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

Jump

Ten floors down is a bed of flowers

You know they don't seem too far

I can almost smell them up here on the ledge

So sweet, they're almost pungent.

Like love. Everything's like love.

The wind brings crazy things with it

along with the smell of roses..

that teen next door's angry music, 

a hawk with a half-eaten rat,

the noise of neighbours who have loud sex.

Today I'm hoping it'll bring me more

than just its bag of cheap tricks

a little quietude? Perhaps some sleep?

I haven't really slept since you left.

All I do is dangle my feet in this nothingness

Ten floors down is a bed of flowers

I remember you loved looking at them

And that's all I have left of you - a view of the roses

That's all I think I'll keep of you

What's that I hear you say? Jump?

(Far) across the table

Have you ever measured a table in miles?
Or minutes, in uncomfortable silences?
They say a lot of things can happen over coffee
- they don't tell you a lot of things unhappen too.
In the incessant shaking of your leg
Or my excessive attention to the decor
In the checking of our phones
(which had no new notifications)
There was certainly a new story
but this time, of a dismantling
Was it the flavour of love, that was amiss in my cup,
Or did an infusion of blame make your tea bitter?
Were you really critiquing the cafe's bad service,
Or was it a roster of plaints of your heart?
For last evening I saw us measuring
a table in miles
and minutes in uncomfortable silences.

Sleeping beauty heart

Come boy, you need some straddling,

some kissing, some fondling

oh, that sleeping beauty of a heart

come boy, it needs some waking

Allow my words into your arms

I bring gifts of chains and whips

If you will let me bind you right

I promise you phantasmagorical trips

Come boy, look me in the eye

you need to be reminded of love

not the sweet and gentle kind

but one that is unsparingly rough

For gentleness is your bane, boy

the opium to your brain, boy

come, let me remind you

of the taste of turmoil, boy

Come boy, let me strip you,

break you, rip you apart 

until all you are left with

are dancing shoes and a naked heart

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.

The Song of Desire

Forget what the preachers say

Disregard every sermon you've heard

I, the priestess at love's altar,

Say, 'desire' is not a dirty word

What do they know about longing?

Of the drug of a lover's lips

One who has never been drunk

On the seduction of their swaying hips

They, who've never been woken

with desire banging at their door

What do they know of that eternal strain,

of wanting more, some more?

Covered in numbing robes of virtue

their hearts have never lurched

their skins have never screamed

with a dire need to be touched

In a frightful island of isolation

unheard, untouched, unloved,

where would you and I be

If desire was a dirty word?

Desire is not a dirty word

for it is proof of a living, beating heart

The first bright bold stroke in red

of love's amazing art

Blood Moon

There's a blood moon in the sky tonight,

that shimmering orb of desire

No clouds to challenge its call for sin.

There's a blood moon in the sky tonight,

Still echoing the howls of need

Of that werewolf of a man, who lay with me.

There's a blood moon in the sky tonight,

A lesser sun scorching my skin

In places where your mouth has been.

There's a blood moon in the sky tonight,

Scarlet from the blood you drew from my lips

And spat into the night not long ago.

There's a blood moon in the sky tonight,

Another throbbing rust-coloured orb

A fair breast smarting from hungry hands

There's a blood moon in the sky tonight,

A stark witness in my window

Of the story of lust, writ large in red. 

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.

Why I laugh

I once believed in love

then they licked the sugar away

Now I only laugh

at the farce of romantic men

I laugh at those eyes

looking away from my breasts

I laugh because I know

You'd rather I had no clothes on

I laugh at your fingers

tenderly tucking strands behind my ear

I laugh for I know

how they want to grab, kiss, hurt

I laugh at your mouth

feigning delicate poetry

I laugh for I know

your teeth long to sink into my flesh

I laugh at your tongue

faking grace and smooth words

I laugh for I know

it wants to claim my womanhood

I laugh at your kindness

that mask of cheap plastic

I laugh because you think

that's a ticket to my bed

Crushing Jasmines

Scents turn me savage

and I crush jasmines.

Jasmines in a bride's hair

jasmines on a nuptial bed.

The white, hapless, beautiful

between my ruthless fingers.

I annihilate the pink beauty 

of the dainty Malti

before I fail in grace

before those lovely flowers.

I hold captive, Raatranis in a jar

for, how else
will I ever match them 

in the fine art of seduction?

I destroy the plucky Palash

those bearers of the reddest reds

so my lips seem the most luscious

in their painted glory.

I break Kumudini stalks

so my limbs are the most glorious

I drown dewy lotuses

so my breasts are the most desirable

The forest is drunk tonight 

with the scent of the Champa

But I want to burn it down

and scatter the ashes of beauty

Yes, keep those jasmines away

from my ruthless fingers.

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.

Love is matter

(Image source: isiopolis.com)

Love is a need like no other.

Love is matter.

The terrible, unstable kind, yes?

The wild, sweeping kind that rips every notion apart until only nothing remains. And you weep, your tears are diamonds.

Or perhaps the luminescent, sublime kind.

The soothing, balmy kind, that caresses every scar, contains tides until only stillness remains and your smiles are rainbows.

Ah, of glorious hurts and shimmering pools of blood. Of nightskies dark with longing and days bright with impudent hope.

Of quiet acceptance that every drop of blood and sweat is mine, is thine, is ours.

Of every kiss that proclaims the tongue and every ache that screams for a union.

Of shivering limbs that crave steadiness from firm but gentle arms, but alas! Love must steady itself in its own whirlpool of collapse.

Of looking for answers in a beloved's eyes and the stoking of yellow embers that burn beneath the lids all night.

Of finding yourself staring back, a splash of white in every black; wind chimes tinkle in solitude and hearts splinter in gratitude.

Of blue cowherds and song and milkmaids and dance.

Of a day that won't see dawn on the banks of a swollen river, forever in spate.

Love is so many things, yet I know only your face.


I love so many things about you but all I can do is look at your face, helplessly, hopelessly.

(With @ScrollsNInk)

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.)

Ash

You perhaps do not remember.

But how would you?

You didn't see it for what it was.

A lipstick stained table napkin

I left ever so carelessly

on the table across which 

you sat, drinking coffee

Hoping you'd steal it, save it

as a souvenir 

from our last meal together

You also didn't see

my heart on your platter

So I put them back in my purse, 

heart, napkin and hope

And left with as impassive a goodbye

as I could manage.

Now all that is left,

Is a line of ash

From the cigarettes 

I learnt to love from you

from the cigarettes 

that remind me of you

Light, grey, warm testimonies of a high

that wore off all too soon.

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.

.

The Club

I've never before seen so many vacant eyes in one place,

so many people united in purposelessness.

Like a city of ghosts - full, yet empty as empty can be;

like a city of ghosts - frightening.

A pitiable attempt by lonely city souls
to drown themselves in noise

popping aspirins of mindlessness,
hoping for salvation in alcohol-fueled amnesia.

Glassy eyes, meaningless words, hollow laughter
clutching on to their phones like they would a feet of a messiah

begging for a portal to escape this prison of shallow.

Music, smoke, the spirits and strobe lights,

an army of gyrating zombies in a full/vacuous room.

I drank when they drank, danced when they danced,

 smoked when they smoked, dressed like they dressed...

I fell in line; a doll on a carousel of a toy factory; no will of her own.

But before the night wore out and I could be claimed by this city of shadows,

My voice found itself and I ran, screaming "NO NO NO NO"

I will not be sucked into this trance, I will not dance this terrible dance,

I will not be amused by this adult rattle.