Boyfriend

It is not you I run from,
it is the change, the inevitability.
I call you 'boyfriend'
with ease,
surprising my craving for difference,
delighting my mind-
yes, with youthfulness.
I am the teenager who met you very late,
the romantic, the poet,
who turned cynic-
too soon,
too soon.

Balloons can still unleash
from my grey mind.
Balloons-
red pink yellow
and also grey.

You stand,
at the rooftop's edge,
letting your kites
out into my sky.
I realize
the need for threads.

22/6/11

Yeti Dreams

Whiteness lies in wait
to be touched
and explored.

Rise,
like mountains from holes
and release of soul
into blue clear sky.

No talk.
no hesitation.
A bird on her virgin flight
into ice
and cold
and numbness of all and every pain.

The weather forecast
of no matter,
the harmful stranger
no threat.
Fear gone
like breath in air.
The knots loosen up
and let go.

Even the Yeti dreams
of its existence
as of a special kind.
Boundary-less,
it scratches upon snow,
and rock cliffs erupt
into a thousand echoes.

There is hardly a sun here
hardly a harsh glare;
only the blue cool moon
in the glittering frozen sky,
a sculpture
cut from piece of midnight
when the owl broods
and the eyes close.

Into distant dreams and longings
the breath releases sighs.

The wish to be understood
The hope to be embraced
This oldest love
of your little life.

-
04/04/12
Rabongla,Sikkim

To One who is not Mine anymore

Coconut trees in columns of three,
love invested with desperation,
on this journey
no dreams match no destinations.
The heart flung into wind
like hurt spread over years.

That name recalled, an old companion.

I am blown away, in dismay
overtaken in this crowd.

Lethal injection pointed at skin
the needle pressing on,
persisting.

What did I leave behind now
that I am unable to flow.
My mind frozen, corners turned
into prickly pears
that feel no love
not thawed by any emotion.
My skin evaporated into dust-
a powder puff, pollen
gathered and scattered.

I can so easily still pretend
to not care anymore
about you.

29/12/12

After Christmas

The morning after Christmas-
I need to sort myself.
Bathed in cake and wine,
the night before churns
in my belly,
pregnant with feasts
I am festive.
A large Santa, a bear huddling in contentment.

The room is still hazy
with the ghosts of the ones
who came bearing gifts,
not wise, but smarter than wise triplets.

I am left alone now
with the pigeons in the balcony.
Too full to desire anything else,
I am cushioned with anticipaton for New Year.
I drink my superficiality
from bottles
that litter the house.

I decide to just sit here,
waiting for time to happen to me
in the passing of the day to the evening,
learning patience and emptiness,
imagining judgements passed on me.

26/12/12

This is not about Protest

Today is a mirror of its own self
I protest, cigarette stubbed into hand

Driving late at night
the guilt flows from my veins
blood oozing from wrists
slashed open through wires
of change-less-ness

I stand, mid-road, naked
cars pass, their lights on high beam,
unaware, unresponsive.
Thrown stripped from a bus
I lie-
mangled and manhandled.
My cry is a savagery
released into the night that
does not stop, does not have time
to care.

I rest my case, my body.
In death, there is no peace,
no protection from vengeance that
rots like my bones, my skin.

'Fearless' they name me
and yet I am scared
of passing into another realm,
outside of memory, and consciousness-
conscience hardly applicable anymore.

I refuse to be pleased
with the outrage, immodest still
with my last breath.

The ceasing of my speech
is when you cease to notice.