that gathers pitch

As oceans borrow speech from purple reptiles

And statues loom above rivers

And rivers shoot through neurons in jets of electricity

And before long, spreads throughout

It’s as if festive revolutions have erupted from the sidewalks of the stars

And sidewalks of the moon have burst out through these toxic veins

to wash all the venom off.

 So, then she called and then there was this beam of fresh white light like white flowers in white mornings meeting the darkness of black flowers on black nights and zeroing it all out to get me here, static, with sore bums sore heart sore status quo all puss & blood oozing out and sore boils getting poof! And poof!

(honestly, it feels like being inside a thick fat Tolkien and taking shots at objective neutrality)

Soon, notwithstanding the last kicks and jerks of the light that changes colours and one huge frightening God shakes it all and gulps in all down God who gives all takes all takes all.

And lights were dim

And then the lights were off it the birds came back

And their wings covered even the stars up and sad peace rested on rooftops and sad rain fell on sad streets foggy and deathsome and terribly cold.     

And then there was i and there were the birds a thousand a million birds all silent and ominous just like peace is. Or maybe this is just the fear of burning out speaking.

Whichever it is, i don’t care.

I’m here

The birds are here

The stars are not here

She is there

She is not here.

And then, all is silent

Zenith reaches nadir

Foxes and rabbits sleep between flowers

Flowers have fangs.

Silence freezes the skies up into dark chunks of ether

And it all starts freezing out: roofs, walls, floors, bars, chains: all.

It’s all a massacre, a rebellion, a broad declaration of incensed insolence.

I’m here and I’m living.

And then i’m here and I’m dying

And then i’m here and i’m dead

And then i’m here and i’m not living

And then i’m not here and i am dead.   

.............................................................................

 This sure is a strange world

The disgusting ones get disgusted

The boring ones bored

The frustrating ones frustrated

And the maddening ones pure fucking loony

There was a time i used to cry because of this

And then the time i used to laugh at it

And now it’s all chicken shit and i don’t give a flying duckling.

..............................................................................

Jamboree puking out glowing green love

Senses shitting their load off inside the skull

It’s a like celebration of karma culminating in sacrifice of the soul

The soul, that smells of urine,

and is trapped within this framework of mind body and senses,

notices a little crack on the walls and rushes to get out

And dashes against the walls and everything starts shaking

and bells start tolling and me, trapped within this fatal doom

observes: detached, burning, cold.

Before long, we’re all back to square one and we’re all neurotic stoics

reaching out for photon-life, binary-throbs and magnetic pulsation

oblivious to the creatures with sharply burning eyes that observe us from the murky forests all around with fixed gaze.

And then the anti-loop

The town and the sky changes positions

And moon leans down over the ocean

And it’s all upside down,

Frog-tongues roll forward to let loose an army of flying insects that cover up the sky and thunderclaps roll backwards in fear and awe.

Frogs of the world are fighting against the universe

and are triumphing like a garrison phenomenal heroes. I see them and i grow strong.

Soon it will be my turn.

.....................................................................

Roll calendar roll

Tigers on lemon trees

Postcards for hearts of love

Shaken in pure delight

Taken in by blunt assumptions

A train moves inside my brain

Isn’t that a mighty allure?

All the beauty of the world makes me weep.

Thinking of sad women inside lonely palaces

Beauty to me is associated with a sense of loss and with all the sorrow of the world that perches on the roofs of my heart every night

Ugliness of the world makes me feel like being a part of it

There’s no sorrow or dejection or desolation involved here

Ugliness and me: we’re good friends and we have beer together and we whistle at the nude girls and we get smashed and we feel pretty good about ourselves.

And then of course we shake hands and part ways.

Next, i’m on a homebound train

The train moves inside my brain.

...........................................................................................................................

Gods Love Me Naked

This from a homebound cab

Too much light

And way too many trams

Love shines bright

Amidst all this traffic

Seeking to capture a bit

Of this voluptuous city of love

Where every damn thing shines bright

It’s like  a bloody conspiracy

To hide the blank numb pain.

This city is a big black gutter

That shocks us into silence and aversion

And a breeze that smells of dried up skin and puke

And the cab’s moving, roaring,

Fast forward.

Wish life was like this.

..................................................................

Carnival carnival it shakes

With lack of real causes to celebrate

......................................................................

This mourning is for the lack of time

Green. Red white and yellow

Glasses, trees, leaves and lots of skin

Smooth shoulderblades for desire, no boobs in public

Hypocrites and stale beings

All falling short on the imagination front.

It’s all on me. And the shortcuts that make us smile

And happy beds for happy penguins

And all of them are happy

For absurd reasons

That bother me.

Because what’s killing me is exactly what’s making them live.

............................................................

Love.... wait i need a drag....

Ahhhh

Yeah,

so love

is shit.

.................................................................

Tedious city

Crabs and sharks

And infrastructure under roaring indications of my indictment

Damn!

Mother,

I feel so fucking sexless tonight.

.......................................

In the heart of springs in the spring of hearts

Flowers boom at the sun

It’s a war of the heart and intellect everywhere

Psychology be damned, morality be a whore

I exist tonight.

......................................................

Angry gods ready to bring the skies down now

I say, it’s for the birds with fiery wings

Four worshippers on four corners, one big river

Too much sound. Insanity wages war against mediocrity.

Much detachment tires the soul out.

This, i know

From experience.

...................................................................

To die in her arms, tonight

Is like getting a way out

From where there where there’s none

Is like a respite

When the many others

Are baying for your blood.

I remember, quite clearly

One steady step, two. And she was still looking at me

And by the seventh, she wasn’t,

And neither was i.

It’s as if someone with a broken spine

And shot through the overestimated heart twice

Is getting back on stride.

The whole concept of me,

Being there, then

Made me happy.

And this was way long back.

......................................................................

Emotion be damned, it was an hour of maddening eternity

And all i remember is

Looking into her eyes and thinking

That she’s trying to gauge mine

With hers.

Dunno whether she found any reason or resource

To believe that digging into this heart

Will be easy and comforting.

I was there, and i wanted her to believe.

I am here and i want to pass out, happy and indifferent.

As of now, all i recall are her eyes

Trying to peep into mine.

It was good. A few stars had died that night. We did not know.

Even the guards of heart didn’t.

.............................................

Kill the sharks, kill the stars

Kill the haters of this heart

The tragedy of this hour,

as we all know,

is baseless

And the monsters keep on getting bigger

And the toxins more potent

Until they are all elements

Too fatal for love

And too damn nasty

for

this

reckoning.

I am drunk. And i do not care.

................................................................................