Patriarchal Frame

"Hey, feminazi! What's your game?
Both sexes have it almost the same!”

He drops her. Then picks her too.

Even when she doesn’t have a flu.

  “Bhai, please don’t be a glue!”

         Now he dates another

With a brother; just like him. 

Chances of a kiss are slim. So he 

drives away through lanes of grim.

Unaware how his sister must feel 

while moving as per his whim.

“Hey, feminazi! Where’s your shame?

He loves you, yet that you disclaim!”

Meanwhile, In another house,

Mother of a girl without a brother says,

“Don’t go alone, take that guy along!”

“Are you with him? Call me from his sim.”

“Will he Protect? Is he a Threat?”

After all, the world’s not perfect.

But had I been a boy, would she still fret?

“Hey, feminazi! Look, what you became?

Now it’s your mother who you defame!”

Father, I don’t hate you, 

For trying to control my fate.

But it’s my life and it’s been late.

Let me choose my own mate!

Why are we even having this debate?

Alas, it’s a checkmate.

Call it lust if you must.

Call it sin to get under my skin.

I know it will hurt your pride

But Sorry, 

I am no longer an ideal, virgin bride.

Please don’t make me run or hide.

I beg you, come to my side.

“Hey, feminazi! Who’ll you now maim?

After setting your entire family aflame!”

Shame me for my sexual desires.
Blame me for not giving you a son.
And then call it 'almost the same'.
I am not an animal you must tame.
Or a property, you could claim.

Do you still wonder what's my game?

That’s right! 
I want to break your patriarchal frame.



(Theme: Politics, Form: Free Verse)

आज रात

ख्वाइश है तुमसे मिल पाऊँ आज रात
डर है  कि फिर ना खो जाऊँ आज रात

तुम्हारी उन  रेशम सी  पुरानी  बातों में
तुम्हें ही  क्यों ना उलझाऊँ  आज रात

वो दिन, वो रातें ! कुछ  अनकही बातें
इरादा है, उन्हे तुमसे बचाऊँ आज रात

अपनी इतनी नाकामियों की वजहें भी   
तो किस-किस  को  सुनाऊँ आज रात

रातभर छत पे सितारे गिनते-गिनते
जी  भर के  चिल्लाऊं  आज रात

दर्द को चेहरे से हटा, आँचल में छिपा
क्या-क्या कर खुदको सताऊं आज रात



(Theme: Pain, Form: Ghazal)

Mughal and Moradabad

(Please use headsets to avoid the noise)
Part 1

Part 2
मुग़ल और मुरादाबाद

मेने आज ही
मुग़लों के  बारे मे किताब मे पढ़ा
दिलचप्स लोग थे और शायद पड़ोस मे ही रहते थे
तो ढूँढने उनको में भी निकल पड़ा
छाना अपना सारा मोहल्ला
पूरा का पूरा मुग़लपुरा

तंग आके मेने पूछा, की चचा
ये मुगल मुगलपुरे मे नही रहते क्या ?
चाचा ने मस्त हुक्कह फूकते हुए कहा
वो तुम्हे घुइयाँ बाग़ मे मिल जाएँगे
कुछ मुगल भिष्तीओं के मक़ानो से  पहले
वहीं घुइयाँ बाग़ मे रहते हैं
तो में घुइयाँ बाग़ गया
वहाँ ना तो घुइयाँ थी और ना ही बाग
और मुगल तो घुइयाँ ना मिले

हाँ एक पोस्टर ज़रूर दिखा
“मुगल-ए-आज़म” का
मैं दौड़ा दौड़ा सबसे पास के टाकीज़ गया

जो बारह दरी  के पास था,
वहाँ एक भी दरी  ना दिखी
 पर कमल टाकीज़ दिख गया
वहाँ कुछ पोस्टर लगे थे
जो मुझे समझ नहीं आरहे थे
तड़पती जवानी , प्यासी पड़ोसन, भूकी भाभी,
यहाँ ज़ुरूर बेचारे भूके प्यासे लोगों की
फिल्में दिखाई जाती होंगी

बहराल में आगे बढ़ा
मुगलों की तलाश में
गुरहट्टी  पर छोटी सी दुकान थी
जिसपर  लिखा था गुरु की हट्टी
दुकान छोटी थी पर भीड़ बहुत ज़्यादा
शायद वहाँ शरबत बॅट रहा था
हमारे मोहल्ले मे क्यूँ नहीं बँटता ऐसा शरबत?

शरबत के इंतिज़ार मे खड़े
एक सज्जन से मेने पूछा
“जनाब ये मुग़ल कहाँ मिलेंगे?”
“कम्बख़्त! वो ज़ालिम मुग़ल तो
सारे क सारे मर गये
अब तो मक़बरे मे ही मिलेंगे”

मैं खुश हो गया की मक़बरा तो
मुग़लपूरा के पीछे ही है
और वहीं तो मेरा घर था

घर जाते वक़्त बहुत  सी दिलचस्प जगहें पड़ीं पर
बूढ़ों क चौरहे पर तो बूढ़े थे ही नही
हाँ ईदगाह पर ईदगाह थी
दो चौराहे और
दो पुलियाँ भी पड़ीं
पर बाकी मोहल्लों की तरहा
लंगड़े  की पुलिया पे
ना तो लंगड़ा था ना ही पुलिया
पर मज़े की बात ये थी
कि चमारों की पुलिया को लोग
 अब इंद्रा चौक कह रहे थे

और जिन शक़स ने मुझे ये इल्म दिया
उन्होने ही बड़े प्यार से समझाया
"बेटा बेशक मुग़ल मर गये
मुग़लपूरे मे जो ज़ात से मुग़ल हैं वो रहते हैं
जैसे कंजरी सराए मे कंज़र, और पीरज़ादे मे जुलाहे
बेटा तुम ग़लत शहर मे ढूँढ रहे हो
मुगलों के मक़बरे तो दिल्ली और आगरा में मिलेंगे
यहाँ  मुरादाबाद में नहीं!"

Drive with Dad

Sun rose high above a gloomy Monday,
a father and son silenced in a blue car.
He gazed outside the busy streets of Pala
while his father took over the wheels.

They went past statue and his dad broke the silence,
"How are you doing?"
expecting an answer from the back
that ended with a single sigh.

He drove along the bridge, over the lake
and threw a question on studies
which he answered,
but in a single word.

As distance went by, words just added up.
As distance went by, bonds just added up.

Time pass by, so did clouds spread
and the heavy rain washed away  the blue.

Talk went long along the NH till their home.
A bond was born again,
with a trail of blue, dripping along the Gandhi street.

Easier said than done

Often when I visit

the hills or a

pristine beach 

for a mini vacation

I end up saying

that life would

be much better

there, and how I

wish to make a shift

sooner or later.

Then why does a

long stay

at the same pretty

place, reminds me

of the concrete and
clutter, which are

functional body parts

of where I have lived

since forever. Why do

I begin to miss the

place I have shrewdly

criticized all my life

for a million reasons?

It is as if a part of

me is always there-

shining with the

T3 lights,
even  at midnight
Moving through
 the spiteful summer air.

Gorging away to glory,
Golgappas and kulfi
Chattering and

adding to the prevalent

noise pollution.

Star trekkin’ 
through the night smog.

That part of me 
turns on the ignition
 of a vehicle

called saudade
on which I race
back home
because

at the end of the

day it is easier

said than done.

---

[1] (Portuguese) meaning love that remains. (especially with reference to songs or poetry) a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia 

Lucknow in love.

I'm crossing Hazratganj traffic to meet you, don't make me wait he said.
That's nothing I would walk through Budhh Bazar for you, I was quick to retort.
We went through Aminabad on foot just to see his old cricket ground.
He wanted to drive me to Ferozabad but a fight got us turned around.
We went for morning mass at Cathedral and read Rumi over chai at Sharma
We ate Eid biryani at his friend's in Chowk but he swore by the sewaiyan at Nakka.
Ashiana was too far but we went for the new place that served beer
He dropped me till SRS that day despite his hatred for Gomti Nagar
I promised to overcome my fear and go to Chowk with him in return.
He was too scared to let go of my hand as I ran through the maze of Bada Imambada.
We got stuck at the Indira Nagar jam one day and he held my hand for an hour
I cried into his new shirt when he let me drop him till the Charbagh chauraha
I walked through Buddh Bazar once several years later and swore I saw him in the crowd
He turned around and didn't glance back just as he had that once.

I live twice the minutes compressed into one

I live twice the minutes compressed into one 

and I take long strides, 

strategically pull my eyelids down 

let my eyes slide to the deserted side,

fast streets and faces pass like apparitions. I have no qualms 

until the life slows down. 

In crowded markets of the city, 

I am lost long before

mother told me to buy the groceries 

so I make up amusing stories, 

she believes them all, but never when I tell her to see 

my pounding heart operating my legs 

in ways that they flee from the rest of me, 

The road to the school scribbled in detours, 

in classrooms, well, there I am just too exposed, 

like the fresh batch of flowers 

afraid someone might pluck them off, 

you might ask why 

and my english teacher would reply “He’s just shy”. 

Perhaps if she saw me lit up like a Christmas tree, 

my body that folds 

like the ends of the shirt sleeve that meet 

she would disagree. 

I don’t get to rest in the drawer anyway, bad luck, 

there’s maths, then physics and I am already sick 

with cramps in my stomach, 

teacher please, don’t ask me to recite Ozymandias, 

don’t you see 

I am already dust from the inside, 

and you guys 

do not shout out my name, 

what’s the matter with you 

why do you all talk so loud? 

I’d melt away before your vanilla ice cream, 

let me imprison myself in your giggles 

but don’t burn my frail shell in the public eye, 

all my parts are tickled 

by strange gaze and stranger voices, 

one springs to the left, other to the right 

and rest walk clumsily 

back home to hide, 

When the city sleeps at night 

I whirl in worries, in hazy conversations yet to take place 

I author the play that is my future and grow my years in same loops

to turn at parties in college, my lips clasped too tight, 

I wonder, too little too much, what’s the duration of a perfect smile.

Soon the weather changes one floor above my eyesight, 

everything too loud and quiet at once, 

no one can hear, probably it’s music, 

but here, it’s noise,

my heartbeat parading its heavy foot all over my body 

“You too?”, in a slurry tone, they’d ask me. 

maybe, who knows. 

maybe my social anxiety is a perfect ecstasy

to those who peer inside,

but I think it won’t be, 

if I wore my mind outside.

Faces

Video

Tick tock.

I board the train at Bandra.

Tired, old, worn out faces look at me.

Tired, old, worn out faces look straight through me.

The monotony of it all overwhelms me.

A baby cries. Someone sneezes.

I am sorry.

Tick tock.

Vinod smiles at me.

Vinod has a ring on his finger.

He had his wedding yesterday.

Marriage- the mundanity of it overwhelms me.

I smile back.

I am sorry.

Tick tock.

Sahil waves at me.

Sahil has a school bag on his shoulders.

His shoulders are drooping.

Education- the dullness of it overwhelms me.

I wave back.

I am sorry.

Tick tock.

Ritu looks at me.

Ritu rubs her fingers against her belly.

She is pregnant.

Life- the mechanical creation of it overwhelms me.

I look away.

I am sorry.

Tick tock.

Our eyes meet.

Your shoulders are heavy.

You look at me. You nod. You understand.

The monochrome overwhelms you.

I am not sorry anymore.

See you soon, love.

Boom.

Six Fingers

We would run hard,
when the days were short and cold,
from one end of the village to the other,
to the river.

The quickest gets to dive first.
If he wished,
he would invite the second.

Six Fingers was always the quickest.

The last I saw him,
he took his first dive,
ran towards me with a snake in his fist.

In fear, frozen and pushed I stood,
against the headless coconut tree:
Snake held to my face,
his eyes were wide and windowed his delight.

I ran home. Left to the City.
Never would I see Six Fingers again.
Grandma told me he's dead.
But I would like to see that palm again. 

In Waves

Video

Come.

Tangerine waves of happiness

slowly rise

from between cotton candy clouds.

They hit curves- 

our smiles and searing eyes, 

as we lend our fears

for the bed to hold. 

And we rise.

The aroma of coffee mixed

with the crisp morning mist touches our lips, 

we taste the city in our kiss.

Silence embraced 

with slight whispers of cars.

People walk by, their feet crushing leaves,

we stand near the window. 

We stare.

The seventh floor holds hands

with the breeze.

We discover,

but not in vain.

We pass life by in local trains. 

Unaware of all the memories 

that we bump into, 

making our way 

through time crowded on platforms,

we settle in a metal wonder

filled with sweat, 

rust and hard work.

Gulmohar reach out to us.

We dance on roads full of traffic,

just to walk through the freckles 

where the leaves let the gold pour through.

A minute later, we huddle in an auto,

the raindrops rush in,

they feel our love.

Raindrops,

splashes of love.

The city too demands to overflow.

The Arabian Sea sings to us its poetry,

our legs swinging in empty air.

It asks us to seek wisdom

in faces and places

of a forgotten time.

We’re living our future

and their past.

The green of the palm trees 

blends in with the queen,

the necklace envelopes

us into a blanket.

Salty conversations nudging

the city awake.

Raves.

Heart-breaks, dreams.

This city never sleeps.

Fearless stars speak

to the sky-line glimmering below.

Our souls are content,

you look over with tired eyes. 

Yet, our hearts still burn tangerine

and drink in gold.

You won’t be able to leave,

the city won't let you go.

Just like me.

90 seconds

At a traffic signal, on a sunny day, an Audi stopped next to an Atlas.

They smiled at each other with a slight discomfort.

“Here you are again”, said Atlas, to her old friend

To which she replied, “As if we’ll ever be apart”.

Atlas, with a spark in her eyes, said,

 “I wish it were true. I wish we had the same roads to take.”

“I think you’ll never be contented. We’re next to each other

every now and then”, was Audi’s reply.

“Next to each other, but lanes apart”, said Atlas in despair.

Home

Tired - Harsha

Tiredness is between
shrugged      shoulders
         crushed in
the 6pm metro, carrying
tomorrow's work
home tonight.
But then somedays,
tiredness is in
the next morning
waiting 5 mins. for a bus
to school
but then, also in
waiting another 5
for the next one
to arrive
                with a seat
left to occupy.
But see, tiredness tries.
It really tries
to fit inside
this 9th grade guy
who travels
an hour
E X T R A
in the bus
to see this girl get recieved
by her boy
at a stop
closer to this bar
that I was talking about.

Ghanta Ghar, Dehradun

Time's hands locked together atop Chakrata brick
that dwarfed everything, and yet not so.

They’d stayed still, the lovers, amidst Race Course flow
that was quick, and yet not so.

They plan schedules for Connaught's beggars,
that are packed, and yet not so.

They parted stiffly one Rajpur morning, overlooking Josephite soul
that rarely looked at them, yet that day, he did so. 

No longer frozen in the dial , they smiled Kumar smiles.
I was leaving Dehra, and yet not so.

The Heretic

Petals strewn upon the earth, the blessed of Jahannam applaud now.

Listen to the pained cries of broken children, isn’t that odd now?

The Book that taught you so well could not show the world how.

They couldn’t fix you, they gave up, they say you’re flawed now.

They took away your money, your life and your cow.

Pseudo- liberalists have got us awed now.

Disallowed, disavowed, no bough to rest under, a broken plough,

They lied to you so much, Rudra wonders, where is your God now?

Limitless

Limitless love for you,

my precious.

Make sure to meet before 10 pm. 

We Are

We are,
the ones who take the bullet
the usual victims of hate
Hapless willingness to flee,
we are the popular bait

The ones who've rarely seen tranquil,
searching for safe places
as the sounds from the mighty gun
wipe the smiles from our faces

We are,
the ones who try to fit in
the ones who don't get to choose
the millions of silent masses,
speaking through the news

We are the growing damage
from the negligence and strife
as the eerie clock ticks away
the value of a human life

We are the civilians.

Thank you Akhil Sir

There was no poet inside me

I am from engineering like everyone else

I always tried to stay away from literature

then I took Crafting Poems as UWE

and met the best poet I have ever seen, Akhil Sir.

Everyone alternate morning I went to D218

sleepy like a panda, trying to understand poetry

with time my words shaped itself into poems

then I started typing poems on my laptop

There is a poet inside of me.

-Rishabh Ranjan RR7

Countdown to 2020

Golden bird is no longer gold

but some say it’s gonna fly again

it’s gonna shine bright again

it’s gonna become a Superpower

By the year Twenty Twenty.

Two girls were stripped by teachers

for scoring poor marks in class test.

Let’s hope it helps them to study hard

and one day make this country

A Superpower by Twenty Twenty.

A guy was killed over cow slaughter

or maybe because he was a muslim.

So hide your identity and hope

cows help in developing the nation

A Superpower by Twenty Twenty.

Same people voted for government

are conducting riots everywhere

over rapists, terrorists and religion.

Hope these riots makes the state

A Superpower by Twenty Twenty.

India will become a

superpower by 2020,

won’t she?

Let’s hope and

watch...

-Rishabh Ranjan RR7

Pillow Plane (Gazal)

High, high, sky high Dad stood:
On my Pillow Plane together we stood.

As the cool wind blew wild onto us,
On my Pillow Plane together we stood.

With Blue Moon above and Grey one below,
Amidst the live stars, together we stood.

Along the long lit stream, on my soft plane
with his dear song, all alone we stood.

This Pillow Plane in my head, over the years,
like a frozen clock by the bed, it stood.

Sibbles

The clouds roll and rumble behind Sibbles; 

Si twirls and hops by the booing bubbles;

all wet and dirt on her dancing doubles;

Hawks gawk and seek busy silly Sibbles.

Rains Remind Me of You

The clouds come rushing to my sky,
And I don't want to say them goodbye.
As the sky wears a veil of grey and blue
The rains remind me of you,
The rains remind me of you.

I look up to the sky, and see the birds fly
Dreaming of flying up with their crew,
The rains remind me of you,
The rains remind me of you.

As the heavenly drops fall, I can feel the smell
Feels like nothing can go wrong, all is well!
Gratefully I thank almighty
seems like heaven already knew,
That the rains remind me of you,
The rains remind me of you.

I see the clouds creep,
And they've started to weep.
My thoughts wander from Tinkerbell to Tolstoy
And I realize that these tears are of joy.
And as I see a rainbow while the clouds disappear from the view
The rains remind me of you, the rains remind me of you.

All around me I see people rushing by and by,
Say they love the rains but find shelter when it comes, oh my,
And as I look for your face in thousands new,
The rains remind me of you, the rains remind me of you.

I see the dry lands getting wet and a new sapling grows,
While a current just like a river in my blood flows,
And I can feel, I can feel the chillers from my tips to toes,
What tomorrow brings, no one knows,
A rose has thorns? Or thorns have a rose?
And as I find a rose between the thorns, it's a feeling new,
The rains remind me of you, the rains remind me of you.

I Imagine two young fellas, getting drenched, having fun,
Not two separate entities, they're two in one,
And as I dream and stare towards the two,
The rains remind me of you, the rains remind me of you.

I look up to the moon, in hopes you also do,
I talk to him as it carries my ode to you,
I see a halo around it, and I know it's true,
The rains remind me of you, the rains remind me of you.

And as I lie here amused on the porch,
Spellbound as I see the clouds
glowing by moon's torch.
I find thousand reason to be happy
And my worries are few.
And I realize all those reasons lead to you,
You know it's true,
The rains remind me of you,
The rains remind me of you.

Atlantis

The news is the orchestra at dinner

the symphony rages at the border

my father glued to the screen, spoons hang limp without any order

as the nations begin to suspect one another.

The voices raise, the presenters scramble to strangle the opposition

the meat curry gets cold with time, hands don’t recognise hands across the field. 

For the dessert my grandfather’s voice quivers as he begins to say

what it would be like to see home once again,

and I know what he means is what remains of it

a home that hasn't invited us again.

I have googled Sindh too many times 

to know the bridges and rivers he has memorised 

to still not know the house by river beaming with a childhood 

of cold dips in the lake and breakfast of flaky pakwan 

hinged with running with a sack and small bag, 

on the midnight meat train.

Sky turns to grass to bid farewell

to the house that cannot run anymore, to the wheat fields uprooted of  palms interlocked

My father is at a loss for words, the violin strings another tune looted of identity, of lands. 

There aren’t flights to reconstruct the city of memories.

There aren’t flights to reach a lover shaking hands with a bullet in their palm. 

My grandfather dreams of nation of arid lands scripted from from right to left, 

of languages I half-heartedly speak, of a script that refuses to unbutton for my generation. 

Somebody switches off the T.V.

I begin to acknowledge we are losing this history, 

my grandfather and I have played too much carom to know

between fact and fiction this is all I will ever know of heritage.

Represent

Although one word repeated thrice

Will no longer bring a movement to its knees,

I shall indulge in sour grapes

For as long as it takes Democracy

To understand the Hypocrisy

That it was five men who decided the fate

Of a hundred million women.

Can I?

Hi!
I have a thought. Just something up on my mind.
But first, I wanna know,
Can I say that?
I wrote a poem, I've made a song,
But just so you know, for the sake of consent,
Can I play That?

Would someone mind if I speak mind out loud
because I still am not aware if the practice is allowed.
Don't worry, I'm not you, I won't shout
Just hear it once, and you will know what it is about.

You know, once in a while, sometimes at night,
I speak up, practice my fundamental right.
But then I switch to whispering and then I go dumb,
I am sorry, but now I can't trust even the moonlight.

Can I, just for once, say freedom, can I?
I won't yell it, I'll just say it, to none but myself,
so I would know that it is but an illusion ... oh wait,
First tell me, Can I even say that?

Road-trippin'

Road-trippin’ with good old Honest Abe,
we speed on Century Highway in the USA.
He spots the mushroom gate of exit 1945,
decides to see how the West has thrived.

Little boys throw stones at President Truman.
Abe is shocked, says they aren’t human.
Fat men punch Robert Oppenheimer.
Both weep blood and cough fire.

The sky turns rainbow as we enter California.
John and Paul sing as George smokes marijuana.
Ringo plays the drums for olive-carrying doves.
Come together, all you need is love.

Skyscrapers start falling as we hit the East Coast.
Subways turn into caves, two trade towers to toast.
President Bush consoles the population.
Razes markets with mosques, eases CNN’s frustration.

Go to Chicago for the NBA, see only white players.
Wearing silicon crowns, all of them kiss their lawyers.
Page, Gates, Musk and Zuck dribble secrets and cry foul.
Jobs dunks the planet and grins. Lisa can’t pay for school.

No car survives the drive over Detroit Bridge, I tell Abe.
Kim, Debbie, Stan, and Matt gave Marshall brain damage.
We see him crying over his daughter’s dead body,
choking women who all scream love for Shady.

Abe’s had it now, says he can’t handle it anymore.
I tell him there’s a city in Nevada where spirits soar.
So we go, him and I, to sinful Las Vegas.
President Donald shoots both of us.

Nirbhaya?

Walk. Walk.

Stare.

Clothes. Long.

Stare.

Clothes. Short.

Stare.

Friend. Boy.

Stare.

Friend. Girl.

Stare.

Short? Wrong.

Stare.

Tall? Wrong.

Stare.

Alone. Scared.

Stare.

Alleyway. Drag.

Stare.

Clothes. Tear.

Stare.
         Stare.

                  Stare.

                          Stare.

Cry. Help. Scream.

Blink.

Maa

Aaj dikhi nahi aankhein, na suni aawaz tumhari,

Na khauf mein kampa dil, na baat hui tumhari.

Dasht-e-paayan se guzarti hai raah-e-fanaa,

Darakhton par phooli nahi nawaazish tumhari.

Kyon hai raaz yeh qurbaat, oh mere musaalsal?

Na khile uns ke gulab, na padi ikhlaas ki Shabnam tumhari.

Humne Baais-e-tarq-e-t’alluq toh diye hazaaron,

Inaayaat fir bhi bhooli nahi tumhari.

Bees saal beete, shayad marasim soumy nahi,

Par shiddat se yaad roz aati hai tumhari.

I Speak

Who I seem to be

silences my mind.

My thoughts are inconsequential

my words are all lies.

Fabricated in a polluted mind

my emotions are simply read -

for all I have is anger

Hate is all I spread.

I bask in privileges

as a woman I don't deserve

I demand "my rights"

I've got a lot of nerve.

The issues I bring up

don't apply to me.

So I must be gagged

who am I to speak?

I speak without hesitation

I speak with loud words

I speak without fear

I speak, I don't murmur.

My voice must be muffled

amongst their loud claims:

she is the devil, the anti-man,

don't hear what she says.

GOD SKIN

You know, 

Your greatest achievement (lies) 

in becoming an eternal design. 

Our best invention, 

whose mechanics understood by no one. 

We choose to fear(or revere) what we can’t fathom, 

in your matter perhaps both. 

but you may as well be the reflection of a dead river 

in the myriad grains of sand, each an undying question, 

and we, a schizophrenic athirst for an answer. 

To me, however, you are the skin we wear 

to be what we can’t be
judge and jury, victim and perpetrator
all in a single shred of time,

to rationalize our actions
to extirpate the shape
our fears take on the outside,
in people and not
in the cause that sits within us,

to find solace in building mounds of bodies 

around the banks of the red creased river
all for the misunderstanding we have.

You are the chimera, 

one which we’ve taken far too seriously,
You are the master who
has us enslaved for so long
even the deliverance from
the shackles can’t keep us
free from the history
of both our existence.

We’re one but
how can we see that
without another set of eyes?

B315

Perfect lights

lit on a flooding crowd,

buzzing-

buzzing internal hurricanes 

in wordless mouths,

for some it’s 

just fun and games.

Noise filled

with shrivelled silence,

broken-

broken by a feeble voice,

yes, you’re loud,

but she won't drown,

not this time.

Her courage

finally bubbles up,

a nudge-

a nudge to the 

supposed brave,

and the ones 

hiding in SNU’s name.

“I need you to pause”, she says.

Pause, think.

How far will you walk 
this way on your knees

just to please?

Stairs up that stage demean 

the worth of the sky and you,

as you walk up to answer

their futile questions.

A sea of 
eyelashes lift up.

They know, this

is your ‘planned’ undoing. 

A violent gush 
of baseless cheers,

a stage of diffidence 
and of fear.

Defend yourself 

as empty accusations spiral 

back in and lies don the fur 

of naked truth.

Clashing like waves-

waves pushing the others
around and forcing
you to back down.

I can see your ego

silently ripping itself 
apart as you
fight to win.

Fake devotion
to your people-

friends, lovers, kins 
alike. In vain.

A culture of hidden mayhem

games, tricks and melt-downs,

"Where is the coherence you always spoke of? 
The art of humanity slowly fading out.”