Monday, March 6, 2017

2 women


1. 

someone asked me, 'do you have aadhar card?'
how to say no? modiji bura maan jaayein toh?
so i say, 'i have a boyfriend, na,'
'should i buy this dress?'
'yes'
'this bracelet'
'yes'
'i want to go to colaba'
'chalo, drop kar deta hoon.'
'don't feel like going to office today.'
'dus minute ka kaam hai, aata hoon.'
dekha kitna support karta hai mujhe?
kitna aadhaar hai mujhe uska!
mujhe card ki kya zaroorat hai!

2.

sochtee hoon, main bhi ek app banwaa loon.
wohi, tinder type app.
for finding substitute kids.
dekho na, i have daughter, i have son
how many calls i made last week.
majaal hai ki callback kare!
that's why substitute kids wali app.
requirement yeh hai, they call once a week
do pairi pauna over the phone only,
ask, how your knee is, mumma?
teach me to put you tube on computer.
and when they start asking for money,
like real life wale kids
then simply swipe left.



Wednesday, May 4, 2016

April Poem # 19 weird


you're so weird,
you make me mad,
you're odd, try to fit in.
you're so strange, 
your friends are too,
flaky is good on paper,
in real life you're just stupid,
you're so off center,
kabhi toh be normal,
quirky is nice, but not all the time
how can you be so...you?






April Poems: #18 english rose and lavender


my granny smelled of nivea,
that came out of the blue tin.
and if you were good, she'd take
a bit from the inside of the cover,
and put it on your wrist to smell.

other granny smells were English
Yardley talc which she never shared,
and patchouli on her sheets,
camomile in her tea,
and the funny pillows inside her shoes,
made with camphor and salt,
to keep bad smells and evil spirits,
from stepping into her satin shoes.

everyone spoke about how she lived,
in a cloud of fragrances, some good
others really revoltingly strong,
it kept people away from her bony hugs.

i never minded her skeletal cuddles,
so she let me use the phus-phus perfume bottle,
i never minded her bodily odors,
i never minded her cackling laughter,
i pretended she was going to live forever.

her room now smells of pinesol,
and promises to turn into 
the family dump room - for stuff,
that will probably lie unloved, 
too unimportant to be used,
and too important to be thrown away,
just like its previous occupant.









Sunday, May 1, 2016

april poem #17: Touch


touch,
don't talk,
there's nothing more to say,
the past is far away,
and the future but a calming bottle
with silver glitter floating gently
in lazy, never-ending circles.

touch,
don't talk,
some places need fingertips,
others react to squeezing,
and the frissons are copyright material,
it's up to your fingers to choose
parallel lines contouring
or lazy, never-ending circles.

touch,
don't talk,
sometimes scratches on the walls
tell a better story than pretty words
inflicted on a page in cursive,
feel those wounds, flakes of blood dried
and the raw softer skin exposed
how deep are they?
the scabs are still attached, 
explore, pull them apart, 
in lazy, never ending circles.





Sunday, April 24, 2016

april poem #16: sometimes


Sometimes you close windows to mosquitoes,
Sometimes to shut out traffic,
Tonight shut the windows,
Because there's too much stardust in the air.

Sometimes you draw the curtains,
Or the shameless full moon will peek in,
And poke about the bedroom all night,
Throwing light on your secrets.
Tonight pull the blinds,
You don't want any more demons,
Escaping the room.

Sometimes you close your eyes in prayer,
As you've been taught, taught to ask for forgiveness,
Give thanks, and generally be grateful.
Tonight close your eyes or someone might see,
There's no more faith left, and there's only salt,
Because you turned to look.


april poem #15: syllable count


O Hiroshima,
It rained acid that night -
I loved you then.

april poem #14: WHAT IF...


what if my love were not gold,
but just humble copper,
would you think it less worthy?
copper pennies don't matter much,
they weigh down wallets,
dropped carelessly in tip jars,
rounded off in calculations,
why do we have them at all?

if you found me in a back pocket
of your not so favorite trousers,
snagged by a low branch, 
when you stood under tree
because it was raining,
would you rescue me or would you
let me roll down to the roots,
and sink into cracks in the pavement?