Three Poems 

"Noor Abdella"

Dies 

The 

Apologist (I dream of being

 less meek, of  

being a  

revolutionary, of  starting a

poet’s society) 

 

A peaceful chomp  chomp.  

Gulp. The nimbu-pani.  Dies the apologist. 

Gulp. The words. Gulp.  In old paper yellow. 

Reads new worlds.  Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.  Thirst

and hunger, and  the games they play. 

Drowns an apologist. Is  murdered for a  

thousand apologies. 

Diwali 

May your Deity be the  

Air Quality Index 

May you bear stars on  

your brow, and not be  

wrapped in a smog shroud.

Mahishasur (I recall a

demon  I once loved) 

and I — kissed — 

provoking the ire of Asuras veridical who 

passed by in the air conditioned chariots of 

Lucknow metropolis. 

They stopped and glared. We stood apart 

while they did so.  Acknowledging their 

supremacy (Which is when drifting away, the 

forbearing returned to the sanctity of their 

chariot) 

Later and before, there was a bright night on 

one bank of the Gomti  and a dark one on

the  other. Mahishasur  pointed this out to

me.  “Look” 

And therein described our lives with the  

flourish of his  

bloodstained weaponry  

Called upon his  

armoury to draw peace  into this — the last

yug of man. “There lies  darkness, and there, 

light and we’re in the  middle,”  

And so it was that I fell  in love with a

demon