lies II

my white coloured lie
hiding from my black coloured truth

black and white submerged
standing right in front of me

a bit of ying
a bit of yang

here I stand,
colourless,motionless,yingless and yangless

surrealistically realistic

a dream land far far away

a utopia,just two blocks away

bourgeoisie drinking whiskey on the rocks

and 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 will 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)

a romantically unromantic poem

"I wandered lonely as a cloud"
I was left all alone in solitude
when I realised the "cloud" was a mushroom "cloud".
The "skylark" flying above my "cloud"
droping bombs, blasting aloud.
Resembling an automatic firing weapon
are the songs of the "nightingale"
not as sweet as it used to be.

The "west wind" blowing from the American shores
a "destroyer and preserver"
"destroyer" of mankind "preserver" of power.
Winter goes, spring comes
new weather, new flowers blossoming
and celebrating the coming of new life
like celebrating the coming of a different coloured President
truely a "destroyer and preserver"

a whole universe in a grain of rice
a whole natural world in a proton of an atom bomb
a whole Hiroshima on a drop of due
creation and destruction-a myth renewed
truely I wander "lonely as a cloud"

LIES I

she lies by my side in bed
yet she lies to me

she makes love to me while she lies
she hides her face with her hair
yet she lies by my side

she talks to me,
she touches me
filling me with fear inside
and anxiety outside

she declassifies her classified lies
reaching for the forbidden fruit,
still by my side, she lies

I removed gently
the hair covering her face
for the first time, saw her eyes
her dark iris full of lies

I saw her face
turned red, blue and then yellow
appearing as a mirror
showing my own reflection
and yet she lies

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???