waking with the thesaurus

gray
listless
languid
indolent
sluggish
apathetic
unenergetic
lethargic
slow
languorous

how can any good come out of this morning?
the kids at the south auckland college
will kill me…
if i let them
i was looking for relief
here it is!

Situations advertising

do they serve egg masala curry
with bread still
or mostly kababs
or only fish

fonts and cartoons
are the greatest art forms.

Mcs are over-rated
as a copywriter i was
notorious for getting
lines approved
through a evil
and clever
use of fonts.

reshma was dream
@ arun photocopied his face
cello pens
were an all out attack

if at 1 am

the wind refuses to rustle

and

a car alarm goes awry
dimple walks the round building
as i pack her picture
to bulsar where the parsi girl
changes on the ironbar window
we don’t care
dimpee put nivea on her lips

terrace where sea-wolves
practice their rock dreams
the wind has gone to sleep
dimple stands by the well

somewhere in hot dubai sands

grey grounds between two churches

St Francis first Christmas
with a tennis ball
and chocoltes in a pink bag
no it was a green striped ball
that got smashed around
at a time mom fell from a bycycle
ashok kneels
a five year old tells me what L
on a scooter stands for in Hindi
Their God must punish them
they have been mischievous
they kneel
the gravyard over a cave
at least a 1000 year old

we threw the pink bag in the air
and had 5 paise two wada walks

and lost bags and mom cries
dad worried
found and saved cats
the rescuer lives through
aarey picnic bitter orange ade

Egyptology

Archiving Old Egyptian Kings’ last memories of Cleopatra
The sands have sphinx that smiles at strangers
Buried under the seventh pyramid is a lifeless treasure – a priceless pleasure
The sands have timed their exit in the depths of the earth
A sound calls from so many lives Cleo…she turns smiles disappears
Only the howling ginsberg winds and the paused thoughts remain
Just vacuum and the distant sounds of the jingling belly dancers
and some footprints in the sands

Because some affairs last for ever.

came in the flying flatmate

into the dark nude black night room….
who
invited
these shadows suneal?

dead poet’s

have a frequency
or my imagination
is running ram
riot – a telltale romance
but connection
as you call a dead name
heart beats to
a bleeding haunting taunting wind
a sound from another world
my poems ride with ghost trains
empty on oshannessey lanes
next to the barber shop
a footfall, a footstep, a footpath
again

mary brings the ghosts

alive.
dad saw the smiling shining tree
and a false tale of legs
that kept growing
a witch on the open roof
asking for sweets
and the others
on the opposite
bank
the night squeaky
sneaky
howling winds
something stirs

they say the drowned

girl still laughs
when the river is full
the servant girls gossip
as kids scared us
naina told of moustache macho male stars
and ghosts that were robbed of jewels
gujarat has black magic false fear’
and some unexplained
that fills kids with a duvet joy

computer sales in vapi

The little daman
khaman trips
Selvas wada pau
tiny worth 50p
april heat
jenny goes
sandy stays
the bloody tithal beach
temples and the bra
small pebble looks like a cow
suicide girl’s mother smiles
green tshirt with words
sunday is royal
bulsar breathes
in a dry potato gravy
for 65 paise
near the post office

mary had a little lamb

so i saw your shadow
in the darkness at 4.00
you know me i will find your grave
poison the world with your words
what are these shadows
cobwebs darkness
corners candles in the hearts
hollywood
night trembles
sleep stutters
consciousness rises
gently falls
poetry flows

wilderness

wildness
wantoness
bad vibes
footloose
sparrow
fancyfree
thumped into the heart
carving lines changing fates

eternity has passed

since sinbad paper planes potato salesman
muslims counter-attack maharashtrians
who burn adolescent bycycles
and show black and white bollywood movies
not the cobblestoned pillow bhuleswar
but the toothbrush balconied phantom
may be mandrake and false headache pills
french toasts all these
while pigeons fly
geeta peeps and hides
deepak says write a book
on a lazy afternoon
geeta hides!

"why parnell", she asks me!

why parnell
there are hoof marks in parmell
there are graveyards in parnell
there are old railway lines
and anglican churches
embers of a long dead fire
and emma

Mary Stanley papers

Some love affairs last forever. Some words the winds can never. gobble like fates and destinies. some lives live forever and slightly, silently, softly more…like a scream from ejt in parnell rains…like a cry in africa and shadows that emerge each word is poem…each poem bleeds…each blood melts into the marble of Taj Mahal. Cause you know and i know that irene was a cat…a dutch girl from last life that lost life at 20. Holding a cat at albert park is neha’s lovely dream as mary’s voice calls for her Heathcliff. Her Howard Roark. Her Brian Neal. Whom does Suneal Varma Call? Irene, Parnel and a dream.

what the fuck

Show a different version unavailable. i had connected for you Huia asked me best Flatmate sorting out with Iseltka
ya in my unconscious subconscious Katrina runs
poor fellow
churned your ears
a few misunderstanding
came from holidays\ Smiles
do you have reputation
ohgod
matters of love and marriage
it is your persona
Mr.India bana baitha hai?
the tall girl in our group
Good Legs
then what will we talk
whether sandy likes sandwich with pickles
tell me more about your poems
or does he brush his teeth in the toilet
My poems are gone crazy

look

you know. i know our eyes met
you felt and i felt. you retreated
and as you read this you ask yourself
not me. Is this me?
you know
i know
you know that i know
that you know
and there’s noway its gonna stop.

hell softly breaks loose

Lesbians attack me with a vengeance
heterophobia not my fault
I’m not anybody’s rival
except your insecurity’s competing

take that stone
cast it on the other dark side

blood on my hands

‘I need to wash my hands…’ is buzzing through my brains as I’m back in that room, haunted a wee bit by Robin Hyde’s poetry and presence. There was something here even last time during 343. This time it is soothing but I am ruffled by the fires in Parnell in that party and the theft of two masterpieces. I feel a bit cold too and nervous as if I am about to handle a newborn baby or Dimple, my first love. I shake the drawing of the pony off my hands. As I look at the mirror, ‘Looks like I have shaved alright today’. Slowly I start wiping my hands in that dim-lit bathroom accentuated by the silence in the library. Back to the room with no humidity and Michelle and the other chap wait whathisname, again? I had a card here somewhere…here it is! Mr. Innes, sounds like an old English name of a man called Stephen running on the moors and painting the monster of Loch(ness). Must get my a into g as they say. Michelle talks about history, the subject that touches me. In the olden times the Greeks defined all knowledge as Philosophy. That is what this is: history, poetry, occult, science, archaeology, romance (of course), classical studies and good old Sepia- coloured American detective movie with Marlyn Monroe’s flapping white skirt like the Gene Wilder ‘Lady in Red’. Geena Davies looked stunning. Hold that thought. Look at the picture that Michelle has just handed me. It’s a photocopy (we call it Xerox in India; talk about branding). Now in the photocopy sometimes by the grid in the background and the dark tones on white fellas, you can judge that this picture has to be sepia. I was biased by the look of the guy and limited by my heterosexuality (don’t read homophobia, please) to see how he was handsome. But Michelle promised me that Mary Stanley (sounds like a dutch milkmaid daughter of an English lighthouse night watchman ‘s (who has ham sandwiches) daughter. Emily Bronte kinds. “Now”, Michele raises her archeological eyebrow, “How did this Hollywood guy come into Mary’s collection?”

I’m excited. How! I quickly ‘Pause’ my thoughts running rampant like those ugly, evil, evil Persians at the first block by the Spartans. Oh thank God for heroes. Now I know what Bush means. Those Persians just have to be bad bastards. See 300 and you will get the logic of the situation. Thank God the queen slept with the politician. It was a tactical sacrifice but it saved the world and civilisation as we know it

4oclock post

winter wee wild whilst
four am poetry
as the big blower
makes its chopper sound without a care
you were aware
very aware
i had to steal eyelids
and a few smiles

teensy tail of colored elephants

down in the waves
junked by the waters
silly creatures in
the black dark sea
blow goes the bugle
sex on their savage minds
out came brave warriors
kicked them from the hinds
into the huddles

parsis that no one loves 10,000=300

can’t hold this burning torch any longer
brother loves 300
anti-persian racist bush-wants-iran-now crap movie
nobles fight oriental occult, evil and insanity
queen sacrifices herself in adultery as imaginary characters
come to fight. greek mythology and history
which is which?
my forefathers fought both persians and alexandria
and i dont give a fuck either way
but its not fair
and hard not to feel

hassan irani says before islam iran was evil
now muslims are jews

besides I’m told Xerxes was honourable
and not a muslim
My parsi friends are nice too
came in after annihalation
and sweetened gujarat milk
to find home in western india
in to bombay as a dying community
left to rot in vultured graveyards
with intercast marriages

zorastrians the firegod people
Mighty Navsherwan Adil twisted his
palace walls to accomodate a poor woman’s hut.

so whom am i fighting for. islamic iranis hate their persian ancestors
sparta out to destroy the black evil
i’ll lay down my arrow of truth and snore
let cartoons kill eachother

so who do we choose
terrorists or counter-terror terrorists?
you have five seconds

warrior

returns home through eternal walls
never ending bed of arrows
bloodbaths and oriental sacrifices
stone ladders that do not jump
the citadel and iron gates locked
to the smell of a one-found spring
through the waterless cactusless barren sand

asha colony

the place asha colony
the time 1972ish
when the war strted and the lights go
and sirens blared
as we fought the bangladesh war
and i drew your pictures with rukshana
you were 16 more prettier than your daughters
you in an umbrella and coke tasted to strong
in kishori’s wediing

and you fought with renu
at 4 the first women who fought over me
over thick potato chips and whether it was called
chips or katri or wafers
like the toys you got back from nainital
in walkeshwar
and crayons when i had typhoid

the leopard man in santacruz
gave us a taste of our first fear
as i went to my first party
and mrs rose
that i could not complain to
when kutchan (phoolchand)
hit me
i tasted my first fish next door
raju’s house
and hid in the cabinet on the terrace

uncle gave me a small forhans toy
and you looked great in your black turtle neck.

jemma

my tears
only for you

jemma

all the ghosts of
parnell’s blacksmiths
horesshoes and clay
models of shiva
who carved your
grave a few centuries
old as your ghost
still cries for me
like a child you are

eternally iced
and sun pulls back his lights -
wind fractures fire and air
pierces into frozen lakes
wolf eye the love our love…
our eternal love…your shadow
is back…the thumps capture a
breeze or two;
and its silly footfalls. kids bouncing
on trampoline as i cry whilst
they snatch jealous jelly fish

and other chocoholic lollies.
my tears for you
my only child as moon
goes clear and somewhere
a dog cries behind
the windy wooden rustblown gates…
my child my gem…winter’s here and
i cry for you…its winter and your
misty presence hits the air
with a three century old vengeance

carnal or carnage

thames a river of yellow icy hay bleeding
spice all lamb curry in hottest gravy from bangladesh
pranayam in my sleep and emilya when the kids
were eating sugar with lollies i thought of you my winter child
that summer wild viles. tears in their little joys
bounced twice in otahuhu’s lost youth busstop
adjusting the ladder to break into his own house
falls on the fairside of indian curried grocery
as 300 racist attacks in sparta. bush asks
hollywood to unite greek warriors adainst evil asia
queen finds an excuse for disloyalty: love eternally lost
burns with an ancient fire carnal or carnage

New canvas

past albert slants
- mercury retrograde.
jupiter somersaults
Deaths Lives 343
rises from gray leaves
of a gone winter
into a spring
that sings meloncholy
to a coming winter.

Birds

Gulls

Pigeons

are Irene

as a stage
sets for
blood. Poetry

a chalk in the freezing winds
Before it gets dark.

and graveyards shine

It will shine.

Before it storms…
an illusion
sunny climes…
dust faults
green roads fault.
Swords raised
Michael croons
- a long dark lifeless moon
and billions of diamonds
clutter
the starry nile
away
this time damascus
sings

rural posts

on a small rural red bike the postie runs
xmas letters past post irene
green with ivy and an unsaid kiss
albert knows what sun doth miss
it was a girl called irene

emotional attachments

to green parrot toys
to hydrogen balloons as they fly awaaaaay a thought that made me cry
to small white kittens chased by dogs
to a fat brinjal
to ejn and her depression
to neha and her eternal fight
and the little alphabet game

gilted

birds have nowhere
to go!

birds fly
to a nowhere home
after
a dry
winter

just before the lights go out

was the banglorians story
about his granpa and i gave the fading blinding title
to his love as grandpa died
it took me 13 years to understand his grief
and jelly’s sexual curse on piscean soul
that he was

181 dogs left loose

pampas
in the high fields
to breed and kill
white spots rolling
with early train sounds
pompous and gay
as hay turns gray
melonee still ripe
as firefighters eye
whence forest flames
like the love games
me and neha never played
no offence meant

when 15 minute and 21% remains – y

and yahoos false face christmas white exits
you know its time to sleep
or give her a missed call
as she feeds
her two kids her latest
bread recipes
she struggles, strives
and still speaks
after a 15 year broken code
of silence she sought
she still seeks
slightly
slowly
silently

warm autumn night

scratchy squeezey bloody night
let the wind make sneaky sounds
no shoe shiner at midnight’s thief
no trains, ships, captains chief
jail still rocks and dream shackle shocks
irene’s napier
spilled like a dream
a group
versus performance he
trucks a tender distance sound at last
3:29 am
hardly a poetic tune
a late wind hums around
like a distant prairee dog

mumta’s marathi lessons

were squeezed into tic tac toe games
allowed her to cheat in texts
she was older by a year
i was a teacher at 5
language teacher
on an iron bed that had
walls of tictactoe
as base

one rupee fifteen paisa for the movie

partnership was an ancient brotherhood
the grandma next door thought i was a smart kid
since i knew the multiplication through the cost of wadas
and rounded the15 into 7 to one ruppee just like hawker did

snake movies and millionaire movies and Tarzan movies Phantomus movies
i played with the cats

today

w a s
t h e u n i v e r s a l
spill-drinks day

countdown squeezed just juice and homemade cola
and i spill the fridge’s coke zero

d r i n k s w e r e s e t t ing
themselves free like guerilla warriors

Parnell still burns my mind

winter bells bring parnell alive
horses races snow sands browns
buildings stables unstables anglicans
black pussy cats white roof tops billion eyes
parnell’s alive

besides…

you call my name loud unclear
clammers with the wells your blue fiat

estranged mossy meloncholic ambers
jarring eternal ancient nocturnity
noone escapes life silences owl’s night

parnell parnell burning bright
tree for tree is tree force heaven

slow coffee turns to blood

drips through the junked pipe
the rusted colour as mehdi
sings a fresh ghazal breezing through hearts waves
noised chaos in a drawer of hearth
as candles quieten the flowered city nights of lahore’s
old forts and buildings
cats cry at midnights moonlights
cold barren ugly fights

girl dressed in bulsar

the small house away from
the rat eaten mansion
toddywallah the house
the history
its summer
mango’s ripe
like a woman’s breast
priorities change
as my aunty and mom
dress me as a girl
my sexuality was never
an insecurity
and 12 year olds
were gods of their own games
oh those ripe huge juicy mangoes

life is

like toilet paper
no matter how clean
you keep it
shit happens!
like a man my hero and uncle
writer and critic
dying of cancer
fear i cannot hear his voice
as people fall like match sticks
on paper dolls
and house of cards
no way to save your ass
life is

25 paise books

thums up flickers a cricket shot
two rupee cricket book
that flicks an animation
and i draw a red ball after a pencil ball
its crazy how grimms fairy tales
had thick pictures and a flying plane bouncing boy animation
like the KG rukshana rain pictures
that bite leopard hands
and hen that realise that stories can just be made
as sky shines on green long grass
and the grey wall that brings deepak’s home
and his fairytale books
and kiran’s 25p books
hidden in gum boots

winter’s here – the blood will flow

like a planchet under the watertank
where coins mood at will
on stolen pickle terraces
on holi terraces
marijuana terraces
on hand bombs carckered
on abhalie’s head terraces
on moonlit atul dolly kisses

indus valley civilisation

a lonely cow plodds the mudd cakes
ash to ash dust to dust
5000th urban race and drains
toys and coins
harappa
mohenjo daro
close to mayans
walled city
bricked homes
chakki (grinder)
choolah (stove)
this is how you kill a coach

Don Bosco

The bag is heavy heavy heavy
jute green
jute cream khakhi
maths books
grammar’s great
little chapel
and ink dipped holy water
great too
open like a modern prison
scout flirt with school guides

snakes in the football fields
borders eat fruits and meat
day scholars prejudiced
moral science vs religion
french vs marathi
singh vs raghunathan
head-master vs principal
we called him a frog
he looked like one
jailhouse rock stage
the size opposite the angle is the greatest
hypotenuesing the size of log sin cos
towers
craft drawing
and rebello screaming
clera and her romance for poetry
and kidney stone
fantasies of mrs paul and ms pereira
IC colony homeworks
on a blue racer cycle
superman comics
batman comics at nelson carvalho
footbal and mud stick games
sending kamils letter to sunita

black cat white cat

freezing in the ice rain
follicles
fur
felynx
fine by fire
fat one farts
black one was naughty at first
bouncing at mid oranges
now white is an adventuress
neutralised
cold
crying
in a blue laundry basket
the shitty little bastards
Stevie and Mrs Cotton.

as i sit

as i sit

sipping my first
winter eve’s green jasmine
as the TV bounces
off the glass window
through which
the little train with white lights
passes

as I sip sip sip sip sip sip sip
the green tea smelling of a woman’s
hair!

stage is dark

chairs
splintering
around
spluttered
like autumn
feathers
lights
in a few
arenas
research
is a new
search more
like lycos
not oodles
of goey
interface-eyes
demand a want
green velvet
uneven stage
sudden ups and lows

can i only read in the waiting room

as the cold rain pours and reflects on aluminium of the silver fame
as i flirt with a psycho teacher
or talk to an iranian beauty with big
eyes
or smile at the south african receptionist
make up intact
or should i go to albert park
park my ass on muddy grass
and talk to imaginary samoan depressed
lawyer from cc
or try the toilet
that could work
the early great
poetic worx
were orally performed in my loo
in school days
maybe the loo
also known as
the hot burning summer winds in ahmedabad
can help
let's find a red and black 'gentlemen'
oh how i wish i could go to where
no man had gone before

armed to the teeth

and
brains

and
bones

brawn

if only i could read
as harey as i could scribble

i have carried a million books
today 13th friday
a million books
from this library to that
this book shop
this friend

and have i read
the lethargy in the bone
the fatique in the brain

Now I have a 10 kg book
not my first
nor my last
but will i read it?

811.09

Wasn't this the same musky musty
smell
in Don Bosco's smallish large
library
filled with Hardy Boys
hardbound
where the engine roared to life
randall's thievery had imagination
as i have regrets
millions
those classics in comics
and chapters in
radiant reader
from
treasure island
huckleberry finn
pickwick papers
and half a league
half a league
half a league

the small version of 20,000 under
and 80 days
bought for a ruppee
as it rained
and rained

under a tiny bulb i escaped
grey building
and the leftover bhurchee
as chirag asked
the smart question

how many squares
in chess
as i said 8X8

the mad hatter chapter
and

of course
the daffodils
with a word or two from

alistair maclean

ndbltn

brer rabbit happy – green carrot tie flapping in the jungle winds
going to market with noddy…to buy carrot and stew it and soup it
famous five’s castle stands tall on kirrin and all elves gypsies
and golly wog’s a smiling…all pixies fairies christian gnomes
laughing in the bright market of auckland city…no secrets in seven
and ti is georgie up against haunted castles, down below naughty graves

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

as i sit and watch the sands on the ceiling
a big cycle man at the bottom of the edens
met outside the anglican church. jamie’s pipe
had dropped some grass. i walked 8 kms to
recover from e-pains. he said this words to me
or was it the red cross kim: everyone’s where they should be.

marve club of boyscouts

dark as the dogs barked like wolves
seven miles and a year away
warned not to disturb the local fisherman
dangerous and tired
the morning run was excellent
blue sea still as fish moved not
gretchen and drunk fools paradise
another day story
as gravy potato and fried bread
and rice cooked with pepper and cardo-cummin
as kamil and i spoke to the girl on trees
from our lady high school
rest was found in a dark fishermen’s roof
dark as the oil lamp smell as thud
I fell moved not till dawn
fear
next night was cold breezey to extreme last night before school went home
we crossed the creek on foot
took a riskshaw home

gorai scout club

marve was green and the beach long long far further
from the small boat that ferried us
khakhi clad I last minuted like a gurkha soldier
nelson had handed me the list matchboxes, food, rope, bucket…
the green trees swung our way as eve shadowed us
the night in the camp as foxes bayed and wolfs made their proverbial sound
at 2.00 a light box struck
its your turn its your turn
we had put salt in someone’s omelette
simon was cross since i fed the dogs
the rice and dal that dripped from my jute bag
as bollywood star was discussing his philosophies
marve had frogs in the well water
that made our throats croak marve was better
wilder than gorai
sucking on lemon
as Sir Singh slept
on fourlegged coirroped bed
ran like buccaneers
laghing at the other team though
we were wrong
troop leader had planted poppy seeds
the camp was bedsheets
and simon angered by my laziness
Nothing changes
Nothing changed

translate like google

agar raaste chingaari banke root te
if roads candle flames being cross

phir bhi dil hamare yoo hi toot te
even then heart ours this way breaks

koi aglee galee mein dastak de raha hai
someone next street knocks he does

ghode ki ahaat to thee par tu kahi nahi hai
horsecarts reverbrate was there but nowhere noone

scribbles on montana

saw you
you warmed winter
catching fish with your black nets
at the bust op
oh my gosh

ohhell…scribbles at orekei
pens sharpen
you know i know
who cares

valsad

a.k.a. old bulsar
the streets are small and twisted
cobble stones bounce at sounds of horse carts
from the ayurvedic clinic
the red school is a legend
ganesh temple is a place to hide
from the slapping traffic of goats
in the graveyard where i scored 235
after being out thrice
in a marriage i found peace
clay toys hide in the sanitorium
on the same streets as a parsi whore
the tall building that will go
at the twisted river
and the beach with a million stars
bulsar

spells

you smile at the camera
from a low angle
and the streets are empty
though of course
your raiance (spell with a d) takes away the thunder
and that could only bring jealousy
like too much black pepper
in a hawaain burger

lucky

when the lion got old…
the eunuchs came in full brigade
the rabbit’s carnivarous
the lame lamb
and the broken ram

luckily
grandpa died in his sleep!

cheappaperbacks

nickcarter
its not my fault if you cant hold a gun
you were never bond
could not even shoot with your index finger
your inferiority was on your block so don’t balame me

you can

either love him
or
hate him
nothing in between
you are just
like a maori
not easily
intimidated
with
ink
in
your
blood

you
are
a champ

you
are
the devil

you are….

YOU ARE NOTHING
I’m the father now

samosa chai and nonsense meetings

the brown campus buildings
and brown polished wood and
old phd with glasses
on hot afternoons
after gossip
kulkarnis daughter
and the muslim boy
coffe in the morning with kinnari
and desai’s boy got 90%
in SSC

memsahab y

shero sayree ka jasbaa chala hai to
main bhi
kehna chahhonga
ke hamare walid sahab sheroshyree ke mureev the
ka bahut shok rakhte
tarmaate the
aur hum bhi pakeeza aur mughale azaam dekh karr bade hue hai

aap se baat kar ke yakeen ho chala hai
ke bahaar aur woh din jise main bhula chooka tha
woh phir aa gaye hai
jazbba or dosti aour woh mulaquatein
ka silsila to kher jaaree rahega
lekin
woh jaadu bhi barkaraaraar
hai
aapne gend haath mein dee hai to stump todne padege

on a cold auckland night

so finally let me give your due
as ted gave
sylvia as you feed your kids also

while you talk to me…

so ur hunny ……………….yyyyyyyyyyyy

is still scared of me
i can only send you an E-climax
in fireworks with flash
and worded in a dream weaved in a song
an explosion of Jpeg into
a bloggy MP3

(y)ou came to my rescue YYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

on classy seven
thank god for the lovely chairs
twisted lanes of elam that
translate into des[air
or joy
you said there was greenery
and whiteness in the air
and the yellow danger
of the poppy fields
i am here and i am joy
sometimes i clean churches
that i destroy

speed —y—

we saw speed and you said i was reeves
i loved sandra
and we had fun
wada pau on the only grass
where rugby is played
tackling love and other issues
opposite churchgate station
and through the eternal line
of hawkers
and big double decker red buses
that what’s his name
johnny english left

racecourse ———-y————

haji ali was a durgah
that kissed the race course\
a tomb of a sufi saint
white minarets
grey seas
i wrote love war computers
for Vijay Mukhi
and you gave me company
in the tardeo bylanes
where launderers thrash clothes

sacred (((((((((((((y)))))))))))))))))))

is love
clandestine
my past
goats tigers dont mix
poets romantics politicians
pretend
on a dark night brother
one eats the other

suicide ::::Y::::

YOU TRIED TO KILL YOURSELF
you tried did you not?
when dad was in jail
and you needed me to love me
i had nothing to give
every drop was squeezed
her mother had cancer
not my fault
her sister a crush
and you were in an 18th century love affair

on the mezanini …y…

i felt your breast
ripe as william’s plum
that drove me crazy and mom complained
she did not want her son to be a casanova
little did she know
that i died a million deaths in love

endless calls y

and i thought that was neha
you gave million missed calls
on 8075854
now the number is dead and cellular calls remain

masters %%%%%%%%%Y##########

you were pursuing your masters as the leaves fell in Bombay Uni
i sat near the dept of psychology
and i touched you
you recoiled like an old gun
something snapped
was it your self control
as the sun went down
and you complain
that i never wrote poems for you
in urdu
well i just sing them ghazals
i write in english and eat bread

sndt (y)

the picture you took of me in 1992
is srill there somewhere
the grey benches
the white boreds
the library where i chased you
to ask you…if you are ok.

you with a (y)

you even made the great neha happy
your hindu-ness was foreign to us yuppy souls
neha’s jeans shorts and your red red chunni
and the nose ring
and oye oye in your northern land accent
irritated and made me smile

ihc )y)

as i sat wasting afternoons knocking doors
your call saved my life
a fifteen year silence broken
as google found me for you
its good to laugh again

hot afternoon (y)

as the wind blows in ghaziabad
slight soft hot as she asks
whether the bus – the big bus has left
the one with the curtains
the winds blows in my cell
i am on hold…100

niece

Once simran needed new shoes and
i bought her slightly big ones
and they came out during the race
she was embarrased
and I was hurt
but i …

million charmers fell from red

lucifer was god’s favourite son
fired by a deep dark side
snakes snakes everywhere
as children died
get out of my house
it a manor smells of horse manure
farming town small evil devil’s dark
rural dark america and its million secrets
this is when director defaults disintegrates
flash weaves million dreams in macro
as director defaults

papakura is naughty

sunny..full of bounce and verve
on the good frriday i needed rest

as i heard christ being nailed at 7 am
this is soooo wrong
i thought in a cosm pop o litan girl’s accent
the new owner is renovating the building at our cost

we pay the price cause some skilled labourer
wants to nail christ
a night after 5 assignments

it’s holidays and kids eat ice cream on mission bay
as x bleeds.

the bed has changed position irene

my thoughts swing back at you
there’s a secret exegesis on the click
that bears your name
something’s changed
libra fallen again
scorpio hurt
jupiter retrogates
but hey… i still dream of you

flash cleared at last

as computer bite has gone
cache incremented a new fire fox swings
word no more control enters
just control new
bill gates needs to understand a few things
dream weaver must rise as swish breaks my heart
with its look
what is it with free software
they just dont have the look
like easy women
i miss the drama
god’s playing dirty
jealous as raison says
i wish the htm would be standardised like the euro

august karten i am your father

the bombay streets at empty at 2:00
the tea boys on cycles are guards
we walk 30 ks. to that temple as i talk
about neha neetu sesa emma melanie geeta
your hunger my ambitions tat i should have
since i am so bloody smart
i gave you the name in tat slopping church/graveyard
you fell in love with a prostitute
and a characterless whore
while i stuck to my decent women
you sold standard chartered outside clubs
i fell for nth mother. the churches at bandra stare at us.
samia peggy jihan are your family too
you are my father
you told me how to love
and when you were raison you were reason
told me reshma was an impossibility
and katrina is mine and irene a virgin
have you eaten today?

the long tar road

as afternoon sleep was broken by milk
at babysitters
something that my aunts fought about in santacruz
kuttan was phoolchand
chips or wafers
or that party with spicy drink
coca-cola out of my nose
kishori’s wedding in black and white
the letter hundred was not an X
but a mixture of 1 0 and 0
the cigarette butt that i try to blow out
another behind geeta i try to inhale
rolling newspapers
coughing
the long tar road as i waited for parents to return
running to every stranger out of boredom and impatience
as a schoolboy promised me on of his 30 cars
he lived in a hut

e-martial

yes love is insanity
remember that huge chutch
and the yellow moon and
the shining graveyard and your laughs
and the new market dance bar
and that movie we never saw
and when you asked if i was an angel
an anglican angel
the dark after party lonely street
when i broke into tears
the way moonlight bounced
on that …was it … a maple tree?
you were a mermaid and i was just me
being me…as usual!

spagetti sky

masks drama makes puppets sing inhale breathe
a sudden morning breakfast at mission bay
rains. flash saves html not htm. confusion galore
as windows is a whore and to change an extension
one must ftp blue sky fox. i know you think of me
world thinks we hate eachother its like schoolboys
shooting on stolen pickle terraces like a finger bullets
nothing’s real. what about harry and the funky version of my exegesis?
geometry is death and i run to arts college elam. find a new source
a new life. and all i know is keyframes. the txt did not jump
i love the fucking fonts. arsis, geometric 321, haeth-something or the other
penelope cruise. masks
are u asking me out on a date?
flash to paint and thick sesa pencils
are dishwashing liquid now

av re varsaat

its raining in bombay
run for cover
gateway, taj, nariman, chowpatty
gumboots wet
and arabs wet
and women sexy Xavier’s college women wet
the books sellers on the road wet
and the crickets at azad maidan wet
and the paperboats wet
and the spoke game wet
the pond wet
the kid drowning wet
his plaster wet
my chappals lost in that stream wet

singsong

so margeret
is it a poem?
or a song?
its a ….
pong

that pings

adrenaline

as it falls
wally

bing

bong

ouch

someone threw pizza hut's
concrete slab
a childish prank
cars clanked
head bangers ball

and you…
you..
you tell me not to
spank
i want to kick
the bastard's ass

diet SP

ivory castles kiss clouds crystals towerspines
princess irene. a wild blue wind. wanton violins – sing
rides forbidden eastern hinds. dark dark jungle sparks
sparks called savage by gypsies. charmer killer nark!

skinned lions, sabred slanderers, hated the sun.
irene fell misty waterfalls arms. sparks’ savage kiss
cold warm confusion charm “just friends” smiles he
“Lord I deserve her”, he summons. is refused. arrogance
laughs fear cries. eastern dark’s fires seek ivory’s gold

promises he won’t hurt, kill, plunder the slanderers
his noble mother’s blood aids. wakes dawn’s prayers
a weakness holds key to irene’s heart. but where?
golden sun chills rains awaits an answer. a nay.

“God” anger screams. “widows cry orphans weep”
warned by his divine father. sparks fears almighty wrath
decides to leave. waterless sands hebrews lands, nile
princess cries in his arms with love bitter bitter bitter love

eve brings bloom to gloomy savage heart
as cry they in eachothers arms
jungle fires
wild burns red
savage jumps palace grounds, balcony for a kiss
“i want you”
someone sees…complains
king shocks asks irene to leave
for china to learn creation of silk
promises. promises counter promises

waits six rains. gypsy dances . leaves black steed
france spain cardoba white churches – dark fisherfolks
africa morocco khairwaan crocs pythons cannibals witches
sahara cairo jerusalem palastine. india jungle. asia
himalayas tibet snow buddhist masters save sparks
and then china. yuan dynasty. king’s birthday. red
irene in a window. tears.
a long night of love and history
morning rides through china mongolia
marries a rainy day among pygmy friends
love sparkles in rain waters forever.

eastern dark lord hybrids savage callus killer. vengeance.
killed chinese king, irene’s ring. finally finds love in her arms

today

i tried learning flash all over again
papakura library has lost their books
museum’s closed
posted comments
body aches
sun comes out strong
hello kitties out on the terrace
national bank’s lost visa
no one at sushi
whitcoulls reminded of red job
emily perkins poem waits
vacuum waits
lemonade waits
flash again

High above the ivory mountains
Surrounded by pine trees
Up on crystal towers
Swept by the wild breeze
Loved by the wanton geese
Touched on a side by soaring cliffs
Kissed by calm grey eternal seas
Stood the summer palace
King Philip’s

One summer came
Here to stay young Irene
20 she was then,
Fresh as a whisper in the winds
Soft as a dew on the greens
The summer palace
She had never seen.

Irene, the beautiful princess
Her songs haunted the winds
Artistic, lovely, slim
Soft the structure; and a heart bold
Pouted lips. Steady eyed: Iron willed.
Enchanting body and simple soul
Irene the princess could lip-read
With eyes in the dark gleamed
Her heart no noble could win
Though her smile melted hearts
And soft as her heart seemed
She confessed she could never feel
Vain nobles proposed her hand
Proposals (from near and far)
Proposals – a lot
She refused. None an after-thought

“Heartless she is ” (whispered her friends)
But heartless she was not
The truth is sometimes if not most
Much more than meets the eye
Obscured by appearances
Haunted by ghosts
And sometimes rare
Clouded by lies

Irene had abolished hunting in her land
And defaulters she would apprehend
“Never shall one kill the beast
For mere pleasure or a royal feast”

As the king trusted his daughter blind
She was his favourite and always on his mind
But the servants never shut the spying eyes

One day the princess
Wanted to riding go
And riding, she went
Her father could never say a no
- As she descended
Into the forbidden woods,
Into the forbidden land

But Eastern Dark was
Beyond the Irene empires
No soul ever dared wander
Eastern Dark was ruled by Sparks
And Sparks killed on slander

Most referred him a savage
And wished at times he be tender
A hybrid of a noble, learned, discreet woman
A hybrid of a cruel, callous, unfaithful man
Sparks lived on plunder

A savage at heart
Callus and sinner in more ways than one
Savage lived in the blinds
And he hated the Sun

He ruled over the Gypsy tribe
Which settled in there 1200 AD
Whom he loved inside;
They could at him jibe
The savage lived the dark

Hunting the wild gave him a satisfaction – cynical
He was a villain and evil at heart
Sharp at words and quick at vocabulary
Learned. The blood of the noble woman
Evil – The heart of a cruel man
He could charm the birds off trees
Though his charm was seldom if at all
Wasted (?) on birds or fleas
Women and never wine
Were his weaknesses prime
Killing in his land was not considered a crime

And thus on the morning he killed
To avenge the death of a gypsy waif
That the lion had skinned
Whom now he trap and kill
When word came through that Jessica saw the beast
Under the Red Sand Mountain

Sparks rode as hell had no fury’s name
Out aside with sword and shame
Pulled out his silver lancet sharp
Hunting gave his glory fame

And down the woods the Lion came
Sharp the eyes mammoth the frame
And quick before the sound through harp
Savage down from his horses came

And eyes across eyes did meet
And two animals none could tame

As though the silence could much speak
Their grey eyes a single burning flame

Sparks – Savage was not just in name
One strike left the lion lame

One must the other eat
Both animals were on their feet!

A roar the wounded lion gave
Amidst the rising passion – a scratch
The blood: Sparks could not save
And silence then became discreet
The pride and arrogance left insane

A smile reached the wounded Savage eye
His arm bleeding like it rains
His lancet one and a half metres long
Swished across the air like a song

The lion was faster than most
The lion played the jungle host

His claws penetrated Savage guts
And deep, deeper the bloody cuts

While seeing blood – his own
Made Sparks smile
A battle A battle A battle
A mile

Sparks adored the lion’s style
And speed he had to catch up in a while

The golden mane he came close
And as the scarlet blood flows

Swish, went the Savage eyes
The lancet moved faster
Hard and high

The sabre cut the lion’s throat
A smile
The hunter gave a gloat

And Savage killed with poetic rhythm
Killing on slander; the Savage anthem

Night after night, day after day
It was the same, the savage and his bloody games

As evil Sparks gained Savage name

And hoofs thundered
And earth shuddered
As Savage came
And Savage came

Lost her way that night
Irene the beautiful princess
The horse stumbled as she
Fell in the waterfalls
The horse died
She fell into Spark’s arms
The horse died

She felt not
Irene had never cried
She felt never
Pain or pleasure
The Luna night
The moon was out
As she stood awashed
In the silver light
And the waterfalls
‘Fountains of youth ‘
It was called
A tribal belief
She was all but undrenched
Her white skin on white glistened
As she caught the savage eye
He smiled his brown skin tanned
He smiled she had a beauty rare

Looking ravishing in the moonlight
Like a wild flower
That touched his savage heart
As he picked her
Indignant by the Savage touch
And before she could reason
He kissed her
Amidst the water falls

She was cold and then she was warm
Intrigued by the savage charm
She couldn’t love
She couldn’t hate
“Friends” her eyes shone
She wasn’t an ingrate
But the savage wanted much more
He used friendship as bait
“Ah! Young man lets be friends
Friends to the core!”
Her extended hand
Met his
His eyes a seldom smile bore
“A very special friend?” he mused
“So be it”.
But friendship was not his wish
Her ignorance was her bliss

He helped her out of the eastern reach
As they rode back on his black steed
Which sped through the jungle’s silver light
And send her home late that night
Much after he stopped to say good bye
Much after he paused to say good night
*
“I hate to say good bye”
He stopped at the palace gate
“How could someone part
With something as beautiful as you
And why!

I hate to say good bye”
One tear in the cruel eye
“Try”, smiled she flattered, yet untouched
“Try” her luscious lips glowing
Her twinkled eye all knowing
The savage feeling growing
As he pulled her
The spying eyes
“I love you as I’ve never loved,
I’d live and die for you” said he

“I don’t know I can’t feel
I don’t know If I want to”; said she

“Then please do, or don’t know thee
How much I love you
Don’t ye love me?
Irene” He stopped “Don’t ye love me”

“I don’t know…
Summer palace is not my abode
I will have to leave someday
My father has plans for me
To send me to a foreign land
To further my knowledge
And love is too early for my age
Sparks, I don’t know, I don’t know, “
Was more than he could hear

“I don’t care when you go
I don’t care where you go
But till then be near”
As he came close. One hand stroked
Fingers through her hair
She resisted

“She always would”
Thought he “Indeed, very rare”

The princess could lip read
The savage had seen women
The savage had seen life
“But never in my entire life
Have I seen a woman as beautiful as ye!”
He kissed her Cleopatra nose and held her
She made him feel things never felt
When he felt her
He kissed with a savage force
And then kissed gentle as a rose
“This girl is a woman “
Savage thought
And savage was enough of a man
To know that
(The princess could lip read)
Though right now he felt more like a boy

Fondling
Caressing
Touching
Holding
His puppy love as if it were his favourite toy.

He looked heavenwards and
Said, “Lord I deserve her”

As lord looked down upon earth and said
“No my son I love you and can’t curse
But you sinned in thy life
You deserve not true love
You deserve much worse”

“Father in heaven holy be thy name
May you – we always hail!
Lord I can’t give her up
I shall fight
I shall fight tooth and nail”

“So be it my son
Consider this a battle you never won”

Arrogance laughed and fears cried
All but lost was savage mind
His love and his hate
Were they but his unfortunate fate?
“Unfortunate” a word he never self used
The savage was in an ironical way amused
“And when again shall we meet”
He turned towards her

“On full moon night” her face lit

“All right then we shall meet under this very oak tree
All right I will come after I finish hunting”

“But hunting is abolished in my land, Sparks”
Shocked she “Don’t you know?
Animals we have to save”

“But my jungle is not within thy boundaries, princess
I’m your lover not your slave
Or don’t you know!”

She smiled again, her eyes lit bright
“I never even once thought so”