god decides to take a trip,
to relax, unwind-so tired of
answering prayers- he is amused
by the movie Bruce Almighty-
but he knows better than everyone;
that shit is dumb.
He loves mankind, no doubt,
he just wants a break...
he wanders over the waters
wanting to swim but he can
only walk on it- he is pissed now.

30 and a bit bitchy, she is kind
to the people who digest her
verbal abuse. In bright, tight kurtas
and kgs of gold, shiny like a bulky treasure chest
with inviting engravings- like the inside of Taj Mahal
before the white folk disrobed it- she
works in the advertisement industry.

A slave driver, she demands fat cake
and throws lavish parties-invitation only
and basks in the mood lighting of posh
restaurants...but she is bleak and dim inside;
thoughts of escape enter her otherwise
sealed pores(courtesy of foreign five step
day and night creme)in the lonely nights-
divorced- she dreams her large bed is
occupied by a mills and boons type of guy...
she needs inner healing..countless trips to
ashrams with diet restrictions and promises
of sexual enlightenment-
she is tired, so tired of barking orders,
appeasing stupid clients, of 8 am traffic and the 2 am power naps...

She secretly longs to be the housewife-
cooking, cleaning; waiting for the children
to return filthy with playground stains and smells,
waiting for the husband who demands
hot dinner and snores in his sleep- so
uncharacteristic(she is shocked at herself)

Then, she remembers the bras burning
and the slut walks- for all this freedom,
this power- she sees the illusion and
she has reached the edge of the simulation.

Our memories are linked together
because of the cable with standard channels
since television wrested the power from
community chores and agrarian conversations.
Who hasn't wasted her/his time flipping
through serials and shows-gripped by
epilepsy inducing camera movements
of Sass be Kabi Bahu Thi and other Ks
from the tormented brain of Ekta Kapoor-
Though I never followed the story line...
The characters(lady villains, poor sedha,sadha
henpecked mama's boys) Indian men forever
saving Indian culture from feminists and lesbians(must be daddy issues)
the threat of marriage looming over miniskirts-
virgins are prized but also must be thrown over
with insurance cover- oh! how the men suffer..
will their suffering ever be over?.

In a time when dragons colored the sky,
the beasts frolicked on the ground,
there was unlimited organic food.
No skyscrapers, only Neanderthals
picking out lice and combing the dirt
for a few pickings...simple ground rules.
Then fire was discovered- all went downhill
from that discovery-the pyramids
fell from heavens, society; society
marked its territory- what is left
is clearly RE-evolution- one is slapped
with resonating image of Charleston Heston
with his unintelligent, hairless lady friend weeping
below the half exposed, dead, Statue of Liberty. 

The sunset fell on the boy
as he lay on his side on the prickly grass,
he was in love.
The orange light draped his soft chubby face
and decorated the candy bar wrappers in brilliant
gold and dark chocolate brown, strewn around
him in a blessed circle.
Poor thing...love was like science, like mathematics-
he couldn't wrap his head around it-so he buried his mind
in familiar smells of kitchen and compared her in his head
to delicious culinary delights-
she played the part of a strawberry topped cheese cake,
wrapped in aluminium foil safely tucked to the innermost corner
of the freezer where his prying hands couldn't reach.
He is 9, and a little too round and too short for anyone's
time, and never will be on the money but he is happy
right then...he forgets his size, his tight sweater and the
sweat patches on his armpits-he thinks of her and he
knows how wonderful it is to know and to love.

Words from the lips of a man who prefers silence.
He replies in Yes and No- then little grunts
fill the void in conversations.
He watches while friends speak-
up to three, some days, four empty cups of black coffee
and Gold flake kings shield him, he's almost disappearing
in the corner, the far corner of a hole in the wall cafe;
one he visits day after day.

He dreams daydreams, stops and thinks...the cell phone
rings and rings and rings.
Long drawn out pauses fall and hang like mist;
it dissolves him.
He longs to be invisible; like shadows on the wall,
he is but a shadow on his bed as he watches her sleep.

He aches in breaks so plays a song, his first aid.
Content with listening...he listens to his books-
Conrad's Kurtz is omnipresent in the heart of
darkness-Marco polo and Kublai Khan, their tales
of Venice the illusion; is lively and vivid.
He pauses, but his thoughts tiptoe..to Nabokov;
peeping through the miniscule window
into the life of Sebastian Knight, where he lingers awhile.

Sometimes when he needs to feel lighter,
he goes to the Hitchhiker's guide-
snickering aloud in his rented room;
at ease, home, he is complete.

Occasionally, he feels lonely when he is out. 

the bottles of despair,
the vessels bubbling, the fumes
from chemical feelings all mixed up
the test tubes burst with the forces,
contained and shut airtight a logic ago.

my mood graphs.

like bi polar disorder
amplified, a close up photograph
revealing flaws and the details in a scar.
acute pain, intense happiness and nothing
in between... i'm exhausted with ideas-
the finer things, finely crafted wooden beams
and a sack of ego spilling on the sitting room
floor-
the guests are waiting but i'm too tired
to entertain, to play the dancing monkey, the
jack in the box- a musical comedy.

its fine

its fine
i'm doing fine,
just fine.

a gust of wind blew the leaves in her direction
she was tired
one particular leaf shaped like an ordinary leaf
leaped at her face,
and lodged itself firmly between her glasses
but she continued unaware
she was really tired,
she didn't really care.

i have said the word too many times
for it to hold any meaning anymore
but i'll say this,
you i'll always keep
within and without.

just

just...
all the stuff i feel
and all the patterny, bubbly, weighty-nesses
and all the loud and subtle smells and sounds
and all the other things in between and on the corners,
the edges of my mind and my senses
all of it, all at once, and in spirals
render me awry
when i need to provide
proper definitions.

the thought of you,
has broken into tiny pieces
inside me.

they suddenly clump together
randomly, at inconvenient times
and scrape against everything...
it's upsetting.

I have a fear of the wall,
the white sheet of paper.
I'm afraid to touch surfaces
with my fingers, I inch away from
close contact, maintaining
the distance of the dreamer,
until i'm awake,
to grapple with familiarity.

love

love is this.
you and me,
when I call and you call me home,
when you hold my hand
when people are looking.
I feel less alone, when you are
here when you need to be,
like pebbles next to each other
from the millions around,
love is this.

I turn the keys
opening the locks of memory,
searching for something sad,
a twisted type of
misery, that'll make me smile
for a short while,
knowing it exists.

I can't tell if I'm happy or
miserable any more.
what is happiness supposed to look like,when
I see it approaching, I don't recognise it
until it's passed, even then it leaves
no scent, only tire marks.

responsible

are you responsible for me?
responsibility- not a difficult word,
grounded, not dizzyingly airy.
but after all,
you aren't responsible for me.