Red Room Where the Writers Are

She is the tree

green and wide

abundantly dressed

overflowing

spreading her sleeves

blesses all

in her cool shade

solitude teems

with breezy songs

I feel

nearer God

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2

 

That autumn tree

from this window

looks like a young woman

naked

exciting birds

to come

kiss and play

tomorrow

when spring will return

she will be too lovely

to touch

 

 

 

 

3

 

I feel her hyaline influx

in my deep love leaps

from the soul with subtle glows

her breath runs through my veins:

this vassal of the flesh blushes

as I drink the infinite in her

 

 

 

 

 

4

 

I clasp your hands

and feel the blood

running savagely

through your arteries

in tulip silence

 

 

 

 

 

 

5

 

Is it the perfume

or your body

that makes the night

drunken?

 

your lush lips

ripple fire

in beautiful silence

 

your fragrance radiates

flowers and water

 

can I seek

my voice

in your breasts?

 

 

 

6

 

Blind

I see her beauty

deaf

I hear her melody

ignorant

I partake of her knowledge

poor

I share her wealth

in-drawn

her vision reigns my heart

 

yet the darkness of dust

veils my being

I don’t understand

the hidden words

 

though I sit

under her tree of love

she’s still away from me

just one pace

if I could take

I enter

the pavilion of eternity

 

 

 

 

7

 

The best poetry

is a woman

concrete, personal, delightful

greater than all

 

 

 

8

 

What is

this light

without rays

shining

in your eyes?

 

 

 

9

 

She is declared a mental case

her legs are shackled tight

in the street she snails up and down

 

naked without food

she freezes in December

near the drain curls up

 

unnoticed by pavement dwellers

building a bonfire of twigs, papers

cast-off shoes and rags

 

under the bridge sipping tea

I hear the bell tolling at Rajghat

pilgrims make haste to catch train

 

 

 

 

 

 

10

 

She stands between two parched trees like a sea of beauty

and looks at passing fishermen in the afternoon

her eyes are fish yet no one cares

the riotous leaves drop down and rest

before the flame cools she sees

against the hilly ups and downs her broken bangles

and hides a weeping rose in her white saree

 

 

11

 

The little heifer eats in

landscape of violence lies

on grass that is a grave

 

wild beats and bulls surround

 

who’ll hear her agony when

gods are begotten from their  sperms

 

 

 

12

 

To express sex

a crowd is convenient in the bus

during the Puja he rubs hard

his cock against the ladies’ bottoms

before turning wild gets down

at Sabuj Samaj to search

a new outlet in the Pandal

Durga’s eyes are too hazed to see

the dark desires of youth

crowding in the name of religion

puja, culture, and tradition

--all a national wastage—

while the cowards fear the coming

closer of boys and girls

in freedom

the government deploys

criminals actively

pushing and pressing

to keep the law and order, who bothers

their rape and adultery in the crowd?

 

 

13

 

He hands coins

just to look at

the tanned fronts

behind the little holes

of her only saree perhaps

the urge is to tear

the wrap that hides

the little thing but

he’s too timid to uncoop

his heart trapped

in her sandal arcs

 

 

14

 

While I was petting and necking

lying over her body

she was calculating whether

she could afford a new saree

from what I would pay her

tonight

 

 

15

 

Spring’s full youth

he unbuttons

her printed skirt

on red cushion

feels autumn

dropping down

the leaves of year

at the centre incline

like a twisted stem

at the end

wind dries up

a few more prints

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

16

 

Squatted in sun

she was cleaning

white and yellow germs

festering her womb

still she thanked

she was alive

 

 

 

 

 

17

 

She mysteriously conceals

all her passions

looking straight pretends

she hasn’t seen me

 

 

 

 

 

18

 

In the forest of her body

and steeps of her breasts

is the highwayman

I saw escaping

the moon

over stream last night

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

19

 

Each night in the island

of my little bed I enter

sensing sex like octopus

squeeze her with all my fingers

 

to bridge the gap

between dream and vision

set sail, and shipwrecked

unfree the tensions

 

in monsoony mist

search door in the wall or

gather diaspora of continents

in a hidden landscape

 

as  a wild mystic explore

her privates with handgun

and land on fresh islands

each night in my little bed

 

 

 

 

20

 

When I asked

to open her secret

she showed me thumb

 

I thought

she would return

love for love