Under-romanticised Poetry

I like to kill birds

And see them flutter

Their wings,

While they lie, almost dead, no chirps to utter.

 

I like to skin rabbits,

After I cut their throat

With a blunt knife

That pierces through their coat.

 

I like to unstring guitars

And strangle kids with the strings,

Then hide their dead bodies

In exchange for a few drinks.

 

I like to pour water

On anything that is dry;

Be it a new born baby wiped with a towel

Who squeaks for a cry.

 

I like to kick

The pebbles on the way,

Aiming them on beggars,

On the streets who lay.

 

I like to raid villages

And burn the fields of corn,

Along with the cattle

Who are newly born.

 

I like to put out the fire

When the room is cold,

And watch the people shiver and die –

The young and the old.

 

I like to push people

Off the moving bus,

And watch them fall – tumbling down,

Letting out carefully chosen words of cuss.

 

I like to pluck flowers –

A daisy and a rose,

That blooms in the garden

Of lovers so close.

 

I like to be in love

With a girl who wears

Pink flowers in her dress,

And cares little about tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Woman in Red

A poet has seven lives –

Three he dwells in heaven; three he burns in hell;

One, in the sea of life he dives,

And drinks at the edge of the hollow, bottomless well.

In this life here, I saw you, o woman in red.

Beaming with the sky’s glow – full of stars,

And inside, the wisdom of the dead

Who fell in the front line in the wars.

You talked to me of poetry and prose,

And my fingers trembled in your presence.

I grew flowers for you – a Dianthus and a Rose,

And they are nowhere near to your essence.

When the flowers bloomed, in rain,

I realised – all my love is in vain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sinful Woman

Woman of sins;

Speak to me of joy

And laugh at me,

While I look at you,

In self-pity and gloom.
Woman of sins;

Talk to me of desires,

And how you don’t have any,

While I think of you,

Switching sides in my sleep.
Woman of sins;

Whisper to me the words

That you wish to hear

While I disguise my feelings for you

In poetry and prose.
Woman of sins;

Run your fingers through my hair,

Coiling my curls,

While I smell the breeze

In the waves of you hair.
Woman of sins;

Switch the lights off

And bolt the door away,

While I unbutton my soul

That has, to you, come astray.
Woman of sins;

Let the doorbell ring

To us – two bodies asleep.

While I explore your soul

In the mysteries of your hold.

Discovering Poetry

We see poetry in different forms;
In the glaze of the fire,
In the wind that chills our spine,
In the sea with its gallant waves,
And more.

I saw it in you –
Beside me, clad in the warmth of winter’s warmest clothes.
With the jingles of the windchimes in enchanting soundness –
In your curls lengthening in unpromising waves;
In your glances that keep many awake;
In your nods that whisper to me of desires in soft, unhurried tones;
In your touches that unfold the seldom told mysteries of my soul.