Friday, October 17, 2008

Did you spend a night?

(Art courtesy Shriparna Sarkar. A friend, an artist and an ordinary oddball)


At arms distance,
my spirit waves its
hand to you


The clown
licks his fake nose.
It is his Dylan's harmonica.



Why do you hide in a clown,
on each night?
Do you think of old tales
and weep in your gin glass?

Look my spirits
wear new perfumes.
Smell with that red.



My clown is my disguise,
like your spirit.

My balms are for you.
to grow on you.

Why don't I see
the paint on your face?
smeared and wet.

The convalescences I cooked.
The massage I gave.
the music I created.

Did not you spend a dark day?



The blue light
shimmered on your tuna.

Our body ached of,
pain and perfume.
only once.

You wept and laughed,

Did I trouble you,
in one cold December?
I never burnt those firewood.

Their fire crackers,
burnt my cigarette.
Their pitchers,
drowned my hash.

They were voyeurs.


My ringmaster,
am I not strong a drug?
They search for me in dark alleys and brightly lighted chemist houses.
Smother and simmer.

I did tell them to do it.
I laugh and smirk with the pain of your
moonlit shadow.

This night is Guernica.



Lady of few words.

You can hear the night pass by,
with people tuning in
to the radio.
in camps which were restricted.

you closed your eyes,
and fed the orange butterflies.
And the audience of the station,
spent their night with you.

Why did you still return,
to mix your broth into the gin
and drink it like the chalice water?

You were not made by the woodman
or the carpenter.

The night is younger,
the night burns.



The words entangle,
with the pendulum.
They elude me,
like the clouds who eat the moon every night.
Like the fishes which jump and hang,
upside down on the water.

Don't you see me crying?
and yet I spent the night with you.

I'm my own spirit.
My attire is my ghost.
I burst out with my cocktail.
I danced to the fire, you
made with feathers and vodka.
I cooked the turkey.

And, I swept the blood on the couch.



And, still I say.


Wednesday, October 15, 2008


who do you love,
when you remember that the stars which
rain on the black void?

Do you think of the white paddy fields,
which sway
to the bloodbath?

Let me tell you woman,
I have seen nylon bullets
pierce your existence.
Why must you live then?
Why must not you cry?


do you still please the Rabbi?
sing to him,
songs of Rumi and love?

Whom do you think of,
when he the Rabbi declares himself,
to be the,
And, then explores you.

Don't you hate,
your sadist uncle for once?
He who sold you to him,
after making you a bloody Eve?

soothe my girl", he said
and dissapeared into the blue air.

did not you study Pseudolus?

Pray, Rabbi.


My woman,
welcome to the land of imageries.
Do you see yourself in the molten mirror?
Do you see the blood diamond,
on the cold head?

The far away woods,
call the sepentine laws to them.

Your diamond is lost.

Then why does your neck,
still smell of the
stealth and hunger?

do you have the answer?


The bosoms are like the enemy lines,
you feel brave,
yet timid,
the senses are like the no man;s land.
you remain so confused.

My woman,
they are fighting over nuclear and automobile
Do you see the anger?
do you remember the Rabbi's floral smell,
in such a day?


I remember the Rabbi's song,
in a stormy, dusty day,
Your farewell song.
But girl,
I'm your friend,

Do you remember?
the talks and the debates?
of uncles and freaks?


they who think,
never think.
The Rabbi who thinks he thought,
is thinking.


Woman, girl, female.
Whatever you are.
I killed the Rabbi.
Do you remember me now?

will you remember me?
After your farewell.