Why I hate India

India. Pakistan. Israel. Palestine. It’s the same game.
I always thought India was impotent, spineless, soft state
and then I saw spine splattered. a child’s. Smashed on Palestine’s
rubble. Gandhi I thought, was a jerk that sold India to
Non violence shit and Pakistan in a second hand deal

after England left. But I saw the blood on the wind screens
on TV 3 and yet no gas in the car. I saw Jihad kissing crusade
and thanked God. all 16 million of them for being a pansy
Indian who hates violence and that bald bastard was right

we can’t win wars by standing on skulls. There are other
battles if you are so damn competitive. There is hunger
and suicide prevention and environment as Antartica
melts and Ozone makes a hole into our skins. We can do
without blood. we are not eunuchs if we dont fight.
I have seen spine and blood and gore and the whore
called war. a disease called death. a pimp called salesman

Emotional Fool – not so cool

i love sad endings
in childhood, my heroes were
elvis, bond and tintin
tintin was single. elvis heartbroken
and bond a widower. i need tragedy
which has actually fucked my life:
this seeking of romance and
other cheap thrills like true love
digging bones and falling in love
with places, graveyard and open
coffins and crying through Godfather’s
theme music. opiated by sad films
and sacrificed heroes. i need to
get up and use my degrees and
make money so that the girl
who claims to love me true can buy
designer attire after romantic
candle lit visa dinners.

Retro

The guitar makes illegal waves on a black dell moonless night
like barbara, my life swims across my eyes on Level Six Sky.
Rock touches Dimple’s staircase behind the lift in the round building.
14 meets 17. kisses nivea lips and cries taupo near table tennis.

diamond cut, drawing blood. neha’s mother’s cancer send
an emotional black mail to the heart of US. No contact contract
Cold Bombay beach was paradise. grey garage a haunt. now graveyard.
black italian pig fiat junking in a nameless cobweb yard. just like life.

we called cigarettes – cancer sticks and thought we were smart.
Exhaustion – exhiliration theory. anything that tires also thrills.
life is a sexually transmitted disease and dames and dams are
broader at the base because of sheer pressure. we were so smart!

Samantha I tried to save from drugs, sex and christianity
that christ never preached. I know. I have met him. in a white
church by the Arabian sea. Emma was solace but so less.
Geeta ties the knot to someone else this october. Then there is silver band
some one else’s girl friend.

white kitten i’d saved. Songs on evening terraces above gossip grey well.
grandpa’s home was mine whence nana lived. its an address now.
as dimmer lights gleam. aunties, uncles gone their way. some dead.
running to college. kissing neha in the rains. selling herald

on the streets. piha’s trillion crevices and snake dances. As I
sip green tea, Rod Stewart with fresh orange. Eternity passes. just
my shadow. it’s strange how songs bring alive a part of your life
that was dead and real when the song once lived. ‘you are in

my heart’ drilling a hole in the desert. no water. cry for oil as
children die we need bread not missiles. Earth’s artificial
volcanoes boil. blood, bones. we were digging for smiles.
as I miss a corner, one by one. I look around and then there is none.

Love at first sight

charismastic – I definitely am not nor am I a fool to believe
the sex appeal shit some women try to feed
Come on, I was there. i saw my picture in the library.
i’m chubby. no one’s hubby. and i hate rings.
and the cold downsides that stubborn winter dawns bring.

somedays i’m cool and even charming when I’m
not crying on my lonely bed. i am communications
and passion. Some days I’m lonely. a cactus all alone.
in a city where i saw you. you’re grace. tenderness. poise.

love at first sight? its must be bull. reflecting some
secret. a glass story from your shiny eyes. a
syringe

of bitter sweetness melts in my sour blood. cold since
father left. at five. Fighting I grew and my emptiness

grew alongside. you are full of class and sensitivity
that fills every crevice and leaves no empty place.
you may send me to seventh heaven like a charge on red
eyelid. i hate the silver ring on your heart finger.

makes love lose hope and long lusty loneliness, linger.

good gosh

Footsteps can be reassuring.
especially if you live near
the under edge of the Waikowahi
graveyard. there are ghosts in
new zealand ghosts are words I
never said to you. is that poetry
or just an invisible shadow I felt
as you or your ghost makes footfalls
here there everywhere as i clutch my
duvet too macho to be afraid. too lazy
to get up for a pee. may be in the morning
when your footprints are gone but they
never leave. keeping me awake. a ghost
of a chance is all i have as you have
rendered yourself invisible. a ghost
who walks and calls my name in the middle
of moonless black. I can niether sleep nor
die like your feelings died for me.

Milk of Magnesia

She’s magnificent, magnetic even magnanimous but
the hyperbole of metaphor that reached an anticlimax
- as she personified her Chinese takeaway hot chili
simile rice, as a kiwi blond happened to give her H2O -
to being poisoned by the communist in velvet was like
me comparing gassy stomach upset I got at Wendy’s to
bomb blasts in Bombay. It would terrorize fellow poets.
Otherwise she’s a medium of modesty. a mind reading medium.

its not tony’s business

the fight in the bush occurred
since everyone wanted to trek west
the vain cowboy had forgotten his face
moisturiser and the mulla had lots
but he was saving it for the virgins
in the afterlife
a family vendetta broke out
too many died as bugles blared
and kangaroos ran. kiwis remained
before they reached the sad dam that
was polluted with too much blood
the excuse was a pen knife
the real reason was oil.

blond leg for xmas

gently she polishes
her legs with nivea
tanned like a tincan tuna
i hate and need melanie
her black swim suit wet
in sleepless eyes. if this
town is just an apple let
me take a bite. passion.
chinese pig. conspiracy theory.
no oxygen exists. we run out
of passion we kill or die.
mel keeps me alive. potent
as love. powerful as lust.
my sister in law.
fuck the law.

Monkey

Sofia up albert tree
skirt blue geometry mini
milky way heaven, soft
spicy tender chicken
glow a lip though
million cigerretes
vibrant volcano drowning
love at piha. nostalgia searches
cafe, albert, clock towers
streets for a monkey

Passion of the M

M passionate about a dead woman
whom eyes can no longer receive
levis folds its hands to accentuate a point
a stride in time to crusade the rights
of a dead, drug-addict depressed poet.
M was a poet in her last life too.
Born again to claim hers in Patriach society.
disguised as metrosexual.

Some one else’s wife

standing by the window playing hide and seek. shutter mind games
deadly. daring-darling. discreet-deceit. diamond someone else’s wife.
a no in moses. mysterious breasts. a murder in jainism. hell ass.
a terror in Islam. pounces like a wild cat kisses like a greazly. said
she loved me. as urdu poetry flew from car stereo. blinded. addicted.
i m sucked. a bermuda whirlpool with potent lava. said she loved me.

Tusiata blooms

shhh… listen to the island winds
coconut trees and white Mormon churches
blooming bright red beside hibiscus
is tusiata. Aries, fiery, a deadly burst
of warm colored lava of extinct volcano
eyes out of a jungle night
she reads her favourite class
we are her character creatures
We make Polynesia more exotic
and bingobingo a watch word
for taro legs and flowery head
I think of orange big mango mangoes
in an Indian Summer in bright Gujarat
Warms the heat a wee bit

First Picnic

five rupees my mom spend as i felt my first guilt
orange juice in small kashmir bitter sweet heat
typical pau bhaji which later married lemonade
mom was in icu decades later with tb
and overdose of sleeping pills. dr. had

perfect feminity. mom lived. i died.

Remeura laundry songs

summer in valsad packed mangoes monkeys and night trains
where we had green fried chillies and potato wadas thru
grey green mad lambrettas and 2 rupee bond movies
jennifer’s blue eyes that shook the small town
cross dress dimple’s love poems and hardy boys
i never used. like sweet mango pickle as irani
girls peeved at my blue underwear through barred windows
gandhi library missed asterix in cauldron as cummin came into green
chillies onion salad. mosquitoes ate the balcony and rats roof fell.

Dry Remeura

bang went uncle’s italian pig fiat
kandivali vanity into school bus
started girl boutique mirror job
with rogers long grey afternoon
thru mom’s curry that tasted like
hot pumpkin soup. betty came
my obsession with denim began
elvis shakin stevens and jackson
blasted thru panasonic brown curtains
as race course competed with mosque
in the sea. where wishes came true

Cut the crap mister suneal varma

a shower is great exercise
a chinese herbal massage
the green tea speaks to me
and guides me through a wordjungle
is there really true love
or are we running after an illusion
a mirage in the desert
no water in the centre
no fruits but cactus
no love but sex
no paradise no virgins
no where to hide
Am I being unreasonable
ask peters ask the world we live in?

bulsar beach 1990

nitus love was a
password not oasis
wild passions. lycos.
13th warrior
bulsar south gujarat
black sand itchy fish
new job. jennifer lost
new york. smooth waves
clear skies. pine thistles
turbo basic. do while
for next. wordstar
poetry became
electronic thru girls
alphabet and neha
the princess. windows
vijay word.

Escalating

There was a mad hat that Michelle brought
and the library was all silence before
we decided to break it. I half did
not go there but the spirit of
adventure was too strong. Poetry was
txted and displayed on the screen. I
sang a few lines from Tennyson
and Humpty Dumpty as the passion
caught fire and we were going up
and down the escalators in a frenzy.
It was beautiful. Michelle confirmed
“Poetry will be made by all not one”.
“Poetry will
be made by all not one”
“Poetry will be made
by all not one”
“Poetry
will be made
by all
not one”
“Poetry will be made oh “Poetry will be made
and “Poetry will be made
Fuck poetry
for an hour we fucked poetry
at top treble rendering the homeless
Homeless

two weak notice

i want to meet the man that invented popcorn
sandra bullock is so cute
children. i wonder if anyone should have any?
it must be warm in samoa
why does she have to be married
why why million why fucking fuck why
she looks so beautiful in specks and that motherly nursery way
will i ever forget emma and not fall in love again
with a woman with silver bend
a leaf amongst million books bouncing

choking

choking chalk
tired eyes
need sleep
you joking
its bright
christian’s enough
to carry the cross
i need antacids
and a cotton duvet
sorry team.

Aotea

It’s a dark day
The Korean Shop
will overcharge
For free condoms

Chinese lady screams
at customers.
Kabab guy on a Jihad.
Fiji Indian hates Indians

Who abandoned him in Otahuhu.
Maori boy abuses helpful strangers.
On P in a bus to Lincoln. Past 7.
Humans go home. Ghosts

come out. Challenging
eyes to a fight
Who are the others?
Sirens go. Police apprehend

13-year olds. Shoplifting antiques
Queen street. Chinese lantern bleeds.
Cartoons speak the language of a terrorist
1.7 kilometers of loneliness

Temporary satisfaction at K road end
Bopping girls. Shiny legs. Winston’s
billboard smiles. Welcome students
Crime rate versus lost yellow souls.

Amiable Ring of Terror

It’s a faded silver bond
that separates you from coffee
and other brown things that
can keep you awake.

I hate the silver knife
wrapped around you
protecting you from me.
after seven lives i found you

in a poetric juice center
and up and down
my eyes follow as you play
with your ring

A Blond Leg at Matheson Bay

Clad in red
orange and warm yellow
like a slow poison
rising with the smoke
of Rangatito

Like a Samoan wet
dream dressed in fire
to entice
stretched to deceive
Yoga to show

It smiles with
pink lips glowing
welcoming me like
hell’s outstretched arms

Like a beautiful
Trap of sin’s lure
Poisonous, carnivorous
Flower

Bright, deadly.
like an Eden snake

chaos

too many storms, bangings
hangings, burgers, pies,
friends, enemies, lovers,
betrayers, lusters, parties,
politicians, terrorists, newspapers
criminals, australians, cheaters,
aborigines, chinese, indians,
students, school leavers,
pregnant mothers, gamblers
alcoholics, addicts, psychos
socios, street names, cars
universities, races, police tickets
heroes, villains, soldiers, executives
possums, dairies, rugby fans
pissers, fuckers, lesbians
christians, muslims, buddhists
hindus, athiests.
On a three-island country.

Justin thinks

I’m random. Psycho.
since i joked about popcorn
in superman returns

what about the man who
pushed me on queen
a lady middle fingered me

principals who never
gave me the chance
to shape drunken lives

politician’s immigrant = criminal
emma left me. debra failed me
paul white mocked me.

They are sane, Justin
they are meticulous
I’m random. renegade

how dare i fight
for my rights?

Poets are mad bastards

when she screamed at top of her lungs
checkered hat bouncing on escalators
red scarf guiding the winds
the homeless knew it.

“poetry will be made by all not one”
confirmed my fears
mad bastards
they give a damn
for money
fame
personal vanity
comfort
sometimes
god.
Poets are mad bastards
and proud i’m!

smallish candle

I live a regret
in the darkness of my devil
in abyss. i confessed warmth
she’s legal but young
flowing blood thumps
‘oh no’. midnight blue
attacked my wounds
a lightning mail
what have i done
sleep fire. eyes red
and yet a hope
a hope a hope a hope
oh why a hope!

First Week

41 Murrays all at once

the kick in the groin
see her she is real
caressed by that smile one murder at a time
she needs no poison just the blue eyes
gone beyond rangatito sky tower earth sun moon sky life
love never dies
Jesus Ram Allah love women.

Murray madness with coffeeeeee and wiiiine – 1
to love someone
you must learn to hate
red is new green
hibiscus needs the extra blood
blue skies need haze
kiss-knife bright-volcano feather explosion

Terror in the bush

sam i am
mad i am
sad i am
bad i am
liar I aint
white i aint
black i’m
hijack I’m
greedy i aint

Albert Tree

The graduation ceremony.
teacher’s qualification.
Mist to bright sunshine
Sophie again
Poetry paper
I chose PASSION
friends with the SEX girl
Julie. yellow card
bomb blasts.
warmer and mistier.
two good deeds.
one emotion.

False Sands at Mission Bay

Sunny. Rainy. Cloudy. Beach.
Bikinis colour pink blue green
Guitar plays in the stony beach
Children play on the sandy streak

There’s a black side to the stone torn
Penny’s flying. Bees hum a peaceful
Song to Sea gulls that fly in Ultra Violation.
Sunscreen 30+ something

Samaons in their square blue tent.
Women half covered in their tees shorts
and children roaming free giving
people company. Happy. Free. As a

wasp buries its head in me. A gasp.
Is all I give. Water. Salt water. Vinegar.
Sting of Scorpio’s little niece. Sleeping half naked,
half inviting. Half teasing

Ask her number. Asked not her number.
I am growing old. Lazy.
May be it’s a job I need not a woman
and woman just fulfil a vacant need.
as sweat like nectar runs down her neck.

Dusty Psalms: refined draft

I’m black
Full leather
with a zip
in the center.

I’m a gift
from a Chinese friend
to his Indian brother
A reminder of Lord’s love

I lie safely
at the edge
of a dusty yellow window
overlooking single
mothers pass

I was not taken to India
Missed. Forgotten on purpose.
I’m a Bible, the Lord’s word
Safe, secure and lonely.

Ring of terror

It’s a faded silver bond
that separates you from coffee
and other brown things that
can keep you awake.

I hate the silver knife
wrapped around you
protecting you from me.
after seven lives i found you

in a poetric juice center
and up and down
my eyes follow as you play
with your ring

Marbles

The Earth is a giant ball
Kicked around by whims
And fancies of the Sun
And greedy people

Bouncing around hopelessly
Heading for another blast
Lost in the bush
And American politics

The Earth is an inswinging
Yorker that spins and bounces
On a turbanator’s wish
Burns aimlessly in

A gray city with a twin purpose
That towers over humanity
While we are caught up
In selfish greed: Having a ball.

Bad Haiku

One – Love!
Yellow,
orange, lovely
day.

Bright,
sunny, smiley
face.

Red window.
Blue grill.
Eternal love.

NEE2 Last night

Last night we gently spoke
as the wind blew and mosquitoes
buzzed near my Pepsi gulp
we gently felt confusion and delight
love and respite
we gently thought what if
or why or why not
There was the city in twinkling
yellow lights as gentle wind blew
as only we knew what we slightly felt
in Shahrukh songs and Jovi rhymes
in back streets of lokhandwala
and playgrounds of Vishnu

mt eden smiles

Mount Eden shines like a Christmas tree
glorious with near perfect shops:
Small, colourful, redefining perfection
The sun’s floats over red, cream, green
Mount Eden village, queen of Auckland

Close to ACE where teachers die
I refresh my mailbox million times
stuffing with Tarakihi footloose, fancyfree
The sun’s bright banana cream
I feel like a born again King
Sun is the Warlord

as someone somewhere is baptised
free food for all, fried chicken
Maori Bread and the good Mormon sheep
that change into wolves and rabbits and
goats just like Chinese astrology
Birth after birth. i’m free. Far
from human commotion. happy.

Life Map: A cryptic poem

There’s a Poo but mums the word
Gold like Natalie
There was a Russian bird flying in Bangkok
A mass of five, sixth is pretty
A diamond, a dimple, a pair of
beautiful eyes. Feline
A goddess and a half human half mare
a black jelly and a Peg of samantha
Golden for three years
The Indus is dark and dirty
The Argentenian’s Chinese ways
The English kiwi is sweet in taste
A religious book

Iselta’s Binocular’s

On the wall Iselta smiles
to make up for Shelly
at various junctures Meli’s
around to balance Jess’ Yes
and No.

The train looks like a Noddy toy
and the Mobil blue light keeps me warm
Shelly’s cough next door
keeps me cosy as I cling to cream
Piggy whose pinks are not rosy
but brown matching the unsaid smile
and the untold frown

The water is warm and the blasting
curry is hot as I look through the lens in
the middle of the night as I hear the Talkback
show and add my two pence for colour

Iselta smiles but the grey TV room
has lost it. I love it here as I pack to leave
smiling at the little room that kept me warm
and the creaking floor that kept company

I leave the piggie for Shelly
I dont know why, may be because
her silence was company and anger
a reaction. I leave nothing for Meli
but my friendship and the hot chillies
in the curry. I leave a ruppee for Jess
as it shines like she does
I miss Iselta’s smile and Jess
and Shelly Meli
As everything is an event for me

met oh four

Night of 19th july after first class in 343 which makes adrenelin burst. its 4 pm wednesday jihan’s birthday.

emma
a dash of red
chillies
in
olive oil
in a country
that chased sheep
now immersed in art’
emma – monalisa – princess diana
haunted memory of pt. chev kiss
chilly morning mt. eden 1 tree
princess of books
apple red cheeks
crimson wine lips
true love pet hate
thought magnet
number’s gone. home changed
oh emma will we meet again?

irony
I love A bright brown half
pakeha half S’a legs
matured gravy flavoured by a long
night a smile that touvh could finish winter
bring spring. a blanket with samoan
sunshine with a mere hug
a promise in the smile
coffee creamy white and sweeeeeeeet
keeps awake virile the agile night
to bright brown lonely
half pakeha endless exotic legs

natalie
colourful kites over her terraces
new year nights go seldom crazy
tall runs plays 13. i m 12.
too early forlove
but what the hell
she screams. quickens
be’s my friend.
bad boy comic flicker
bad dresser. writes poetry
climbs trees. hopeless under
a silver moon. she urges me a dance
smiles in the lift. intoxicated
from 12 to 15
before dimple came. natalia
fries in a cold scorpion fury
married now. they all are

went through a grey sunday

ran round and round
went knee knee bound
pak n saved god hop
hope hopping mad
a crystal star breaks
millions making
crinkling kinda sound

A SAVANNA MAD ILK RUM RUN

Blue Crayon – Isles – Paper Cacti- Blue Sky Sin- Killawords- Word Soldier- Tiger Bug – Blank Shots- Cacti Juice- Winds- nz wordwizard – Wild roads- Apple Rises – Red Mustard – Word Warrior- Jet Blue Sky- Rising Sands- Paperworks-in Purepopcorn- Grasslands- Tiger Cacti- Stray tiger- Love a Tiger- Living dangerously- Living on the edge- Flashy ideas- Red chili- Wilderness- Wild roads- Words Pic Me- Sunny mail- Copytiger- Red Chili- In- Color by words- Tomato Reds- Independence-in Renegade- OpenSpaces- WildWalks- WildSkies- Footloose- Wanton Sky- Tigerzinnz- Blue Sky- TomatoStar- LadyBug- Tigeronthesun- Leomon-in WordPickle- Redcactus- Icetea-in- Sonyl- Sunil- Suneal- Sundaymorning- Solin- Islet-in Applets- Waterbuffalo- Suniel- Ideasinaflash- IDEASPOT – Monkeys are out – bouncing kangaroos – word Viking Gobananas- Red bananas- Endlessways- Sledge- Earthenpot- I really like to carry on A sequel to wild blue skies to blue sky fox-

Montana spills more blood

the escalators are empty
i’m ready to cry
poets, arties, sensitive and vain.
i’m here for the food
tusiata looks angry, happy
upset and confused all at once

michelle is life. all
murrays wine
lost found lost found
smile. lost glory
notorious. escalating curiousity
red chess square satin helmet
choose a winner. autograph a fan
pomp, culture and silent workofart
its all art. people. bombay. auckland. london
madrid. new york.
inspite of bombs. p. murder on queen st.
long librarian spread like a jam
sip ugly red wine thru a maori song.
reactions. drowned like lake george.
skinny dipping in sands of time.
wolfing chillies. ink in my blood.
blood in her words. wolf.charm
bingobingo big juicy mangoes. jailhouse rocks.
beware of the man who wants paradise by
killing people.wordsworth’s dumpty flowers.
half a league. naked samoans. red wine. milky
coffee. blood on the streets. where’s emma?
as snake dances in hatred’s eyes.
killing cabbages and some kings.
peters’ school of thought
angry school psychos.
rather be a prison guard
as i garbage my teaching qualification.