Secret Palimpsest

A secret,
multi-layered,
lies in my bosom.

Its layers, all there, but not-so-there,
Like a palimpsest,
It attracts all audience,
And gives new meanings to all.

Everyone can have a layer to take with them,
And all can be satisfied.
But only I know the volume of its inscriptions,
And unaware to them,
Decide what layers they are served.

I make meanings for them,
I complete their understanding,
And yet they gloat at what they learnt,
And yet they pride at each possessed layer.

My secret shall be entombed
In my selective memory
In the absyss of my mind
And the chambers of my heart -
You shall see a part
And like the blind feeling the elephant,
Be happy with what you know.

The Smells We Live By

It's the smells we live by.

A whiff of wet earth,
fertile like the ready-to-receive-you woman on the bed inside,
Drive you towards her smell.
And when you awake
from a dream full of sighs, moans and orgasmic raptures,
It's the smell of cigarettes you seek.

Or, maybe it's coffee and tea that calms you,
and, along with Coorgie fragrances or Assamese delights,
A little of strong eucalyptus,
Or the light menthol-tainted Vicks
can soothe your throbbing head.

Late evening,
And the unassailable-but-attacking breeze
from the kitchen
Tells your stomach it's time.
Ravenous smells -
of jaggery, spices and more -
Gobble you up in a frenzy.

You walk along the road,
And penetrating wasps of grey air
tell you how crowded the city is.
Choking, wheezing, strangling smokes
of vehicles, burning tobacco, construction gravel and roting garbage
Leads you on to find your space within.

In your office,
The stagnant AC-ed air,
carrying the breath-odour of your colleagues,
Their sweat and saliva and semen-smells,
Their cologne and perfumes and deodorants,
Mingle with yours
and settle down upon the fabric of your life,
Uncomplainingly.

It's the smells that we live by.

An eternal tale

A long folk-tale is my life,
Re-embellished with each narration,
Re-tarnished with each vituperation -

A long ceaseless ballad,
An epic of gargantuan passions,
No scale to measure,
No depth to unravel -

Curved around each letter,
Hanging on to each word,
A blood-sucking leech,
A slimy slug,
An itchy caterpillar -

A tale of fantasy,
Of repulsion,
Of monstrous proportions -

Meted out in scoopfuls,
To prisoners within my tale,
Thus turning them cannibal,
And becoming a phoenix, a self-creator.

A long folk-tale is my life,
And I shall live in the words as much as in breath.

Thank You Poetry

When smiles are aplenty,
Words always fail me.
I have a lot to thank you for,
O Poetry,
And a lot to apologize too.

You have shown fortitude
As I shed my depressions upon you,
Used you to bludgeon my frustrations,
And pounded you to free my repressions.

You stood by me
As I watched friends go away,
Dreams shatter, and
Life flow away in a stream's chatter.

I gave you no form,
No rhyme, No reason,
No colour,
No body -
And yet you embodied my soul.

Thank you, O Poetry.
You are my alter ego.

You and I (and sometimes another)

I.
It is not just you and I.
It's the world.
And yet we doubt,
cringe,
crib,
and cry at our failures.
Ours, we say,
And lament again.

II.
I looked into the mirror
And saw you.
She was by your side too.
We looked a pretty pair -
You, me and she.

And yet there was an ugliness,
damp as the thunderstorm outside,
making the mirror vapour-ridden.

Suddenly the images become distorted
And we all merge into each other,
forming a shape none of us know.

III.
Your words speak my thoughts
Your poems express my emotions
Your touch resonates my yearning.
My darling,
You and I are meant to be One.

I complete your sentences
I embody your imagination
I blow life into your breath.
My darling,
You and I are meant to be One.

IV.
Where did she come from,
like a sprout on the window sill
After a week of rain?

What is she doing here,
like a blown strand of hair
rolling on the floor amid dust?

Where is she taking you,
like the witches of yore
who enchant and destroy?

V.
You licked my ears,
tingling the soul,
And I heard her laugh
in those very ears.

You cupped my breast
with trembling hands
And I felt her touch,
I saw her shuddder.

You kissed my neck
with a soft-falling breath
And I knew her smell
upon your pink lips.

I see her in you.
Whom do you see in me, darling?

On heartaches and faults

I.

It wasn’t his fault,

Nor was it mine;

And yet guilt hangs around us all the time

Like mist in Coorg,

Or Nainital.

We met one day and parted

with such a deep wound in hearts

that it tore them to shreds,

Like an enlarging tear on clothes.

II.

I lied to him

That I was a virgin.

You are the first to touch me, I said,

And he hugged me in delight,

Slowly sliding his hands up my skirt.

I did not flinch.

He immediately withdrew.

No. you’re not a virgin.

You’ve seen men before.

I don’t want you, he said,

And moved to the next girl in the line.

III.

My heart ached, and the sun smiled at me.

My heart ached, and the sun said goodbye across the sea.

My heart ached, and the moon turned bright and round.

My heart ached, and the moon blackened its visage in grief.

My heart ached, and the winds sang to me.

My heart ached, and the winds roared at my window.

My heart ached, and the dust rose up in a cheer.

My heart ached, and the rain invited me for a dance.

My heart ached… and Mother Nature said, Move On, child.