subah phir honay ko hai

subah phir honay ko hai kumbakht dopehar honay ke baad
shaam ab thumnay ko hai phir se qeher honay ke baad

shaikh jee ro bhi chuko ab qehqahaa liye bohat
aankh num bhi kar chuko tum itna sonay ke baad

raah takte takte thuk gaye hum thakan ka kya kaheN
jo bhi kehnay ko tha hum sun chukay kehnay ke baad

dopehar bhi Theek hai per do nafil ki bheek hai
shaikh-eeyat Thaan li ik nafil paRhnay ke baad

kya qatal gaahoN ki manzil shab per hoti hai khatam
kya wuzoo ka karobaar garm hoga sehar honay ke baad.


The blight furnishes itself in dollops of oohs and aahs and
Brilliants and skirmishes of angst battling with overdoses

Of what it means to be and the right of animals and the
Forsaken guilt trips, the armchair residues of permanent

Philosophy, of moral turpitude, the glass full of anaemic
Passion juice, and the urgency, the tepid urgency of

Shodden matters, trodden with loud hats and excuse
Me pleases, excuse you jesus, and the line that is taut

Just enough so as not to break, but bending is allowed
Otherwise it breaks, the brilliants and skirmishes come

Tumbling down; the blight is furnished o so often but
Not often enough, the oohs the aahs, and thank yous.


Platitude often get missed when the door to revelry is
Bolted to the sky, when the cave that leads to loudness
Is speared on to the veryness of every every day and
When fear of flying lies dormant in your pocket with
The odd visiting card and a piece of unused tissue paper.

Prelude to a history of the Other

I. The act in reflection
The act beholds its reflection
The reflection stays its course
The course amends parity
Parity refuses to lock horns

The course beholds its reflection
The reflection behooves its might
The might refers to obscurity
Obscurity defends the norms

The might beholds its reflection
The reflection surrounds its glare
The glare offends purity
Purity succumbs to harm.

II. The act in rebellion
The act in rebellion standing up
Not wanting to stare history’s judgement in shame, not feeling
The want of reason to call history by name, not
Acting to judge reason for want of shame. To
Act, to
Judge, to Shame.

III. Prelude to a history of the Other
Should it be written in dark syllables, and
If so, would the shades of prey amount
To anything other than a macroscopic case
Of dignified indigestion burped away in
Metals rare and unrare, soils dropped from
Heaven’s dictate, and animals, yes animals?

The betrothed arrow

The betrothed arrow is sunkish-fied
       In Eden in pockets of Eden
Where glass breaks gently and
Grasshoppers bend over backwards stealing light.

The arrowroot groom is drunkish-fied
       In Stupor in languid Stupor
When voice glides gently and
Treespiders caress day all day fleeting light.

The wedded mark is torpish-fied
       In Zeal in rabid Zeal
Where act slides gently and
Sandwipers whisper to the sun glimpsing light.


When the grain of sand is plastered
                                                        On rivers of sawdust, you can
Exclaim and pronounce the proceedings
                                                        Dead. You may climb the ratcheted
Stairway leading the charge against
                                                        Time. And you may derive umpteen
Equations equating dishonor with
                    Dread. But time will pass in empty
Containers overflowing with rhombus

The void is leeched

The void is leeched onto my platter of to-dos and not-to-dos
The list of haplessness grazes against the pitter-patter of evening rain
Where crows will raze their voices silent and bluster of noon
Mingles with the earthworm sighing its daily bread: dirt doing its rounds.

Have grits of hope for breakfast, make a sign of crucifixion for peace when
The neighbor fails to greet you with heavy heart and tin smile. Break bread
Again like the earthworm does. And have grits of hope for breakfast, heave
The elements together into a whole pitter-pattered onto a pastiche (pastiche?!!)

Look ahead then as gray clouds part to reveal a tempestuous sun now
Tired of bringing light, tired of being the beacon for eons. Someone else take
Up the lantern, it moans, the earthworm perhaps? Doing its earthly rounds
Sighing its daily bread away in grits of hope, giving the tired sun a break for now.

past as present

Let the past thrust itself on to the fore, dying
Fathers resurrect themselves as their children
Live out the past as present.

Let the myth dissemble into a tale with characters
Intelligently prancing about in plot circles wishing there
Was an escape hatch somewhere.

Let the now reek of the act, the stage immerse
Itself in the surge of applause, the actor remember
That only his will will save.


Just as there is a federation of power bases loosely coupled there is
too a loose affiliation of underlying water springs that tend to the lowest
positions and aspire only to come together and mingle; perhaps one day
they will gush upstream.