Saturday, January 7, 2012

Names, Spoken Aloud.

When you turn sixty, a year away
From sixty one. Say my name aloud.

Say my name with all the years of
Love, rolled up, tightly in a ball of
Burnt ash.

Say my name with rage and want
Mixed together.

And gushing like blood in purple
Lid veins, my memory will arrive.
Twenty one was your age when
I deserted you. Or twenty two.

Clench those wrinkled two fists
Scarred by abandonment and age.
And ask yourself.

Your memory will not serve you
And you will sob in silence.
Your bleeding heart will whisper
Forty years I have loved you
Another forty I will.

When you turned twenty two
I said your name aloud.

Hollow's End

Almost a lie, that love of ours,
Deprecating mass of emotion.
Who would've thought, who
Would've decreed, love sets
Your ruin in motion.

I remember your toes, curled
Up like whiskers down there.
Furious seeing them naked.

I am vacant with your love, it
Tears me up, carves me hollow.
The disease you gave me
Farewell present, omnipresent.
Don't follow me to my end.

Bile at the corner of my mouth,
Foaming, moaning, dying to be

Will replace my heart in x days
The last one belonged to you, why
Shed a lonely tear, your sentiments
Callous few.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Snippet v1.3

I wanted to call you tonight
My head's woozy and my body cold
I wanted to love your toes tonight
But that's not what the doctor told.

The Suffering Of The Sea

The night has set upon dawn
And the dawn has lost its very meaning.
Darkness has and will envelop
All the doors that lead to me.
It is here, only within myself,
That I want to confess my love for life.
A life waiting to slip away, in forgotten
Corridors of time.

I was born in a happy house
With happy people around me.
They are still here
But I have started to fade away.

I thank you, my parents, I thank
My friends. I thank the very God
That gave me life, and now
Tired by my shenanigans, conspires
To take it away.

I will miss the walls of my home,
Childhood, my brother the most.
I have lived as long as I could, I have
Lived more than my time.

Bury me in the Sea.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

A Dedication

An (in) verse transgression
Some lost labor of love.
There were few before you
And some above.

My love's a cliche,
You were such a bore;
I am glad it's over
Before we became a family of four.

Our hearts are broken
My hand's sore
I was always fond of sex
But turning you on was such a chore.

Perhaps I shouldn't be funny
For heartbreak's such a bitch.
 But now that I really think about it
You were just an itch.

I have already found someone
And I easily turn her on
She's witty and charming
We even watch porn.

This is a sub standard poem
Meaningful phrases are few
But it doesn't seem odd
For it's dedicated to you!

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Hospital Days

My body loves hospital beds,
Loves the white of sheets
A painful row of injured heads
Some ugly swollen feet.

The nurses have seen me naked
The Doctors smile a lot
Bless the water, for its sacred
And I lie on a sterilized cot.

My heart refuses to cooperate
And I throw my medicines away
A senior doctor wants to operate
Waking up means vomit and sway.

People visit and bring me gifts
My parents tell them all lies
The world inside me slowly shifts
As parts of me begin to die.

My last wish is to see a mime
I was always denied sanctuary
Tried my best to make it rhyme
This is my funniest obituary.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Secrets Under Wooden Floors


Bleeds in a corner
My soul, my soul, my soul
And you sip warm tea
On an empty morning.

'Can't find Sahib anywhere, Memsahib'
'Can't find him anywhere....'

I am giving up
You can come out now
I will always lose at Hide and Seek
Always lose.

'Must we call the Police, Ram Singh?'
'Must we?'

I looked at you the first time
Last time I looked at you.
Were you born this pretty?
I have to ask your mother.

'Sahib was a good man'
'Make some tea, will you?'


I wanted to cradle you
Before I went away.
I wanted, I wanted and I wanted.
My memory with you.

The man with nobody
Lived with his family
Occasional friends
Spoke occasionally.

'He would never commit suicide, Memsahib.'
'He used to hunt after all.'

Struggle with me a bit
Lie next to me
Live my life for a moment or two
Hold my hand and make me weep.

'Bade Sahib is coming back from London'
'Make arrangements, and make some tea.'

Meet me tomorrow at seven
I have to kiss you
I have to tell you that I, poet extraordinaire, loves you
Loves you, loves you, loves you.


'My son, my son, what have ye done?'

Ladies and Gentlemen, a small hiatus for the dead
I bring you, 'Much Madness is divinest Sense' by Emily Dickinson

Much Madness is divinest Sense —
To a discerning Eye —
Much Sense — the starkest Madness —
’Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail —
Assent — and you are sane —
Demur — you’re straightway dangerous —
And handled with a Chain — 

'My son, my son, what have ye done?'
'Have some tea, Daddy ji, have it before it turns cold.'

I liked to twirl you hair
When you slept
We even had names
For two Daughters.


I want you to call a Doctor
My memory, my memory, my memory
Betrays me.
And often, just like you.

'The world is not the same without him, Memsahib'
'Your loyalty shall be rewarded, I'm sure he's watching over you.'

I suspect that I love you more
Than you love me.
I don't mind, I honestly don't.
I just like to love you.

Ain't love a bitch?
How often you used to say that,
Especially when we made love quietly.
Not to wake my parents.

'Ram Singh, Ram Singh, where have you disappeared?'
'Where is everybody?'
'Why are all the lights off?'

Whimper, whimper, whimper.