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