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Monday, April 27, 2009

different but also the same

distinguishing myself from stones
that are neatly cut
and plastered on your walls
immobility imprisoned
by a three piece suit of white wash

chiselled and beautiful, I am
yet breathless
although an example
of patience
standing, still-silent
singing while breving
weather-scroched
yet standing still and patiently

MY INDEPENDENT COUNTRY(or is it?)

a whiskey bottle in my right
a malboro cigarette in my left
wandering how it feels to be alive
feeling the chain of constraint
letting my marginalised voice to be heard
screaming my heart out almost bursting my lungs
trying to smile like Leo's Monalisa
or trying to scream like Edvard's Scream
even tried to make myself a Picasso's cube
but my identity, branded, and up for sale
in a nearby shopping mall in this capitalistic hell
my forehead bore the brand Indian

John Lennon told us to "Imagine" a world with no possession
Bob Dylan, told the world about "the times they are a-changing"
Bob Marley told us to "stand up for your right"
since singers are the common man's poets
I listened to them,
reconstructing and deconstructing myself
and my capitalistic hell
my base and suprestructure,
swinging to and fro
conquered half the world like Genghis Khan
left those kingdoms like The Buddha
still my marginalised voice not yet heard

I am an Indian, a freedom fighter,
the man who shot Gandhi,a Jihadi...and god knows what
drinking my last peg of whiskey
smoking my last puff of cigarette
still trying to reconstruct and deconstruct myself
and my capitalistic hell
oh!! Nike i just did it...

a poem on freedom

I am a man bound by freedom
I am so free that time and time again
my freedom constantly binds me
am I a slave to my own freedom?
sometimes I'm so free I cant even see the sky
and I'm so bound that I can run like an arabic horse

standing on a platform
made by fools for fools
am I a fool like them?
perhaps yes
I've sold myself to my own freedom
I am not as cool tempered as I used to be
I am not as loving as I used to be

Oh! hell!!
I have not even sold my soul to the devil
as Marlowe's Doctor Faustus did
I dont even practice some occult bullshit
like Aleister Crowley
so that qualifies me to be burnt alive
just like you fools burnt Joan of Arc
yet there is a void within me
seems like I have finally sold my soul
not to the devil....but to my own freedom
and the price???

My Little Oxford Dictionary

who said an Oxford dictionary is the best?
why cant a cheaper Indian edition replace this Oxford dictionary?
why do the teachers recommend the small tender minds of class II
to have the Oxford dictionary?
is this imperialism in education?
are we compromising with the education of our young minds?
has colonialism finally hit education?
one day i hope to find an answer
as an entry
in My Little Oxford Dictionary
can the sun ever set on the British Empire???

surrealistically realistic


a dream land far far away
a utopia,just two blocks away
bourgeois drinking whiskey on the rocks
a the capitalists drinking vodka
for a change....
would'nt that be a sight
like some 'black holes'
waiting to be 'big banged'

a light leading the wrong way
time not running away
but fading
trees melting,
got to stop global warming
nuclear weapons freezing,
sorry..please continue the global warming
(without it you wll not have power)

a coloniser in a post-colonial land
a rapist in a brothel
a woman in the land of eunuchs
a faceless person
in front of the mirror
'guys' chewing grass
in the land of 'guys' dancing to some hip-hop melody

saying this I remove my mask
revealing my faceless face
to the man standing in the mirror....
(painting by a surrealist painter Salvador Dali Le Sommeil)