Inside the puddingland

MySpace Graphics
Profile Cursors
MySpace Graphics Your kiss spins like a dice in the night air and finds a shelter in the naked geometry of my face. - For R

Tuesday, November 4, 2008



Men, sometimes, are so intoxicated
with love, poetry or idle dreams
that not even the oldest fear of death
could coax them out of the addiction
to convince them that they have a life besides


I wonder how it feels
when the greatest artistes die unnoticed
and the finest pieces of plagiarism
are auctioned in the most famous museums

A poet died last night
but there was no one
to mourn for him

Not that it would have mattered more
if an assassin lay dead in the circus

and it’s not a bad thing either
for the world now
has too many poets


I wake up at dawn
to the smell of coffee and cold kisses

Every poet
has a girl in his life

These days, I don’t read newspapers
for fear of corrupting myself

and even teenagers
hate the burden of boredom
or bachelorhood


Nothing sounds more fucking
than the alarm clock on a cold Monday morning

I ransom my thoughts to the reveries
and pray for the renaissance to resume

On vacant Sunday afternoons
my ears jar to the misty symphonies

I confess,
that, at times, I miss you

Perhaps we were ever too close
to be called just ‘friends’


I wonder what life would be like
without Elton or Enrique

or even without you!


How long can one argue
over Obama or McCain?

How long does one worry
about Saddam or Singur?

How long can a man live
without God or his girlfriend?

And tell me,
how long does it take to know
if someone is too nice to be a friend?


Last week, I never even once
dreamt about you

and I checked my cellphone
twenty times a day for your missed calls
but there wasn’t any!

Yet I don’t blame you
for these little disasters

Such odd tragedies
are quite common in a love affair


Tell me,
do you remember my pain
of being forgotten?

Will politicians, for a change
stop declaring impromptu holidays?

Will you ever understand
each line of every post-modern poetry?

And will you,
yes you,
still remember me the same way
even ten years later?


Life, at times, is painfully predictable!

Yet, I am not like Saktibabu, at least
who frequents Maddox Square during pujas
with his tenth live-in girlfriend

The first two were secretly killed
a third died of an unknown illness
while the rest are missing


Princess, we have talked for hours
but have never spoken

Sometimes, it’s easier to talk
than speak, like we did
last Halloween

Linkin Park and Fossils
are fast growing old

and so are you,
think twice before you lose
the cuteness of your girlhood


Nowadays, when I think
only scarecrows smile at me
and the rustle of soft seconds
mock the fake silence

My poem falls in the translucency
and fractures into shreds

No poet will ever call a poem his best
until he has given up writing forever

At least, I won’t
call this my masterpiece

But, what about you?

Posted by Picasa