I speak what you don’t want to say
You speak a language, I don’t want to hear
My ears, my tongue, my lips and my ass
They aren’t purified in the verbosity of poetry
but scandalised and tormented
in the burning heat
that makes me
taste a language
saline and bitter;
the chillie-rimmed glass
of this hand job
ejaculates in blood and tears.
We no longer speak
because we were dead
or we never existed,
Let’s not conjoin fingers
in an expression of orgy across world
or either shriek in pain
to the loud drums beatings outside the house.
I lack words,
when my eyes are shut
and my ears are sealed
and a hum of a metro
or a toy train rattling off
in distance; in and through the
ragged entrances of black boulders
cut into neat arches
dispersed among the pines and the spruces
Disappearing and appearing
synchronous with my warm chest
kept warm by the many layers of clothings
that adorns my fragile body.
My body trembles
shivers at the sight of it’s sound
Now, running through the green grass
leaving footprints,making darker shades of green portraits
brushed away by the evening wind.
The sound of a ceiling fan
the sound of an alarm clock
the thumpings on the door and the walls
mellowing into a scream of unisex cry.
I stood at the balcony
staring at the blue sky
the rumblings now far less evident
freezing in the cold wind; my ears getting warmer,
It had passed.
This weather is the worst.
It makes people sick!
Sometimes, like a cold blanket
And sometimes, like an over-fed fire place.
This city isn’t Hawaii
Covered by warm, clear skies
With the sound of waves rushing
Into the lands,
Large noise of motorbikes,
The swarm of office-going bees,
And the occasional azaan in the air.
But the large buildings
Rusting into time
Have cast long shadows
Enough, have you taunted me,
Walk out of the cloudy skies!
And shine forth your glamourous shine
I am a poor boy in lack of Vitamin D.
white eyes of Bellagio Suites
stare into the crisp shadows hiding me–
forming from men hanging their day’s spent
on parallel lines of black cable wires
their now drenched, detergent smelling jerseys
leaves puddles on hot terraces.
While, I stand
Smell of coffee wafting
the yellow lights yellower than a jaundice patient
brighten more than the neighbor;s dusty car
I feel breezy
and hear caressing. Like waves falling one on top of other.
forming a effervescent froth on the top; a taste of saline
Fish pickled in vinegar.
But honestly, these silent beings,
made of flesh and concrete
steel and blood
to my constant chatter
only speaking among the shadows
their long bodies cast.
But when I look,
far and wide;
a city far away
with far less people
with nevertheless, a million lights.
We all shared a fantasy
about college walls
under the scent of adolescent penis,
bleeding profusely in the color of red
forming the sickle-hammer flag.
Of a giant knowledge tree,
leaves were rolled in paper–I could hear the trees
screaming– burnt at the crushed, twisted edges
while our hearts flew into palpitations,,
each fag produced a ideational obeisance
of which we knew little.
Or a much more,
to rebel and destroy,
even the bell the rings regularly,
invariably, making me salivate,
but nevertheless, an absence of hierarchy.
And like school children
we would walk out of classes
or sulk in corners.
But what kept us together
was a silent yet intelligent voice
which kept screaming
On listening to Howl in the morning
Among kneeling at the church,
and confession boxes,
And proclaiming Christ as the savior,
In musty creaky ceilings
where pigeons haunt like
the Holy Spirit; with fire they descend their shit
while we pray. We howl to a deaf God.
The poorly tied knot,
On my alter boy robes. The smell of frankincense and myrr.
Holy Lord! Why do you need so much fragrance?
Do you stink?
Or do your servants do not obey?
that you fog our eyes
Until we choke on our prayers.
In suspended ash and myrr,
My mind is a like Pilate’s bowl;
It wants to be clean,
But it’s stained with memories.
Memories that flood the cities
Until they wash away people
And its streetlights.
And there you appear
In heavenly divine attire
In sing-song tune
Out of the priest’s mouth—I
look around. They scream God
yet they love you
It’s you who burns their heart.
They all walked out
naked. weightless and guiltless.
Woe these people!
who create prisons out of your words
who wear rich armaments and golden crosses.
You set hands free
to masturbate on typewriters
Broken minds waltz in your blanket
Tears running down I say
They call you God.
He sat outside while it rained. The red asbestos sheet sheltering him and the dog. Mother was making coffee in the newly shiny decoction set. And he could see it from the window.
Rain was getting heavier. Clouds were clashing against each other with vengeance. Sparks from flying off the electricity pole. He pulled another chair and put his feet on top of it. The sound of the rain falling made it impossible for him listen to his mother calling him.
She came and nudged him.
Startled and shocked, he let out a shriek—shriller than a girl—and dropped the coffee on the white tiles. He held the steel cup with the coffee falling all over and kept it on the wooden table. Continue reading “Fever”