oh
People of the land
You do not know what peace looks like
you haven’t swum or swam
you haven’t breathed liquid
forgive my impudence
but you don’t know a damn
about the softness of silence
of the release of the bated breath
I would invite you down
to the murky waters
where peace is drawn and quartered
where there is nothing but the commonplace terror
of the endless endless
where the end is a means
i truly would invite you if I could
for my mind is savage
but I have no jurisdiction there
allow me hence to beautify
the moment outside
its suddenness
a 4am unlockment
a glimpse into the infinity
the horrible triteful glory of cheap revelations
the horrible divinity of existence
the horrible horrible divinity
and the horror, the utter utter horror of thankfulness
“Nothing had changed, Everything had changed”
The moment where my nemesis, that grisly master
God
attempts to forgive me
and I shamelessly accept his forgiveness
in order to strengthen my atheism
in order that I can reconfigure
everything that comes after
away from the preexistent bending
to restore my effortless guile
my thanklessness, derision
oh what joy to feel empathy once again
that pointless hypocritical feeling
the situation
away from the baseness
of level zero nudity
to fuck fuck fuck fuck
under wraps
gloriously like a rabbit babbitt
like Bataille Bataille Bataille
like Chughtai Chughtai Chughtai
to ephemeralise like an artist
oh what joy
what utter joy
what salvation oh my oh my
to momentarily concede to the dervishes the mystics
before using up the rapture to set foot on land again
to be ironic and dismissive once more
what peace what peace
away from water
the invisible air of peace filling our lungs with normalcy
you don’t know what that peace looks like
you landbourne fuckers you sceptics, my kin
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The Death of Poetry
Here I am
Come to declare a death unto poetry
Its flagellations wrathless
Wrapped warped
I am Come
Here
To speak bigly
Of endings
Of forgotten beginnings
Middling on the volume
The girth thickless
Enriched
But tasteless
An assemblage called forth
Elsewhere
Away from the ravings of me
Of death of death of death
None whatsoever
Innovated colonyism
Polynesia burning
In A figment of an atlas
Thinking in battles
Of big big words
I however amn't unduly
I am
Come at a gatelessness
Penury
Away from 'them'
Their
Gates closed
Butless pronunciation
The slippery bread of a poor sod
Is filled with water
I am come on a black wing
Sermony about
A temporary death
Followed by
A permanent life
Theoretical condiments in condoms
Butless still
But also noneless allless
I am here, come to
respondez
sil vous:
All are welcome
Goods bads penguins
Come one and all
But sadly I cannot make it sorry
I'm off goodbye sayonara
Coulumbs measuring painpainfully
I've scienticised
And undone it also
I'm pronunciator
Once more
But only for a minute or two though
Just for being
Just until yes
Then once yes meaninglessed
And black meaninglessed
I meaninglessed
Am meaninglessed
Going meaninglessed
Whoosh, I'm gone.
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Losers
I just want to see the words
pass before my eyes
without much consequence.
I want to fail to write a single word
that deserves to be read.
I want to sweat and be ashamed
and walk through rainbow puddles
of effluential water
on the sidewalk of a crumbling city
with not a single original thought in my mind.
I want to smile at jams
mixed or strawberry
and discuss money and investment
i want to look up the meaning of the word ‘happiness’
in the OED
I want to get used to spices
and be okay with the antacid war in my oesophagus.
i want to learn how to drive
and drive on country roads
enjoyingenjoying nature
i want the gaps in my hair to be married to the wind
and i want my hair to fall back into place once the wind ceases
i want to sweep floors, clean dusty shelves
stand behind a counter for a few hours, for years and years
and pay my rent once a year
i want the stench of my body to not reach anyone
for months and months
and to be buried in an unmarked grave
dispassionately by a pensioner
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Sticks
And when you finally emerge
I will look to you as a friend
I will cordially inquire,
“What took you so long?”
as my eyes will pretend to be distracted
by the golden chandelier and the passing coats and gowns.
Your hands will tremble with lust
you will be tired,
for many have tried to woo you
and succeeded.
Let me be another
to wax eloquent.
You must be tired of my pining:
you, with your poetic and novel ways.
But to me you aren’t a whore
- a lady of the night:
I have dreamed and dreamed
of your cold embrace
unashamedly
like a common false poet
Maybe I am a false poet
Maybe that’s why you appear.
Take me with your sturdy hands
as you navigate deeper and deeper
along this eternal river.
Take my bare hands:
sticks
as you float above me
and oar us through
to your sweet home.
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aflatoon
only fascists can be poets
only fascists can hate poets
in this aflatoon dunia
maar kaat dhaad
and us in between
sleeping, slaying poetry
ignorant, uneducated, illiterate
deaf to the phantom rhyme of
maar kaat dhaad
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राष्ट्रगान
बंद कमरे में बैठा हूँ मैं
राष्ट्रगान लिखने की कोशिश में।
बाहर कबूतर परेशान हैं
और उनकी गुटरगू से मैं पीडित।
मैं पहली पंक्ति लिखता हूँ,
"बंद कमरे में बैठा हूँ मैं"
और एक झोंका आ दरवाज़े को खोल फ़ेकता है।
मैं बाहर निकलता हूँ।
कबूतर उड़ गए हैं,
धूप बरकरार है,
दूर कहीं लू उमड़ रही है।
नीचे से पाटिल मैडम की आवाज़ आ रही है।
"आई ग! कुत्रेया साला।"
वे अपने बेटे को डाँट रहीं हैं।
वह निकम्मा बदतमीज़ लडका।
उनकी आँखें मुझ पर पड़ती है।
"ये ले बीस रूपीया। मेरे लिए दूध लेके आ ना।"
रास्ते पर गाड़ियां फ़ैली पड़ीं हैं,
गाड़ियों के बीच भिखारियों कि अनगिनत साँसें।
माथा हमारा पसीने से लथपथ,
झंड़े कि तरह फ़हरा रहा है।
"आधा लीटर दूध"
दुकान में एक टीवी
और उस पर कोई एक राष्ट्रगान चल रहा है।
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Small Life
Make your life small
A few centimeters are all you need
They say small is beautiful
And I say, yes, a life must be small
Like a cute little puppy
That can sit on your shoulder.
A book is a small thing:
a malleable block that can disintegrate on touching.
It can lie in a corner
Uncomplainingly
Full of years and years
hardly visible.
That's how a life should be-
Not too grotesque,
Or barging into gravity.
Just a thimbleful.
Like a mist over Chandigarh
Seen in a long shot
From atop a building
with a telephoto eye-
Gray and gray-
With a scooter speeding away in the distance.
Or like a Bombay evening
When the brow begins to cool
And you walk in step with a million bodies-
Such is the smallness I decree over everyone's life.
Nice and small and nice life.
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wolf from pizar
In the land of earthen lamps, she lit up a candle
her old pink paavada was dotted with wax
her wrinkly belly looked well-oiled in the light
and the wrinkles of her face,
which had up until now remained hidden in the darkness,
came alive.
She walked up to the ammayi
who sat in her usual seat,
peeling off the rancid jackfruits
preparing a treat that no one wanted to eat.
She was the last of the chatta-mundu women:
a proud betel-eating nasrani.
She offered me a fleshy piece of the fruit
calling me in her guttaral tongue as ‘eda’:
I took it, hiding my revulsion,
and swallowed it whole.
Now, velyammachi, taking note of her good mood,
said to her, “Ediyey, tell little Monukuttan about that wolf you saw in Paravoor.”
Ammayi remained silent
Velyammachi was smiling
I sensed a story about to erupt
I fought against the taste of jackfruit that still lingered in my mouth
“I was sleeping in my bedroom.
It was the night before your mother’s wedding.
June is such a hot month. All the windows were open.
I felt a hand around my neck. Someone was tugging at my necklace.
A thief. He ran away when I got up and tried to grab him.
I rushed outside with my eerkali-chulu.
But he had run away.
And then a wolf emerged from behind
those curry-leaf bushes that are there outside the house even today.
I thought it was a dog at first, but as it came nearer,
it became clear that it was a wolf. So huge it was.
Its eyes shone silver in the night.
I couldn’t even look up to see if it was full moon.
I was frozen in my spot. It bared its teeth and looked almost ready to jump.
And then it said in loud voice, ‘Edi Theresiye, go inside you fool!’
It was my dead father’s voice!
I rushed inside immediately.
No one believed me the next day
when I told them what had happened.
They were all busy with the wedding.
But I am telling you, my father was there, protecting me.”
The electricity came back on fifteen minutes later,
Ammayi slowly trudged towards the kitchen to get the curries out
She looked weary.
I wondered why she never got married.
Why she became the nanny of her brother’s children
She brought out the red fish curry that was simmering like Mt Doom
and had equal destructive potential
She said, “Tomorrow we’ll fry those jackfruits into chips.”
Everybody loves jackfruit chips!
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Land
Each of my forefathers
grew up in a different city.
Moving all their lives:
all over the land,
their eyes pregnant with a desire
for a summit beyond their forefathers’ summit.
Each of my foremothers
Each of them
grew up in a different city.
Moving all their lives:
all over the land,
their necks towering over the wilderness
surveying all that was left to fight for.
With arms and arms and arms
With backs to backs to backs
They obliterated all that was them
They embraced the invisible flag
That was unfurled only at night.
And now it is my turn to take up arms:
to fight the fight, the fight!
And now it is my turn to turn away
from the dream of my forefathers
And now it is my turn
to break the backs of my foremothers
to search for my celestial city
where the grime and dust
noiselessly chant my name
where crowds part as I walk
the small distance, towards the throne
my hands bloodied with the mad ink of the reckless night.
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How Alexei Leonov became The First Man In Space (written some 11 years ago)
It really may matter whom you hate,
This feeling may decide your fate,
Every human, Lincoln or Tate,
May be affected by until its very ‘late’.
Leonov hated Rasputin very much,
In the whole wide world nobody’s hate was such.
Any book with illustrations of Rasputin, whenever he would touch,
It would land up in his menu for lunch.
He had broken into pieces the statue of Rasputin
In the palace, on the seat of Rasputin he would never lean.
Even Stalin was afraid of his hate.
Not a word, in his presence, was uttered about Rasputin the late.
Now Rasputin, seated in heaven, was given this message,
He on hearing this hastily gobbled his sausage.
He rushed to God and informed him about his to-be voyage,
To Earth again, to scare Leonov. Oh! What a sage!
He wore his Sunday suit and sat in his chariot,
Went down to Earth and met young Harriet
She told him that Leonov was home practicing at his clarinet.
Rasputin readied himself, revenge he had to get.
He appeared to Leonov and told him he was Rasputin’s ghost.
Leonov on hearing ‘the word’ pounced on his neck,
And passed through him like a holographic post,
His steps he had to check.
Rasputin’s eyeballs then changed to fire,
Courage was needed, yes it was dire.
If you told anybody you would be called a liar.
But Alexei’s courage you had to admire.
Rasputin followed him everywhere,
From his bathroom till his school chair,
From chess club to the fair.
From the circus to the cancer care.
Leonov couldn’t handle this a frustrating case.
He packed his luggage and tied his lace.
Went to the space headquarters and climbed into a rocket.
And flew off, to become the first man in space.
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Egrets
O egrets of the gutters
O egrets, not in sky,
wallowing in the plume
of your Pythagorean beliefs.
See! See!
Your whites can flow into the whites of the clouds.
Me, a cyclops, alone,
mighty,
thrashing my limbs
against each other,
inventing enemies
can be more than you, a flyer,
a prince!
O egrets, come!
Smear yourselves against me
For I am a roboton of your currency.
Let me bear the weight
of the mud that keeps you from flying.
For it is your duty to bear the weight I currently bear,
this ephemeral weight.
For it is you who must clutch on to the heavens,
lest it transcended its own burdens.
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Fossil - Aasma
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJuIOUFPs4g
Folks We Got This in the Music Submission Box. Super Chill. Super Great Come up. We really enjoy this. Couldn’t Find much on Fossil - But wherever you are we are fans.
This track is about 4 Weeks old.
See below a Full download of their EP - Download EP
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Fossil - Aasma
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Movement
A nap parent
chan geint he
di rectiono fan
object,
ca used by acha
ngeino b servat
ionalpo sitiont
hat pro videsan
ewli neo fsight.
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Untitled
a long long time ago
when we were all babies
we couldn't read or understand
we were openly racist and funny
we loved and hated
yes we still hated the future
but the reasons seemed to make sense
we had just one world
it’s so difficult now
to be realistic
to colour within the lines
to love and to hate
to say
two much
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One Song in Three Parts
1. Three Persons
Where is this?
But, no. It is everywhere.
Colours unite and divide.
But to the prism, it is just another day.
Why aren't the colours solid?
Why don't they meld into the prism?
How are we so sure?
That the ideas we think outshine every other.
That we have the power to change this sorry world.
We think of our superpowers.
But all we do ever is enable this amoeba
more and more everyday.
-
Green, endless green.
Maybe they think that they should create
Natural Parks and Sanctuaries
to protect humans from their deadly logic.
Hey! Maybe they do!
-
I await the beauty and the epics.
But beyond the turn, there is only a lake
2. The Swirl Begins
The first thought that comes to my mind
is the shape of shapes.
It's not about a square or a triangle or a circle in particular.
Just the idea of symmetry in the Third Dimension.
But sadly, so much brilliance and symmetry
adds up to form so much asymmetry.
Not that it isn't beautiful.
But somehow the point is lost in the heap.
What is perfect?
Thankfully my train of thought takes me
to more beautiful places.
Where 'symmetry', 'meaning' are just vibrations.. Sounds..
God! I want to believe!!
But not believing is so much fun!
Fuck that! Swirl!!
3. Paddy on the Rocks . [A Description]
Zombies and Aliens do not reside here.
We walk along without any fear.
Why do you ask?
We wish we could tell.
Somehow we realise
that it is here we can smell.
Drop.
Stop.
Swirl. Up..
Write.
Wish i didn't.
No i don't.
We all just don't know what we would do, if we could do whatever we think we wanted to do.
Swirl. Down.
SsHHhhh...
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Fair Weather
Just about right -
the temper/ a church builds itself
ants, and I am in!
agree/ meant/
whatever you say
the next second, I feel like a fool,
you fool!
Turning clouds
Thunder
We must run
“here take my umbrella”
You’re much faster
I hear a set of dialogues
“The weather is gloomy.”
“Yes, the weather is gloomy.”
I am sweating
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