Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Drag Race to Heartbreak

Didn’t my bed this afternoon
remind you of Ujjain?
Or was it the parched,
dusty corridors
of that old college
where I slept with you?
Learning how heart breaks,
how to fix it, tune it,
set the ratios right,
and fuel it to the brim.

Then drive down the aisle
to the local drag strip,
to burn some soul
break some will,
a few records,
and, yeah, some more hearts.

Friday, February 21, 2014

Pedestrian Crossing

They scamper across,
blocking my way
on the busy road
leading to ye dream,
and my nightmare.
I sneer, I jeer, I curse...

But why should I?
Those poor creatures
are just scared,
keen to get home
and churn out milk
for greedy South Delhi bastards.

I let ’em live
in my nightmare,
the cruel you,
killed ’em
in your dream.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

The Climb

There, I never had time,
to think, or,
to look back at
what I just left behind:
The shade,
the safe confines of a
heart at rest, away from the
muscle and hustle of love,
on a recliner.
There, I took the
sharp left,
to begin my
erotic slither up
your contours,
your lips, and your
heaving, heavy breasts.

I was defining,
reiterating, like those milestones,
the stubborn life,
and, now,
a stubborn death,
in truth as well as lies.
So, judge me, will ya?
This day, for life...
Lest I die before
I return to your arms again.

But, I better not die this morn,
noon, or at the campfire,
chewing boneless fish,
relishing the formless bond
with boys old
and men young.

Back, on the incline...
I better not sleep,
I better not stop for Facebook,
for a frame in its video.
My movie is beyond you Mark,
just like the beauty
of the valley is to me now,
the taunt from a virgin,
while I scale the
mother of many.

In her beauty,
in the roundness of her being,
I burn, churn...
The turns, the ferns,
passing mites and mates,
gangsters, their families,
good Samaritans,
school scholars,
and finally Jesus,
His house I stayed, a minute;
for the Host, the pure mountain air,
laced with salt, lemon,
and a prayer.
After years I communed,
on my elbows, aged and wise,
hunched over the
drop handles,
as humble as I could ever be.

The final kick,
I searched,
the last three furlongs,
smiling at the amused boy,
the bemused man;
smirking at the
crowded market,
and swearing at the porch,
for it meant the end,
as I felt the rush
shiver through my body
and leave me,
to fly over a misty lake,
towards sunset,
and a brighter tomorrow,
for all of us, fingers crossed.

The lone man
I spent talking with,
hours up the path,
o’er smashed oranges,
past angry apes,
side-stepping haulers,
trawlers and tourists,
had already punched and killed him.
That insignificant
little bastard we call Limit.
(On the 52-km climb up to Kodaikanal, which I cycled last month, on the last day of KC500, the 500-km charity cycling ride from Chennai to Kodai)

Tuesday, February 04, 2014

The Dying Winter

The clearing fog...
The receding moisture
from your eyes;
the sun, occasional,
playing a heavenly hide n seek.
The small drops of passion...
Dew in the morn,
sweat at high noon,
whiskey at twilight,
and sleepless at midnight.