Seventh Sky
i am in a village with some priests
there sits in between us a black dog with a pus filled lump
there is nothing in site but mounds of mud
all of a sudden the priests have begun to clap in unison
theyre thumping their feet
and his years old lump just burst
there is a shower of pus
amidst the spectacle of prayer
of miracle
this black dog puts his tongue in a water bowl
the priests bathe him with saffron
and he runs and curls in the vast vast mud
I am.......
bin bin bind
geno geno genocide
rap rap rape
pla pla play
i will play with your trau trau trauma
i will laugh on your trama
riddle around your tragedy
kill you
put a bullet in your chest
despite all what you have been through
i want you to suffer more
your women to be roped against trees and raped
shutup
trees are nice
dont make it optically appeasing
i want your women to be roped against concrete pillars and raped
i want your youth to be amputated
their dreams to be.............
sheeeesh
you dont mix dreams with amputation
i want your schools to be bulldozed
your hospitals to be droned
your mothers to be shot
your fathers to be shot
your city to be plain as flatbread
i want you to be nothing
and i tell it to your dead body that
when your dead body will stand at a podium
and say that 'i am dead'
i will blame you for your death
i will censor that speech by your deadbody
i will block all algorithms
for im cool
im flashy
im suave
your speech will be against my sensitivities
my rights
it will hurt my sentiments
it will leave a stench at the podium
i wont even let your deadbody talk
now you must be knowing who i am
but will you tell me who i am
if you do
it will be against my rights
Void
walking through a dark night
a dark cobbled street
not a single light visible
till
till i saw a dingy bulb through a presumably dampened cracked french window
hunger there was plenty
i elbowed through the glass and entered the room
empty it was
from there i entered another room
empty too
the only lit house was dampened with emptiness
as always
i had reached my conclusion just by the second room
the second page
so i decided to walk through the emptiness
walk through more rooms
that i did
room after room i found lit low watt bulbs but noone there
there were books with pages so damp that they were almost see-through
wooden sculptures with dust
but i kept thinking that someone must have switched on the bulbs
i reached the fusebox only to find that the bulbs were direct
yet they hadnt fused so someone must have lit them soon
finally i reached the only room at the first floor
it had a terrace but to a dark sky
that only room had a paper glued to the wall
the paper read
" so you like so many before you have reached here -
you will go from here too
this is not a haunted house
nor a cured curse
this is lit emptiness
and if ever in life you want to think of lit emptiness
of buffered mutiny
of rampant tyranny
of adjectivised mysery
of a pulse contingent life
and
and
of a lit emptiness
visit this house on the darkest street again
and maybe that time the street is lit
but this house is dark
that will still be lit emptiness"
extra hold
frescos
worlds
beauty
i remember her driving a red ferrari
i remember her nerves done translucent by the sun
i remember the tik tik sound made by her heels
i remember her cartier shades
not fat
not skinny
olive skin and hazel eyes
spoke slowly, softly
with a voice punctuated by red marlboros
she spent a great deal of time with me
taught me life within the confines of locked doors and closed curtains
but
she would go back
go back to her two sons and husband
he was just a decoration piece
this robotic creature with muted lust fixed before the tele
sons were nice
but they despised me
its as if they knew the expanse of their mothers lessons on me
i was never confronted by them
but i was the stench in their lives
the boy outside whose house their friends would see the red ferrari
i exposed them to lockerroom rant
turned their parents into strangers
but what did i do
i was just a good host
a good student
or maybe i was just the quintessential definition of the 'other'
i revelled in being the other
besides the occasional bout of conscience
i just kept on covering every window
window after window i covered
more sheets and more cigarettes
different colored cigarette butts
one day i came across her husband at the drugstore
he looked at me
i looked at him
he smiled
said i think you know me
weird
weird construct of a sentence
we were again behind curtains that night
she said her eighteen year old had asked her that who was i
had further said he knew everything
and that dad was weak
i listened
poured us some neat
but sometimes pleasure and routine defeat self proclaimed consciousness
sometimes what is right is spun by what is necessary
sometimes being together
being together against all odds is necessary
18 x 2 =36
mathematics even doesnt add up
i went up
carried on up the khyber
and unlike those timestained last pages of a novel beset by tragedy
her life also went on
silence and routine were a refuge
and
and
refuge doesnt always need to be correct
splashy paws
my frenzied mad mad world
yellow lunatic type splashes
wow type creatures all around me
stuck at phallus while pronouncing philatelic
boom boom
so
there is a door i will venture in tomorrow
faces and faces
storied faces
i will greet them
they will greet me
beautiful beautiful exchanges
there will be rivers of liquor as promised in paradise
there will be rivers of ink through which we know of paradisiacal promises
then
then what
what will it be when ink and liquor convulge
the poet replenishes in blood
the painter paints canvases unbound of blood
of napoleon invading god knows what
streets being bloodied in medieval europe
but they forget
alas they forget
they forget the magic of other elixirs
tonics
such tonics which serve the unarmed warrior
while he is cushioned in the solitude of his miserable nook
it is this tonic
callous routy kegs of beer
callous fountain pens with bent nibs
sometimes worse
nights and nights
long nights passing onto months
it is not the bullet taken
not the bullet shot
nor the distant journey taken onto war
but it is this convulgance of fountainy happiness
that takes men to know other men
brothers karamazov or the big rape
they still teach
those moods onto months onto years still teach
not the bullet shot
the baby crippled
her pregnant tummy routed
gaza wont teach
graveyards do
but to another sullied generation
maybe another sullied world
worlds
Umpteenth
battered and bruised
oh princess of wales
why do you look so sad
oh princess of wales
step after step
sail after sail
rhythmatic interjections
splintered pulse
battle royale
on the fringes now lies another world
worlds
where everybody is battered and bruised
punctured
cordoned
there are some with tremendous flamboyance
desire to shout high pitched
show high pitched
put their selves out their like exhibitionist bitches
there are these people
and us
them
we keep sipping tea with a passion
sniffing on cardamom
smoking up still better than living down
booky nook still better than opulence unbound
cats the only pussy that matters
this is a knived in existence
counting sticking in like a disease
abundance running away like that girl in school
running away to abundance
wisdom they said is the virtue of the weak
so fuck this bout of wisdom
and lets smoke up
to a few more genocides and a few more scandals
Death by Convenience
Convenience is killing you.
Leading you downhill to your grave.
What Frost doesn’t say,
Is the road less taken,
Is steep in grade,
Filled with potholes,
Uphill all the way.
What you don’t realize,
Is downhill leads to disease.
Instead of being easier,
It’s hard on your knees.
Instead of building character,
Instead of building muscle,
You’re building a pile of regret,
Too big to shovel.
Fortunately,
hope is not lost,
For those who want to heal,
Willing to pay the cost.
It’s not a price paid
In money or time.
The fee for your soul,
Must be paid by your mind.
It starts by taking a long hard look,
Admitting you’re dragging your feet in the dirt.
Convenience tricked you,
With seductive deceit.
It lured with comfort,
But ended in defeat.
It promised you rest,
But delivered despair,
A journey so smooth,
That led to nowhere.
So choose not the path,
Where convenience lies,
For it's in all the struggles,
Where true value lies.
The climb may be steep,
And the journey severe,
But each step strums a song,
Your soul yearns to hear.
In each brave uphill step,
In every small strive,
You experience REAL living,
Not just living to survive.
shut up
pain is cliche
this year goes too
with rivers of blood
and cities bulldozed
and whole people bulldozed
and when you talk about a people bulldozed
they say shutup
talk about the wound of the mighty
the smaller wound
it glows more
it costs more
the people bulldozed are cheap
this a year of selective utopia
of selective optical expanse
it goes
it goes with the gates to graveyards open
hospital nurseries beautifully sketching little graves
this is their world
atleast this world
and if you dare to say it
shutup
laugh it off
did they sell you paradise
did they sell you fairies with butter knives
no no no no
they sold us happiness
giggles in central park
hand in hand
walked john and thomas
thomas licked and licked
they sold us easiness
numb tranquility
passive abundance
this is all that.......this is all that
i still think of honey in paradise
liquor without hangovers
there is also a door to hell
what happens there
inside they burn and burn
but i hear
they bribed the gasguy
so they burn when He sees
otherwise its a deal there too
this what you said is equal to sin
what sin do you talk about
i walked barefoot in dusty towns
i walked finding my shoes
and still and still and still
i burn
so a deal was all i did
a deal was all i got
and and and
you know whatttt
theres a system there too
there too
there too
where stuff happens
leverages happen
and to satisfy myself
i have termed them divine leverages
alright alright alright
did you see your neighbours pus
did you see their elbows flying in the sky
yes i saw all of that
and they too saw all of that
we were passengers of fire
and nothing
and nothing more
so fuck off with your intellect
and go to Peru tracing mayans
ask them what fire means to them
laugh it off laugh it off laugh it off
because now
you can only laugh it off