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different tracks
different paths
keep us
separated
dust and heat
but
one day
we will
surely meet
face to face
beat to beat
sounds of silence
repeatedly
we will greet
my cornerstone
your living
heartbeat
a candle
on the soul
of a blog
buried deep
in concrete
a poetic pause
in a stifled
winding sheet
shoeless
barefeet
Friday, July 9, 2010
One Day We Will Surely Meet
What Really Grows In a Poets Head
eco friendly
moments
word like seeds
in every bed
a few weeds
poetically
planted
safely
as you tread
cultivated
remorse
pain despair
which you
are fed
as you read
him
move ahead
words pictures
of survival
instead
man lives by
the sweat
of his brow
his daily bread
the poets head
his tool shed
The Word FUCK
Inspired By Asha
The word Fuck
is like a lotus
in the muck
you me all
sitting duck
only the
sanctimonious
religiously
celibate who do it
to little kids it irks
a papal silence
that smirks
an over rated word
FUCK
that
all night
overworks
hidden
in the soul
of a condom
with or without
perks
FUCK
on the soul
of humanity
conscientiously
lurks
Horn OK Please
dont kiss my ass
horn OK please
i am a nervous
wreck high strung
i get cheesed
what is not yours
promiscuously
you should not
squeeze silicon
added sexuality
merely to cock tease
wish you hope
love and peace
the other piece
fucking whores
on the highway
is already diseased
Bindass
mumbai kids
are incorrigibly
bindass
give them an inch
they kick ass
clones
of sallu bhai
villian ka
satyanas
zhakass
when they
are angry
god sake
their path
dont cross
dhishum
dhishum
total loss
i hate
made
in bollywood
love stories
taken
poetic sanyas
soul made
of iron
balls made
of brass
The Wastelands Revisited
everything
all memories
of what we once
shared is gone
the river bank
that once
overflowed
now weeps
all forlorn
barefeet
as i step
on thorns
kissing the
moist earth
sweet early
morn
now as poem
on my soul
you are born
a sentinel
on the shores
waiting
for your return
dusk to dawn
Waiting In Vain
the endless pain
he was coming
from ajmer by bus
instead
of the train
held to
his poems
by a silken chain
embedded
in his camera vision
third
eye of shiva
the lover
of hussain
shoots with his heart
blocks his brain
pathos passion
pain on the streets
in an emulsion
an optical truth
ingrained
The Girl in the Rajasthani Veil
a moment
she wont embrace
isolated
by time and space
she hides
the temerity
of her soul
the serenity
of her face
while
i as a poet
intrude
the silence
of hr sensuality
i keep brace
lighting
her with a
spectral light
i give praise
her dreams
my thoughts chase
a seething void
that needs no phrase
a picture in captivity
must i replace ?
The Girl in the Rajasthani Veil
We met on the bus at Surat , I had shot her in another bus at Ajmer highway , not knowing that our paths would cross.
And if you are as camera trigger happy as I am, it was a blessing in disguise shooting her candid without her male relatives or she being aware of it.
I could not be choosy I simply shot and maybe she was intuitively checkmating me with the furtive poetry of her sensuous personality.
And I will confess I saw her without the Niqab , she was very dark, sultry and there was no beauty on her face , he face was sculpted like any other womans face.
So I come to the premise that even the ugliest woman covered from head to toes looks beautiful in a Niqab.
And I come to another conclusion , man is a curious by nature and he hates what he cant see ,. hence the distrust of the veil or the niqab.
It hurts he ego not being able to see another mans wife , so invariably white man, not part of the religiosity of the veil , makes a huge hue and cry, burn the hijab, ban the hijab.. simply because he cannot visually breach the frontier of the veil.
I know hijras who wear the veil in public simply because they are very beautiful and their possessive lover is scared of sharing his lady love with anyone else.
So I shoot the veil to show you its charismatic pull on the hungry human soul.
And I write this as a gab of modesty without enunciating its inherent virtuosity as spiritual garb.
So the Rajasthani Veil was what I shot and surrendered my soul to its poetry.
And the camera became my pen lighting up a reality in all its spectral soliloquy.
And I never spoke to her at all- but than on the other hand without words she spoke volumes about her femininity her desires her emotions and her tryst with my fate ... on a moving bus from Surat to Mumbai.
I got of at Vasai. highway cutting short my dreams my reverie .. and she flew away on the wings of angels.
No Slippers No Shoes
but school is must
in god we trust
health is wealth
life robust
god is truth
god is just
heat humidity
gust and and dust
right to education
right to adjust
wisdom
knowledge
unending thirst
iron in the soul
wont ever rust
Yahan Sharab Peena Mana Hai
dil mehkhana bana hai
waqt ne sharabi jana hai
sharab steel ke glass main
aur plate pe chana hai
dry day chati pe tana hai
Mother Takes Child To School
she is not sure
whether he
will be caned
mercilessly
beaten
to be ordained
he is naughty
feather brained
capital corporeal
punishment
discipline
maintained
for the teachers
principal
no more strain
spare the rod
spoil the child
strictly maintained
if he hangs himself
or commits suicide
momentary pain
education and end
to make children
into good citizens
long live
the switch cane
weapon of mass
destruction
teachers untrained
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