the beginning of happiness is the end of poetry

Words thrive in pain 

in dark circles, ego mania and in death of your reign.

The rings of smoke over liquids of fire,

Blow whistles at the starting line of our worst fear
As race begins between cheating hearts and doubts of my despair.

The love birds choke on affection
The cat strolls around the cage

The creepers pose threats to strangle
The magnificent commands over our brains.

The withered feathers end up in my pillows,
Caesar salad served for breakfast,   

the whipped cream of my labor round the year

rests on the blend of your bitter rage and scare. 

I drink from the bottom to the depths of your ear.

You are happy if I am quiet, not causing a lot of stare.

Discussions never end with spoons full of happy desserts,
Starters and mains forgotten no matter how good they were.
Peaches are bitches, always out of season
to not want to eat them should be all the more reason.

Forks leave scratches on plates and our tongues.
Plastic and papers wrap around convenient take away dinner.
Food doesn't taste good running on dangers of spills
Your after dinner speech starts rumblings in my stomach.
Stop babbling
Muse my words,
I'll scream in my dreams, but you don't have to hear.

A Mosquito's Revenge

There is no god speaking to me right now

I am left here hanging in fences hidden beneath the lights.

I smell my burnt wings, see my crushed belief in disbelief,

As I fail to learn the difference between hope and a death-trap.

My remains are swept off every morning with minimum wage,

Thousands of me, born again anonymous transforming till death.

My flight crashes in blood splatters in your hands in seconds,

in deadly applause that my vocal orchestra draws,

which counts as pleasure of killing (time) for some

or lunch for the slimy creatures in skilful play of curly tongues.

On rare occasions though our unison of revenge

permits a few chosen to strike back,

to carry on our striped wings a thousand year old message,

bites of shiver and a sudden collapse.

The years of observations of cycles of cautions, precautions say

To think of an escape would be just another disappointment.

For him the bell tolls

The bell rings twice these days

Pairs of sandals, shoes, sneakers pile at the entrance.

Basket full of boxers, blouse and petticoats for today’s laundry  

Two coffee cups, lunch boxes are now mandatory.

Queue before shower, about to go late

Lotions, potions, and a whole of lot of motions relayed.

Early dinner, late night snack, lying down in bed

Routines never thought of and yet naturally they came.

Staring at watches, waiting for bells to ring,

Disbelief in the clutching hands that always left without warning.

The arms, legs, chests and backs discover their complementing curves

Wrap around a perfect waist or caress a cushioned bust.

The nostrils fill with familiar smell,

The chemistry of salt and sour delicious as always.

The sound sources are alive, right across the ear

The moans and murmurs are on musical chairs.

It is too good to believe they are all here for real

Or perhaps a long wait before it all disappears.    

Ants

Ants march on my arms, I smell flood.


The anarchy of clouds and my ambitious neighbor drown our season’s harvest,

just as it did last year.

We look anorexic. 

The contour of our body blurs,

taking hours to recall the face to match the voice.

A narrow opening in the jammed window

Bring in air to breathe, to allure, demure and becomes a plague.

We emaciate, vaporize from tactile responses

To images, memories, fantasies.

A shadow casts itself in the mirror

Stares back at us to scare

And you pretend not to see.

Free Fall from Bliss

A free fall from bliss

To the depths of misery,

Trails through a chasm of doubt, ingratitude and anger,

sinners pass without regret,

Invincible and without wound,

between the warring trenches of argument,

beheaded corpses of cupid, pickled fetus in jars .

Summon Israfil for a nuclear holocaust,    

A mushroom cloud is hanging over our smoking pipes.

Breathe in and multiply in millions

As white blood cells, crabs, leeches -

in your stomach, crotch, tongue and ears.  

Swallow the bullets, they grow back as words,

The tantrums are just foreplay,

before the killing spree begins in the next anatomy class.

The formalin smells great, scalpels ready for action,   

The incisions would be perfect, sewn back to just as it was

Only a couple of organs missing you never had any use for.   

The anesthetic is trickling down fast,

Go to sleep now, you’ll be spared the pain. 

May 01, 2011

Peking Duck

My idle wings carry just enough weight

To land in your arms – once.

They wait for years without.

I love water, they slide right through my feathers

Small planktons, fish and snails to feed on

Little dips, smooth sailing,

Cacophonies of meaningless laughter.

My guiltless fat crackles in fire

Ending up in gourmet dining

With your drools all over.

The last thing I remember

In rows hanging upside down

Masks and aprons up since dawn.

Knives sliding down throats dripping blood,

Skinned to perfection,

Roasted tender, sweetened in sauce.

I’ll be up for specials

Prepared in hands of chefs taking years to master

Displayed in hooks bare naked

To allure hungry diners.

My redemption is your indulgence

Your acid consumes mine

I begin to transform and exist-

In your marrow, flesh, blood and bile.

March 25, 2011

Boss Indica

As we speak the dawn appears

Bats close their wings

Cockroaches creep between furniture gaps

And poetry disappears.

We have office hours, meetings, clients, papers, documents, Xerox machines,

Our  whining, complaining, bullying bosses

Relying, cheating, scheming, selling - you, me and everything.

I stare at your lies

You look away confused trying out new weapons.  

Your Black Dog smells my age, where’s my cage?

I throw back at you my rage,

Drink is good only with friends.

I don’t need company, only business.

No yelling bosses or meek sly assistants.

You tear my soul down

Keep me awake in blinding days

I need to wake with bats, creepy cockroaches.

Let me keep my knights

Loose all these mercenaries

And welcome you my dizzy heights

In poetry with ruffled hairs.

January 31, 2011