Shorn

For a Woman's Day special Open Mic poetry night at the Tuning Fork on 6th March, 2017, I chose to versify this article of mine and well, read it.

It’s Woman’s Day! It’s Woman’s Day!

And as a thinking, feeling woman, 

I’m expected to think and feel

(And maybe even dance around a little)

And proclaim my womanhood. 

But today I think I’ll dance a backward dance

Hold a top-down stance

And start at the end of this story

Let me first undress 

Wipe off that lipstick, scrub off that makeup

Maybe cut off all my hair

And the seduction tied to it.

Let me take off my jewellery

The dangle of earrings, the tinkle of bangles

And everything that chains me

To your ideas of beauty. 

Here comes off my saree - pallu, choli and all

And with it the curves, they so famously adorn

I unclasp my bra, and throw it on the floor

And with it these breasts

That hands of men hunger for

Now I take off my panties, and with it my vagina

Shutting shop for all manner

Of pleasure and pain

And finally, watch me

As I rip off that uterus and the expectation

That it will one day produce heirs. 

Naked and shorn of every notion

That makes me a woman, 

I am now ready to celebrate

With just my heart in place. 

Distances - a poem in two parts

{part 1}

{part 2}

Distance is a difficult tongue

hard to learn, like most things after 30

Despite the mispronounced and misunderstood words

I find myself persevering

I take careful notes

of things that convey distance

of things that may lessen them

I find myself measuring the spaces

Between the faithful's forehead

and a prayer mat

Between a teacher's anxiety

and a student's success

Between the change in a schoolboy's pocket

and the samosawalah outside the gates

Between one casual insult

and a well-thought out spite 

Between the mother's breast

and her wailing infant's mouth

Between promises made in good faith

and realities that rendered them false

I learn how to wait

and find ways to ford the distance

between the day we decided it wouldn't work

and today, when we know that nothing else will

The Seance

Read that note that has just been slipped under your door

"Invitation"

it says, in a dark, cursive, Gothic font.

I'm holding a seance tonight to awaken lost loves.

Don't come alone; bring your broken heart along.

Tonight we celebrate what could have been, what never was.

I have an Ouija board with 3 questions:

"Do you still love me?"

Did you ever love me?"

"Would you love me again?"

And the answer can only be YES.

......

Ah, you've come. Nice perfume.

Sit down, hold hands, close your eyes.

Focus on this burning candle.

Yes, it's your heart. Burning, burning, burning all over again.

I race to the past to pluck your lover's spirit,

and place it upon your lap.

Ask them what you will, do what you want.

Tonight there will be no denials, betrayals or unexplained goodbyes.

Kiss them if you want

Touch and make tremble.

Let your souls lie together and make love

like you always wanted to, like you never could.

......

Hurry now, the candle is burning out

the past must return where it belongs.

Clocks must be turned back, and graves sealed shut.

I put the lights back on

and see what I need to see.
This is the only payment I seek.

A hundred tears shed 

and one heart healed.

Need

'Give me 5 minutes of Internet, baby,' I beseech the web lords
They haven't been kind lately.
I feel like kicking the computer each time I try to surf..
"Frustration ka saamaan," I mumble angrily and log off.
But I am back again after a restless 30 minutes
I need to check on my social media jaanu... my many jaanoooooos
Has anyone wilted from my inattention yet?
Has anyone even noticed I am gone?
Are they seeking me, or am I seeking them seeking me?

...

Perhaps this is what loneliness looks like, fleshed out
Living a forlorn life, even with a man in my bed
I amuse myself by breaking rules.
Coke with rose sherbet,
butter chicken with fried rice
unsafe (mind)fucks with complete strangers

...

Love, love, love, love, love
What's love got to do with it?
'Everything!' I say one day;
'Nothing', I concur next
But grown ups should be able to do without
I don't want to grow up
Lovers on Twitter
Lovers on Facebook
lovers in novels
lovers in poems
real lovers, imagined lovers
Goddamn, this soul stinks of need.
*LOGS OFF*

Orgy

On my bed sleep poets and saints; 

volumes of hardbound madness. 

There's a little space left -  just enough to make love.

Won't you come, my lover, and partake in this orgy? 

We'll lie among sheets of silk and paper, 

we'll talk through the chaos of geniuses.

Rumi can watch how you kiss me

And you can be witness to my love for Hafiz

Let's lock fingers, as if in prayer

even as obscenities stream out of our mouths

Sex toys and rosary beads in our sweaty palms

lines between the profound and profane erased

Jalaluddin cries out for his lover divine 

like you for me and I, for Khwaja Shams-ud-Din

Follow the poet's lead, and let your hands pleasure me

Make my head spin in ecstasy, like a whirling dervish 

Listen to what Shams says, 

"Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly".

Drop the sweet talk and an aashiq's tehzeeb

and fuck me while the saint-poets look on and sing.

Kali in love

(Art by Bloodcult via Deviantart)

Bared fangs, bared breasts,

I am your goddess.

Now handover your heart.

I'm trying to kill you because I love you. 

Why else?

I will have you drunk on me. 

I will show no mercy.

I'll grind you to pulp with this love of mine.

A noose of my hair around your neck, 

That will my blessing be.

A sacrifice of your lips and limbs,

That's all I ask for.

Come Shiva, bind me with your dreadlocks,

Unleash the Ganges of your passion upon me.

You awakened it. 

Now deal with my Mooladhara Chakra
spinning in ecstasy.

Let me dance upon your chest, 

like an undying obsession.

Poison me with your blue lips

dirty me with your ashes.

Place your feet upon my chest

Thrust your trident in my breast

Sit me upon your thigh

wrench my pride out with your teeth.

Kali's yoni and yantras

come Shiva, take them all.

Love this is, yet I haven't forgotten 

The art of severing a heart from a body.

A submissive Kali will still destroy.

Longing

There is a drop of longing everyday
that falls from the sky of your being
Small and sharp and brilliant
It catches the light and shines
defiantly, brightly,
searing the grey of every-dreary-day
shamelessly calling attention to itself.

There is a drop of longing everyday
that I must hide in a jar
in a cool-dark place (like forbidden candy)
There is a drop of longing everyday
that no one must see.

The jar in the cool-dark place
is almost full
It blinds my eyes each time I look
within.
A million little drops of brilliance
that have morphed into a sea of desire.
Viscous, iridescent, proud.

There is a drop of longing everyday
that I must furtively add to the jar
Fuel to fire
And close a hurried lid, afraid
my home will go down in flames.

There is a drop of longing everyday
that refuses to be quietened, diffused.
Small and sharp and brilliant.
Unchanged, since I felt it first,
A drop from the sky of your being
Right into my barren heart.
'Plop', it fell, I remember
Catching me, drenching me, unawares.
I stepped away from my body,
To stare at that brazen drop.
Catching light, so much light,
shamelessly calling attention to itself.
Scared, fascinated, I hid it in a jar
in a cool-dark place.

Since then, every day,
there falls a drop of longing
from the sky of your being
small and sharp and brilliant.
Diamonds from a heaven
where you are.

I'm running out of space,
I'm running out of time.
The jar won't hold much longer
There are cracks, and light shines through
even in that cool-dark place.

There is a drop of longing everyday
Bigger than the drop of yesterday
Drowning me, drowning all.

I will need you soon,
and your mouth and your hands,
to swallow this luminous sea
so the game can start over.

Neera pays back

Neera. Where can she go?
She is but a line that curves and stretches and dances
to the tunes of your pen
Neera will go where your nib drags her.

Neera is the colour that is your colour,
Neera is what you see in the mirror.
Neera does nothing. Neera does all.
Like a heart that must beat, without being asked.

Neera is a work of art,
made good or bad by the way your fingers move.
Neera is your food and your hunger.
Neera is the fine line between the real and the imagined.

Yes Neera is a moment arrested,
a breath held (within your lungs)
Neera is that stretched sunset you wish for,
an evening that never ends.

It's time Neera paid back in ink.
Passion with passion, worship with worship hundredfold,
Neera now burns (the midnight oil)
the way you burnt for her.

Levitation

I like how you levitate

right here, amidst the throng

daring us all to see

but we are blinded by voices

How you float in space

right here, between us all

but not quite here

untouching, untouched.

How you take off into the sky

right here, from the couch

no rocket propelled shoes

only words for wings
How you circle the Earth thrice
while we're passing the salt 

How you create windows

wherever you fancy them

and jump off into infinity

ever so often.

(Nidheesh, this is for you.)

Middle of a dream

We are running, despite no gravity

on this road to nowhere

We are in someplace strange

that could be heaven or hell

There's no way of knowing

in the absence of signboards. 

But i'm feeling, i'm feeling

feeling so hard, 

and falling

and reeling

and flying

all at once.

My fingers are locked in yours

(but who are you, again?)

this is surely the middle of a dream.

The dream sits heavy

on the palm of my hand

(so soft, so unbearably soft)

and sometimes it cozies up

on the tip of my tongue

(so sweet, so searingly sweet)

Bits of heaven strung together

on a string of endless hours

being passed from your mouth to mine

from your hand to mine

but I still don't know who you are

what this place is

or where we are headed

this is surely the middle of a dream.

We are sitting now, floating now

by and in a rainbow river

counting stars like lovers do

and laughing at what lovers do

eternities are passing,

without the trappings of life

no birth, no shame, no want, no death

My fingers are still locked in yours

Your identity still a mystery

this place as unfamiliar

this place as desirable

this is surely the middle of a dream.

Don't wake me up yet.

.

Sleep awhile my lovely child

Not a goodbye yet

Blow away you say?

Blow away all preciousness

Blow away everything

that truly matters to this heart?

Poked, probed, pricked, pinned

Broken, tattered, worn thin,

Whatever its state or shape,

It is an object of my love.

How can I wish away

the fire to my cold,

the rain to my drought

the rhythm to my heart?

The waiting never ceased

The wanting never ceased

I may have turned my face away

But I never stopped loving

Invitation for destruction

(A Bill Jones painting from http://www.painters-online.co.uk)

Yes, love

rain again, flood again

even nature isn't cruel this often.

Why you? Why me?

I've held in my palms

long lonely nights

fingertips shriveled

with wiping tears.

I've held in my palms

a hope that wouldn't die

a hope that bloomed

even in hatred's Sahara.

Yes, rain again cruel one

One drop, a million drops, 

until this deluge

destroys me once more.

Stricken

My mind had been still, like a clear night sky.

Some stars sprinkled even.

So I slept in peace, unsuspecting.

But I awoke, in the 'middle of the night' mahurat

The way they have in stories of myth.

That time of ghosts and ominous things.

It must have been like a loudclap of thunder

or blinding lightening, just behind my lids

Amplified millionfold in the land of Hypnos

Like an Indra lying in wait,

sharpening his quiverful of bolts

on a trumpeting Airavat.

No, like a hundred angry Indras

on a hundred angry Airavats

Lightning, trumpeting, lightning, trumpeting

My eardrums shattered, my world ripped,

I lay there, perfect darkness about me.

Then, out of the skies of my past

the first drops came.

A big thought of you,

and another, and another

until my face was drenched, with salty rain.

Before I knew, what pillar to hold

Drops became walls of water.

There was no stopping the deluge that night.

There was no saving my dams that night.

I would have to sink or swim,

Through this flash flood of emotion.

My heart shook, my limbs too,

I perhaps genuflected in bed too.

But memories were in no mood for mercy,

So I waited and let wash upon me

wave upon wave of our time together.

Your smiles flickered across the skies,

teeth flashing amidst rolling clouds.

Past happinesses projected now

in tear-jerking shades of grey.

While the storm of 'us' danced the tandav dance

breaking my walls like dominos.

In the churning oceans of thought

I tossed about and counted hours

till the sun of my present rose again.

I started all over again,

with the stricken remains of my will to forget.

Languorous Love

Let things linger, let things soak,
Let love permeate slowly into your bones.

Let it slide down the edges, of sides left untouched for years
Let it show what one has no claim over, let it show what one owns.

Let it burn, ever so little, singeing slowly by the minute
Let it steal from restful sleep, and push stealthily every limit.

Let it extinguish fires of doubt, let even clarity cloud,
Let it prevail over reason, let it subdue logic, wit.

Let it walk in nonchalance, let it your patience try,
Let it act like there is forever, let it sometimes make you cry.

Let it make breathing scarce, let it melt every living cell,
Let it erase every fact, farce, let it listen, let it tell.

Let its fragrance madden you, let its burden sadden you,
Sometimes fire, sometimes ice, let it become your virtue, your vice.

Let it bind in chains of glory, let it give heights to your story,
At times bright, then dark, let it be your victim and your jury.

(Co-written with @shakwrites)

I return to you

(Image: 'And Love is Forever, So I Say in my Self-Portrait' by Yayoi Kusama)

All my roads spell your name, as do my dead ends,
You are branded with fire, upon my existence.

Master of my words, you are my virtue and my vice,
You've made home, my hearth, you spread across my skies.

You fill up my nights, you consume me each day,
Every path transpires, to send you my way.

The stars tell your story, the wind bears your scent
And that rogue heart O mine? Your way, I think, it went.

How far I have run, all nays have fallen through,
Truth comes home tonight; I return to you.

The Dark Goddess

(Image source: Kali by Nosve via deviantart.com)

There is fear in men's hearts, they tremble as they speak,
a dark goddess reigns, it is her that I seek.

Beware!

I infect them with restlessness, bring them to their knees,
I cheat them of what they hold dear, I rob them of their peace.

Do you keep their hearts, then, safe as they kept their peace?
Or do you break them, scatter the bloody bits into an infidel breeze?

Bloody little bits, to the breeze they are cast;
for I play only till the night of passion lasts.

Do you sleep when play is done, when the sun brings on its dawn, fire?
How do you rest, night spirit, with blood on your hands of ire?

I sleep, for I know, there will be more blood to spill.
My heart speaks no more; only my flesh seeks thrills.

I seek, like a curious sapling, to rouse that quiet heart;
to touch that flesh, to possess that soul, to bite that tongue so tart.

Come, like a tendril to me, wrap your eager fingers around mine.
Together, we'll soar; together, we'll make love divine.

And yet, thick Temptation murmurs, "Let yourself soar
with this wild-eyed, snake-haired goddess, let her bring you ashore."

Enjoin with me, in endless festivity - there will be dancing and blood and poesy.
Come hither, and I will show you ecstacy.

As tempting as your beckoning is, I do dig in my roots;
for you are a child of darkness, and I a slave of sunlit truths.

Farewell this is naught, you will come back alright;
for without darkness, there is no meaning to light.

(Co-written with Sandhya Menon @TheReluctantMum)

The boy next door

(Image: varbak.com)

There’s a child next door,

A little boy just like mine,

He laughs the way mine does,

Throws tantrums just the same.

His energy matches his,

And so do his little joys,

They perhaps even play,

With very similar toys.

My child, when he prattles,

Invites many an ‘Oh, so cute!’

But an open mouth brings no sound

From the child next door; he’s mute.

Mine fills hours with chatter,

Fills days with joyous cacophony

He whines, clings and says with touch,

Cries, so often, so desperately,

He must want to say so much!

I say a little prayer,

Spare a little thought.

Thank God for all the things

That could go wrong, but have not. 

Fever

(Image: paintingsilove.com)

I never forgot your smell,

or how soft your cheek was;

like tender coconut flesh.

How soft your cheek was,

when I dared to push my lips against it.

 I never forgot how

my back pressed against the wall.

Green, cold, flaky paint.

I remember trying to remember the moment

the hot flush of love against the cold of the wall.

The memory lives, grows, sears.  

It is a fever. You shudder, you sweat. 

You want to lie down, you need to sit up. 

Yes, a fever. A fire that's burning me up.

A fire that won't listen to reason. 

I will be your phoenix, you can be my arsonist.

Scarlet lips to burn you, flushed cheeks to burn you.

Here, inside of me, is a living arsenal.

A veritable, flammable woman;

you will keep alive with flames of longing.

That first spark has grown,

brighter now, bolder now. 

Your lips are under my thumb:

trembling pink flesh. Now wet with wanting, 

now parched in anticipation.

Fan my flames, for I need you, to make it through

this stark and lonely night.

Touch your tongue to mine, quench this longing.

Nay, stay away, lest all turn to ashes.

There is a desperation in this denial. A quiet hunger. 

A spasming want.

I will wait. I will make you want me.

(Co-written with Mahinn Ali Khan @mentalexotica)

L'attente

She keeps open her doors, and her flowers fresh

Gerberas that he may like, roses that may delight.

Their scent is all she has, for his perfume is long gone

from her hair, her sheets, her memory,

from her days and those long, sweet nights.

She has never shut her windows, for fear of a missed sight,

She keeps them open and her heart; some day he might...

She has never shut either, those teary eyes,

that read over the letters of promise (or perhaps lies?)

Rain on the garden path, washed clean of his tread,

A flood of despair inside, a sob muffled in bed,

A hundred moons have waxed and waned,

she tells herself, he is only late

Hoping against all hope, she lies in wait,

keeping open her doors, and her flowers fresh...


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This poem was penned exclusively for Puneet Vijay's wonderful composition, which he calls 'The Ballad of Lonesome Eyes'. I, on the other hand choose to call it L'attente, which means 'The wait' in French. See Puneet's wonderful pictures on http://bit.ly/s8lfuz