Sunday, 27 November 2016

Myriad

A land of villages, religions,
Festivals, shrines and youth.
From Narendra Modi to Rahul Gandhi
Pompous politics and piercing poverty
Everything you can find here
None can you fail to spot.

Bustling Bhojpuri to Kannadigas
To vulnerable Meithei and Mizo
Eight hundred and eighty languages
In twenty-nine states, packed with
Beliefs, attitudes, norms and karma.

From rooted misogyny to fierce feminism
Women politics and CEOs to glorified dowry
Everything was cultivated here
Things merged into sub-things
Goddesses worshipped, devadasis dismissed.

On caste commotion, Aryans blamed
Superior to suppress, fear of flame, exposure
These days, Brahmins also loud-speaker
Reservations, and more reservations
Youth only to sit back and bleat?

Lauded startups to screeching schools
Grinning faces of children, incandescent
Hope, hope do we
There subsists so many mores and folks
Who, when, where, and what do you
Find elsewhere which is so much here?

Saturday, 26 November 2016

A Disgraceful Shadow


Then 'tis ought to be
Past me, behind me
Sideways, left and right.

Lurking, yes it does inside me
Inside and out
Mocking my stature
Black, dull black—

Want to hold it and hold
So tight, it tears from me
Tracks own path.

Liverish, when I look down
Intently it walks and walks
And stops when stops
Who are you?

Hair-brained Physics
Makes a tainted mixture out of it
Enlightens us, does it not
With metallic theories?

Shadow escorts
In violence, friendlessness
A vestige.

That splotch on mud
Who cares?
Fruitless stalker!


Thursday, 10 November 2016

Headache

How does it start?
It is sly.
Like a millipede
Throbbing thousand times.

How do you feel?
Dizzy? Oh, no.
Nauseous? Not that.
Irritation? Far from it.

Then how it actually feels?
A tinge, it murmurs
At the centre
Screeching and scanning.

 La! What luck!
 When you got a headache.
 “Oh sweetheart, you’ve got a headache?
 Please rest and take care of yourselves.”

 You get that pampering
 It feels awesome.
 Not to do anything but
 Slump and stare at the ceiling--

 Scream at it to stop
 To stop that—agonizing
 Raw, stinging, ripping
 Ruthless pulse.

 You clinch your teeth
 Hard and harder
 To make it flee
 Alas! If only it was so meek.

 Then you start reminiscing
 About pleasant things.
 In the middle of it, you fall
 Asleep and it’s dead.

 If you’re at work
 Or have a deadline
 A cup of coffee (or chai)
 Or two will do for you.

 At the end of the day
 When you refresh and respite
 Headache may have vanished
 Or remained—

 All you will feel is
 Your triumph and how
 you worked hard despite it
 Will sink into still sleep.