billi boli

two

2011-07-06T00:19:00.000-07:00

learning to hug back
your arms snaking around me -
happy with just that much

one

2011-07-06T00:16:00.000-07:00

your ear on my heart
hearing a thousand frissons
created by your lips

mashki

2011-06-28T21:07:00.000-07:00

dil hai ki boodhe bhishtee kee mashki!
aansuon se bhari hai,
kabhi pilaaye, kabhi rulaaye,
kabhi banjar ghazalon ko seenchne ke kaam aaye,
kabhi gham ke namak ko gholne ke.

us par laga har ek paiband,
meri har ek asambhav prem kahani ka pramaan hai.
ab ek aur kahani is par apnaa naam likh dena chaahtee hai.

'umr ka khayaal karo!' aaine se bikhre baal kehte hain,
'logon ke taane seh logi?' deewanagi poochtee hai,
aisa dhaaga bana hee nahee jo
ab naye paiband ko pucca kare
toot gayee is baar toh bikhar ke reh jaaogee
yeh keh kar dil ko samjhaaya bhi.

lekin dil hai jaise boodhe bhishtee ki mashki,
isko aab-e-ishq pilaane se fursat hee kahan,
jo bikharne ke dar se dhadakna band kare.

cliches

2011-05-22T10:59:00.000-07:00

i don't want you

to kiss her,
be with her

touch her

know her
look at her, or
smell her.
feel her breath
on the hair
curling over your collar
as she inhales you.
i don’t want you

to listen to her pretty words,
her lilting voice

lying about me.

no, don’t draw her closer
to you, no don’t.
i dont want your gaze
getting entangled

in her long hair.
i dont want you

to want her,

the way i want you.

smell

2011-05-22T10:27:00.000-07:00

sweat, sarcasm and cigarets,
the smell of you,
is in my every pore,
curling down my back,
drawing me closer
to the buckle of that
snakeskin belt
slung low on five loops,
an exquiste caress of pain,
because i smell
the reluctance too, you know,
you don’t want me.

your beautiful hands,
that i’m holding,
in an aimless taxi ride,
are hoping your phone
will light up and rescue them
from my rough, life-scarred fingers.

you never look at me

directly, so i won’t see
that teeth grinding mix
pity and loathing,
but i know it’s there,
and there’s anger too,
because you know somewhere
inside that head of yours,
there’s a fleeting memory
of you and me.

images

2011-02-19T12:16:00.000-08:00

garlanded me with a tire
'call hanuman now', they said,
and set it on fire.

two held me, one stripped me,
'kill the katua!' they said,
and hung me from a tree.

flaming crucifixes outside,
'no rights' they said,
we hugged death inside.

wrong side of the wall.
'wrong papers,' they said,
bound and gagged i fall.

deaths on tv, i must confess
are terrible, but the worst
is death by loneliness.

lust object 1

2011-02-14T19:09:00.000-08:00

my world is made of routines

and aloneness, carefully constructed.

no time for clever word play,

lazy motorbike rides or rhum people.

you are intensely distracting,

and it's not fair

that you should flash your smile

and play that wicked tune

on the silver harmocia,

you mother gave you

on your twenty-first birthday.

it's not fair, not at all,

that i should need bitter oolong

to get the taste of you

from my lips,

that you should exhale smoke

into my mouth, and so easily

entangle my hair into your stories.

stories that would be illogical in daylight

funny even to eavesdroppers

sitting at the next table

comparing our kiss-filled nights

with theirs.

of course it is not fair

that you have turned the meaning

of adharam madhuram

so unholy now.

i am not crazy but i can hear,

the dj at totos is playing vitthala vitthala

while you figure out

complicated math

on the abacus on my hands.

i think i am ready to carve

your name on my heart

and mine on yours,

with the new ginsu,

that arrived by UPS just last night.

puzzled

2011-02-06T11:48:00.000-08:00

there are thorns

that have tasted my blood

on paths you have not

dreamed of crossing,

my hands have grabbed flames

that gobbled marshmallows

from fires that have never

burned your insides,

there is no ice in your eyes,

none around your heart

you've never felt the twist

of a rusted blade in your gut,

you've never crinkled your eyes

to the relentless desert of yearning,

you've not needed, wanted,

preferred death,

or laughed hysterically

at the futility of prayers

when you woke up to taste

yet another day break,

then why are you supporting

my rum-soaked walk

under dust infected stars?

why are you in my head?

on carton road

2010-10-27T09:42:00.000-07:00

tired of walking upright,

i found myself sitting on the last

of the two rows of red plastic chairs.

then crumbled into tears.

it was only

when they brought in a woman

dressed in red,

that i saw the wood,

the shed,

the pot of fire,

the smoke,

and the people.

but they did not see me,

so i was content to sit.

later it was an old woman and then a young man,

more people wringing hands

at flames,

and the smoke got into my eyes.

an old man with tired eyes,

asked me what i was doing there,

'koi saga thaa kya?'

not 'who', i wanted to say,

ask 'what' had died.

and yes, it was 'sagaa', very personal.

i collected my defeated shoulders,

stood up straight

then walked home. who'd have guessed

so close to the neon lit cafes of carter road

there existed, a perfect refuge.

2010-10-17T09:28:00.000-07:00

waiting

i have extended my arms out

to the night, waiting

for a star or two to fall,

the sand beneath my feet

is smooth, even,

as if drizzled from some hourglass,

it feels cool under my toes,

distracting my attention

from the pointy blue stars.

then exhausted by the blueness

knifing through the darkness

i close my eyes, and inhale the stardust

i think i am ready now

let the pain come

it will last only from the time

i close my eyes to the blue

lean back and exhale, fall.

illogical, but i feel like gulliver

my hair now entangled in sandy fingers,

the back of the hands, the small of my back

and my legs bound,

the sand is cool to the touch, smooth, even,

fills my lungs so easily, quickly

and ears too. the last sand scratched sound dissipates

into the blue puncture in the skies.

origami

2010-08-22T11:53:00.000-07:00

score art cards

with the blunt edge of a knife

cut just deep enough to fold

but not tear

fold the edges in

push corners out precisely

into fine slits

tear away along perforations

snip, snap, snip.

you allow people to do just that. isn't it?

they mark you and stab you

score points and lines...

and you scream sometimes

but let them cut you

hoping that at some point

you would be art.

wish

2010-01-28T09:44:00.000-08:00

if i should die, when i die,
i hope it is convenient to all.

don't want anybody's weekend plans interrupted,
or weekday work temporarily suspended,
don't wish to be the cause of a lost casual leave.

don't want anyone to be stuck in traffic jams,
cursing the hour, or delayed needlessly,
when better things could be done instead.

i do not wish to cause anyone agony,
about when and how or if to pull the plug,
the paperwork stuck because it's lunch hour.

i do not wish to see boredom in their eyes,
the waiting for the breath to fade away,
waiting to leave, fidgeting because they cannot.

i do not wish to let anyone suffer,
the tedium of writing an obituary,
the anguish of choosing the words.

i just wish to crumble to dust, fade, disappear
without a blip in time or memory. and soon.

too sweet

2010-01-26T10:08:00.000-08:00

how did i become diabetic?
it was as easy.
just as day turns into night
a girl turned into love
love into bride
bride into mother
mother into pain.
that's when (my fault again)
you started taking painkillers
who wore miniskirts
and adored you
and cajoled you
and turned you into
sugar daddy.

five

2009-12-18T11:21:00.000-08:00

volun
teered
to paint
you-er
garaaje
not love for you
my prettee
itz
the thinner
that
iz mind
blowin

three

2009-12-18T01:31:00.000-08:00

smelly
stagnant
rooms
remind me
of glue days
and sharpie nights.
we were warm
in leather boots,
matching blue
vinyl coats
and mittens.
and pearls lay
strewn between us.

water

2009-11-03T17:49:00.000-08:00

toes test temperature,
vetiver, ancient healer,
assures his touch on thighs,
so lower your body
in the warm water,
let islands of knees
and shoulders sink,
stretch, look at the ceiling,
when the back of your neck,
soaks the comfort of the wet,
you say, 'i love you!'

but he's deaf now.
the failure of the years
between you,
is clear in the lines of his face.
there is no gleam in his eye,
to collect as memory.

so you stop struggling.
quell reflex with resignation.
and let him press
sternum and shoulder harder,
and let water fill your lungs.

advice

2009-07-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

'stick and stones from strangers
and words from those near.'
the gnarled hand holds mine
and it rains tears on the ground.

'you'll be rich, my dear
dressed in silver and gold', she says
'then why the tears, old witch'
i want to ask, and she guesses,
'because you'll be poor of love.'

i follow her green-eyed black cat
down the crooked rainy road
into a fire-warmed tavern
where after seven glasses of red
and complete confession
the host takes a gleaming knife
over a green porcelain dish
and cuts my fingertip.
with a lock of my hair
dipped in this warm red,
i sign away my possessions
and choose love instead.

twenty years later,
wounded by love's infidelities,
i'm trying to find the same tavern.
pausing for rest under a timeless tree,
picking out the thorns,
when a faint meow draws my attention
away from the arrow in my back
(shot by a dear friend).

'cat! you still alive?'
'no stupid woman, that was mum',
cat says, agrees to take me back.
my feet hurt but i make it there,
to find the man in the tavern.
not a silver hair on his head,
not a wrinkle on his face,
he ignores my surprise,
says he knows why i was there
and offers me the same red to drink.

before i say anything, he says
'no money to buy salve, eh?
people don't think before signing
their souls away.' i beg, i plead,
but there is no other way.

seeing how hurt i was, he relents
'i'll give you pretence,' he says
'it comes free to those hurt in love
if you practice it every day
the pain will soon be gone.'

three long years have gone
since that advice on an autumn afternoon.
and just when you think,
it has worked very well,
along comes a rainy day song,
or a stray smell of you,
and i'm crying again.

wishful thinking

2009-03-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

you never liked summers,
always drawing the shades.
i did not mind the cool dark shadows
but did you think i could not hear
the crook of the finger
that beckoned you to betray me?

my fair weather friend,
if i had a knife right now
i would stick in it in your foot
right between the third and the fourth
metatarsals, and watch your lung bleed inside
while you writhed in agony outside.
and i would hire sarnath
to use a 2b to sketch the various shades of pain
making their mark on your face.
and then i would pay him some more
to permanent ink you.

maybe i would write a poem
and take it to jeet
who might take it to sridhar
who might sing it in her smoky voice
so i could wet the very dry martini
in the library bar with my tears.

treachery does not have a season,
but i let you laugh for too many,
now that the sakura is in bloom,
i am glad to bury you here
under the hundred thousand petals,
before the heat gets you.

not love

2009-02-13T11:24:00.000-08:00

she's gathering flowers from the grass,
picking sorrowful thoughts from dreams,
those are tears not dewdrops on the green.

dawn in the city is dusty,
she cuts her long hair for a broom.
only snatches of tuneless songs left to collect.

anguishes come and go,
she's been watchful, they tend to stay
hidden in some cobwebby corner of the heart.

tell her it's not her you love,
but when she was shaking out the songs and thoughts
from her window, you stood beneath
and looking up fell in love with the illusion of a bird
that wiped all lustful thoughts in your head
with the soundless flap of her white wings.

just tired

2008-10-19T02:56:00.000-07:00

six thousand three hundred suns
separate us, and i still hope
that we should meet,
on the jagged rocks
where periwinkle grows,
just like i picture in my head,
dig our toes in the sand and
send the starfish back into the seas,
on unknown dance floors
make love to the speakers,
letting the beat reverb through the lungs.
but as i let the rotting grapes
mingle with the red
coursing through my veins,
i know i am singed by your fire,
but you slowly extricate fingers,
you cannot possibly see
how i battle the coils
dark, slick, tendrils poised to drag me
into the flickering shadows.
any other day i would've fought,
the ginsu sits on my hip,
but not any more, no more,
bone weary, blood tired i am.
i do not wish to find
any way out not today, not today.
on my knees i wait
the shadows will surely call.

at the printer

2008-10-14T09:44:00.000-07:00

skin slivered by a poem
written to love,
(is there any other kind?)
another paper cut!
you laugh and turn away,
'it's deeper,' i want to say,
but words are stifled,
when i see you open
yet another chat window.

the words slip in and hurt,
slipstream to the red tide,
pounding through to the heart,
hurting. hurting. hurting.

then you flash me
an absent-minded smile.
i put that cut ring finger
to my mouth.
stick my tongue to the hurt,
and file the poem away.

good idea

2008-10-06T11:15:00.000-07:00

that mary shelley
had a good idea, i think:
she went searching for the best.
body parts, that is,
to make up her perfect man.

i look at his smile,
and wish it were on you.
and another's forearms,
to be yours.
so you could hold me tight.

oh, did i forget that chap's legs,
they would be awesome on you.
and that star's sexy dimples,
on your cheeks.

hair, nose, chin, size of hands
from him, him and him,
but i like your width.
it's perfect to rest my head upon.

and your mind.
your demented, deviant mind,
that thinks up crazy ideas,
and wilder stories,
is what i'd like to keep.

hmm.
hmm.
hmm.
that mary shelley
had a great idea.

pulp fiction

2008-10-05T10:10:00.000-07:00

if you could read
the blog inside my head
you would run
and never turn back
what deviant notes
about wanting you
in spite of wrinkles
and plain disuse

if you could read
the blog inside my head
i would understand
why you would run
i am terribly articulate
in my fantasies

if you could read
the blog inside my head
you might just stop
and give in to the gleam
i've sometimes seen
in your eyes