Unhurt

Unloved

Untouched

Unfucked

Undrunk by your steady gaze

Unsought

Unused

Ununmasked

Unfound

Unsung

Unsaved by your fetal god

Unsurprised

Unwritten to

Unprotected

Unchained

Unmounted

Unpenetrated, pure, virgin

Untorn

Unworn

Uncracked

Ununraveled

Unjust?

No, unhurt

Mama's Brown Rug

 The little feather dust

Slow dance around us

Backlit by a bleach blonde sun

As she holds me like a buttered bun.

Ice-cream from the same waffle cone.

Now and then she lets out a li’l moan

As I lick off some drippin’ caramel –

“Mama’s gonna kill me. Effin’ hell!”

“Relax, the rug is brown and ornate.”

“But she really uses it to meditate.”

I see a trickle from her lower lip

An’ my tongue starts out on the suga’ trip.

But she pushes my tongue away

As if it has been leaking all day

Here on her Mama’s brown rug

And what can I do but shrug.

She holds her big tummy,

Her eyes scared of mummy

And she says, “I’m really very full.

And shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Baby, do you want ice-cream tonight?”
I ask though I know we’re havin’ a fight.

“Lyin’ here on Mama’s rug I’m getting fat”

I look at her an’ say “I wouldn’t say that.”

“But Mama says I run too slow.”

Her Mama’s being a big fat hoe

But all I say is “She has no clue.

If you ask me, that’s so not true.”

She smiles and takes my spoon

But cries “Oh! It’s almost noon.

Mama’ll soon be back from school.

This rug is a hundred percent wool!”

So I kiss her very quickly on her sticky lips

As I hold her by her enormous broad hips.

And jump out Mama’s grande French window,

Runnin’ to school faster than she can swallow.

The Lizard Moon Dance

An endless desert of gray stones

Blue and cold under a giant moon

Two parched lips seeking warmth

Among two fertile angel breasts

Not even wild animals in sight

Sleepless creatures of the night

Fornicating under gray stones

Wild cries and nasty moans

Begetting uglier offsprings

For the frigid arid world

Lucifer waits and watches

From his blue lunar throne

Ha ha ha every time we conceive

After countless shrill moans

The abacus is broken in two

But His supplies still continue

Hidden away under gray stones

Away from bleeding honest eyes

Bleed, you animal, bleed tonight

While our shadows make love

No one to wipe your tears tonight

Your little angel is here with us

Wiping my brow, braiding her hair

Again as we howl and moan

A prisoner of her own virginity

Trapping you in her untouched hair

How does this end you wonder

But some stories never end, my friend

Especially when she and I are writing it

Together, in our hard, stony bed.

Sweet Sixteen

The clock ticked ahead shyly for eternity

And I feel a new prickle under my arms.

Daddy, I need a mic for my sweet sixteen!

I wanna sing to all my friends about Tony.

Tony is pink and hairy and jumps on troubles

Like they were three mice stealing from me

As if I were a Nazi dairy running very dry,

Forever after Peter and Michael, before him.

Oh, Daddy, Tony is sick and I need a mic

To tell my friends if he'll make it through.

I need them to sing back that it'll be okay,

That he'll pull through like Peter and Michael.

All my friends sing into mics and I can't.

Why don't I have a mic when I have Tony?

You promised me a mic this warm winter

To play with Peter and Michael, and Tony.

Hurry up, Daddy, Tony is almost blue now

All the pink has rubbed onto the three mice

Who are dancing like the poor in December,

Drinking my milk, eating my Camembert.

Oh Daddy, what have you done?

Tony has left - grown wings and flown away

Unlike Peter and Michael, before him

Who continue to run like headless mice.

No I don't want Peter and Michael

They are dirty now, like the Camembert.

I want a mic, damnit; gimme a mic

I wanna sing my troubles to the world.

Screw you, Daddy, I don't want your mic.

I can shout and scream to my good people.

I am sure they can hear me without a mic.

Lemme sing why you won't give me a mic.

Your Inheritance

You like to wear your hair short

And your mother is in full cohort,

Having forgotten our matted days

Of picketing for Rosa through the haze.

Your little girl wears tight jeans today

As blue as the free misty ocean spray

Which wet the hems of our bell bottoms

Before the man jailed us and got 'em.

You shout against animals and ozone

And while I may not have an iPhone

Count me in when you sign your petition

To bring my voice - that invisibly loud gun.

Claudia

It was a usual hungry chilly morning

When you waltzed in through the window

Wading through the specks of sunlit dirt

With pure lyrical Felliniesque fluidity.

Then you changed into something rich

Red like the torn petal of a discarded rose

And we made love in one another's sweat

Scared to close our eyes lest we woke up.

And then the moon appeared in a starless sky

And pulled you away from my tight embrace

To take you through a different open window

Into another pair of welcoming arms.

Graffiti

Her slender artistic fingers clutching that last cigarette,

His unlined palms.

Her bouncing love handles as she laughs her infectious laugh,

His skinny jeaned legs.

The enviable straightness of her long blond flowing hair,

His receding hairline.

The slender nape of her neck when she wears her hair up,

His jutting Adam's apple.

Her color changing eyes depending on where you stand,

His Lennon glasses.

Her parentheses as she smiles her faint smile in recognition,

His luscious lower lip.

Her bunny rabbit-like slightly chipped happy buck teeth,

His ying yang molars.

Her uncleft chin protruding just enough to be bitten twice,

His bony collar bones.

The loose yet unobtrusive almost cutish fat on her triceps,

His apex cheek bones.

The virginal innocent curiosity of her pointy pink nipples,

His curly black chest.

The secret little hidden mole high on her inner left thigh,

The lint in his navel.

Her red toe nails synchronized like small Russian dancers,

His turtle shell elbows.

Her broad Viking shoulders that can carry all his weight,

His Frank Zappa that makes her smile.

An Ode to Scarlet

We've grown old together - hand in hand

Lying on one other all these years,

Holding on to words that take a stand,

Soaking in all Scarlet's dried up tears.

He had a lot of style back then.

All his friends who heard Him write

Would throw their tools and pick up pens

Like children tearing books and chasing kites.

But then His friends grew bigger

Than His spoken and written words

Since their wages were too meager,

Leaving nothing but poetic shards.

Scarlet collapsed from too much love

But still hungry from too many fasts,

Leaving us behind - two jailed doves

And His bottles - empty and unchaste.

He comes in here now and again

Talking to more bottles about Scarlet,

As both of us cry out to him in pain

"Let's find something new to abet".

The Loss of Numbness

They fell like drops of rose water
Reminding me what passion was like,
Each drop returning that familiar pain
That the pale body so sorely needed.

I cut myself the other day
Just to be able to feel again.
I had forgotten that sweet feeling
Numbed by this sterile world.

I took a giant leap down
From the lofty height of my balcony
Just to see if I had learned to fly yet
Only to meet failure, that prisoner of war.

Cut and broken, but alive again,
I'll let these wounds heal themselves
Until the numbness has returned
And then I'll cut and fly again.

Ragged Doll

I promise we'll only laugh
So that you don't push me away
Like that ragged doll that made you feel,
Only to haunt that poor little girl
And all of her helpless mates.

We'll escape to the moon
And bounce off mushrooms
As we see the earth burn away
Far away, reversing time
To its nude infancy.

I won't call you from your tree
While the others drown down here
In toxic pools of quicksilver
Until there isn't anyone to bounce off
Up into lonesome inner space.

But quicksilver is my kryptonite too
And my sturdy wings fail me
At this fortuitous Neanderthal end
As everything burns itself
And hides me in the engulfing smoke.

Pining for a Smoker

The space has its emptiness back again
Much like most corners of the heart.
The walls are bare white again
Devoid of your tobacco coated smile.
You can hear the hollow within again
Bouncing off into the light.

The sunlight is no match for you
And the fresh clean air only dampens my spirit.
Those obese white pillows in the sky
Only remind me of you blissfully chugging away
At a habit that is killing one of us
And saving the other a little bit every day.

I know you will be back soon,
That most goodbyes are never really that,
That there will be that familiar disgusting smell
To fill up my space and my world again.
But until then, I must wallow in this insipid cleanliness
With a sound body and a not so sound mind.

8/3/08

Lime Green Nails

Sunshine on lime green nails

Tapping against steely untuned strings,

Singing of sad sad tales

And of false hope they bring.

Vibrations of dark dark wood

And questions blowing about.

Rich smoke maintains the mood

That the answers would never be out.

More street corners and more nails

Red, blue, yellow, magenta

Asking about dead dead quails

About changing the agenda.

But the man is color blind

And supposedly very very deaf

As more mothers lose their mind

Wallowing in emotional troughs.

4/4/2008

Have You Seen My Guitar?

Have you seen my guitar?
Bright as Floyd’s crazy star.
I don’t even see her shadow at home.
Might have hiked to Paris or Rome
Or to the dark craters on the moon
And I fear she won’t return soon.

My room is empty and hollow
And I can’t but cry and wallow
But the tears can’t fill her space
Since my baby’s gone without a trace.
All the pages are clean and yet
Are little boats so that I am not wet.

The three little birds are not at the door.
They were hungry and so sing no more.
They have real proper jobs now,
Something my soul will not allow.
So tell me have you seen my crazy star
My lost homeless vagabond guitar?

3/26/2008

Vermilion

I am nervous as a schoolboy
Just before a significant test.
And I don't know why
A melancholic tune keeps nagging my head.
You hold me with your steady stare
And send me into fits of uncontrollable coughing
With copious passive smoke
From your guiltily lit yet necessary Marlboro Light
On a windy balcony with the backdrop of a hopeful, almost vermilion horizon.

Needless apologies follow
That only heighten the tension;
That take me back to furtive farewell hugs
In dirty San Francisco back alleys.
Suddenly you ask me my favorite color
Waking me from my reverie.
After unprecedented moments of thought
I realize it is the grayness of a cloudy sky
That touches me most.

I have made up my mind
To let the gray rain clouds shower today
After growling, contained thunder for so long.
Then you nonchalantly rest the back of your head against me
And tell me about your virtuous woman
And the sunset at your last holiday together
And how she adores bright vermilion
For the passion it brings into your lives
As we watch the sun set on my frozen gray lips.

2/18/2008

The Door in the Wall

You stare at me as I walk by
With the longing of a long lost lover,
Calling out with promises of unvanquished worlds
Of pavements of hope strewn with silver ladders,
And of virgin sun-kissed peaks of nearby mountains.

Age has robbed you of your magnet
And now you blend in perfectly
With those withered dead winter leaves
On the face of that murky deadpan wall -
The sole witness to the harshness of Time.

There have been countless dreamers
Who have walked up to you and
Taken the attraction a step further.
But there was your lonely beauty back then.
Why am I standing at your doorstep?

Maybe there is misery untold
On the other side of that murky wall
And you are contraception against the blackness
But I am a little fatigued from all this beige
And would sell my spleen to discover.

So I stand here and wonder
Whether you open inside or out.
And if my seemingly gutty spleen is worth it.
Your disclaimer is announced in guttural creaks
As my lips turn with your knob.

12/26/2007

Musical Salvation

OK...don't blame me for the horrible camera work. In my defense, my hands were too excited and I don't have access to expensive camera equipment. As you would have guessed by the title, you need to have your speakers on, and be ready to squint into the screen.



PS: This is a first

Last Night

I starved myself to sleep last night

Just to feel the poor man’s plight.

I slept on the pavement last night

Just to see if I could brave frost bite.

I ran into a wall last night

Just to feel the hindrance of might

Like a disposed little kite

Forced to stop in mid-flight.

I cut myself up last night

Just to see how it feels to get into a fight.

I fell on my face last night

Just to give my loved ones a fright.

I fell into a well last night

A space completely closed and tight

Where nothing but darkness comes into sight.

Just to see the world with no light.

I had a chat with a leader last night

Just to see if he was really that bright.

I toyed with a dog last night

Just to see if its bark was bigger than its bite.

I experimented with a prism last night

Just to make sure all colors did combine into white.

I looked down from a roof last night

Just to look at the world from that height.

I did things last night

To see all that is not alright.

11/19/2007

Hello

Hello Raindrop. Can you hear me crying inside

As you give in to gravity and fulfill your destiny

Along with your countless brothers

Lost in your pitter-patter among theirs

Which echoes through the silent corridors of my heart,

And yet makes it quieter?

Unlike Simon, I do not have my poetry to protect me.

If anything, it is like the hostile cousin

Who has joined hands with the enemy

And only makes me realize that I am lost

In my very own corridors of misery

Like a man searching for his own ghost.

It seems like the keys to this room are missing

While pairs of lamps pass by the window teasing

And the window is too tiny to let any light in,

Just big enough to let my eyes wander

In search of that sole beacon of companionship

That can clear my corridors of this eon of an eclipse.

They say light finds a way to darkness

And yet, my eyes grow in the absence of luminance

They say that doors without keys are one day broken

But these seem to have withstood the momentum of time.

They say air fills your lungs till you have to exhale

And yet, mine are as empty as the corridors I mentioned.

Sleep is my only friend, visiting me during this prolonged night

Showing me flashes of that ray which threatens my poetry.

The next time I'll hold on to my only friend

As much as my eyes will let me grope in the darkness.

And ride that ray till the very end

Giving up hope for my beacon's caress.

12/14/2006

Ramblings of an Intoxicated Mind

There's ice on the floor.
Looks like that's pizza.
Could you answer the door?
There's beer in the freezer.

As you read this poem,
You realize weed > alcohol.
I feel like doing an IREM
And Raj says “F@#$ y'all”.

Ash is too hot for words.
Salman got her b4 Vivek.
Way too good for us nerds
And for her we are all wrecks.

Raj is my man.
As B says, he knows how to party.
He expands the horizons of what I can.
Yaar woh to bandiyon ki le li.

I spoke of hope just now
But at the end of the day
I don't care about things that are pakao.
Mujhe karna hai things jinme dam hai.

Vancouver
11/3/2006

The Ride

Looking down the long, winding road
I clasp your hand stronger than ever.
The hand that guides me when mine itches
To take the shortcut to the highway.
The strong grip of those slender fingers of your petite hand
Keeps me off the ramp, down alleys leading to blind lanes.
That fixed, calm and peaceful gaze
Holds me when my mind and heart want to race each other.
Your words contain me when I am stuck in a single lane.
You take away the pain with a single touch
When my senses are reeling during a road rage.

There are countless mountains to climb,
Deserts to cross and rivers to wade.
In my mind there is no more room for fear
As you stay beside me and navigate.
But then why can't the other travelers see you?
Through the tinted glass over their eyes.
Maybe 'cause you are really me, or at least a part of me
And I am really you, or at least a part of you.
Maybe we are like those single moms
Who raise future world leaders
Or that one-armed rock drummer
That everyone keeps talking about.

How can you tell me your exit has come?
That we have to go our separate ways
Henceforth, on this road to obscurity.
I pretend the wind in my hair is impairing my hearing,
But damn that firm grip that holds my hand
And reminds me that I was just a ride,
A passage to the highway,
The highway that leads to nowhere,
Unlike what the map and the passersby say.

So I drop you off and you act out a ritual
As if we were lovers,
One that would have made Byron blush.
I put up a front as strong as the wind
But then, when alone, my hand falters
Without the support of yours.
I skid and flip on the asphalt
Laid out like roadkill
With no sense, no purpose, no direction no more
Realizing that my destination was right next to me
During the ride of my life.
And now I have a highway to get to
But no destination to go to.

10/7/06