Friday, September 21, 2012

Soul For Sahib

Poets, what do they know?
they know nothing of the world.
They can only cry.

they write in small places.
Tear paper and
their skin.
Talk to themselves in trains.
Cry in front of strangers.
And take your name.


In small places they
stare at walls.
and wish to lose their voice.
Want to run away
and have no memory
of your hands.


Tell me Sahib,
How have we forgotten each other?
Do you remember my name?
The Levi's paper bag
is the only
evidence of your
Have i forgotten you?

I no longer know.
There is no grave
that i can go to
for you.
Because you remain here
inside other cages
that are like the bones
in my body.
Because I have imagined all these stories
Because we were poets once.
You and I.
But you will never know,
Because poets, what do they know?
They know
nothing of the world.
They can only cry.
So sometimes,
I cried.

But now my sorrows have gone
And nothing makes them return.
Not even the fear of forgetting your name.

In this part of the world.
Kingdoms fall.
So have we.


Thursday, September 6, 2012

The Last One

There were wings we had
and history
you were a tragedy
and i was a nymph
you were small
and we were
regular lovers
but we loved
i loved

i dont know what it was
that you loved
maybe my body
or just my blood
but we loved
what is this kind of love
that is not love?

i was told tonight
that i
have never known love
but i have i said
i have loved
the depth
of your smells
searched them in
people's clothes
their jaws
(they have never known
they are too wise
they do not know me
i am mad)
your nose-pin
i have dreamed of it
your pictures
i have cursed
i have also rubbed your
infidelities under my thighs
so that they always stay
with me
so that i never forget what love
tastes like
what love touches like
you have been salt
on nights
and catatonic gazes
on most
but you have been
i have loved you

i have loved only you
maybe i still do
maybe that is why
i feel empty
as if my houses
have slipped my name
as if i have no colour
in my skin
as if i have no eyes to
see the world

nothing moves me
nothing stills me
nothing reminds me
of the rains
nothing fills me with more poetry
than those words that come
back like
child Julys

I feel like i must know
no more
I must not love anymore
Oh but
i do not
my love has dried
it has decayed
and become
the gypsy of rust
my love will never exist
the way your
wisdoms could

you could charm a lesbian
they'd say
you could fuck men
they'd say
you didnt love me
they'd say
but what do they know
they know
nothing of unlove

you left with footsteps
and a jacket
and a fatal camera around your neck
but what do those things matter
nothing matters
like it did
when we agreed
to love

and now you say you
were sorry
you were blind?

fuck you
you have no right
to make me cry
fuck you
you have no right to
make me love
fuck you
you have no right
over me
and my sadness
fuck you
dear love

you were the last one.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

I & I

we visit in our own ways
I pay my dues with
like wet clothes
in small houses.

When I open my legs
there is only a fixed
trembling in my fingers.
My shapes have shifted
and all my moods that
have been carved in natural anger,
ask me of my doubts.
I bind carnivals of sadness
to my ankles
and touch them often to know of reality

Not only this, i have forgotten to dream
and become beautiful.
There are tragedies on my mind and a fear of blindness.
My lungs are falling apart and I will
become still
with the loneliness of this aerial land

Bury me carefully
And let me wait.

I think touching is just an evasion of the inevitable.
let us ask the wind to make us cry