The mute history of catharsis

A catacomb like bar
Outside

     a man derived
   from many burdens,
applied to counting deficits
     in unfamiliar lives,
  marks men on their necks
   as They drop out
 bowing to the displeasure
    of light,
 the glowing bosoms
  of women of their histories
 the streak of dawn
    their inevitable rescues
 penultimate to their fall,their leaps
 honest confessions
        the nods of heaven
  the untitled, the unnamed
      all stones they bled upon
    

     a fissure between
 their memories,promising
       and waiting for them to fall back in,
      again

Cuckoo

The woods bundle under
my pillow as an orange sun
shafts from between
colossal branches that are now,undeniable
i sing my appraisal to the twig
upon who's arm the cuckoo rests,
not now,as i wait for him
and hear the forest repeat after me..

Bukowski's New Animals

i have grown tired of the stupid cat,
because i forget all about her
of the sheets of paper that keep flying off the desk
i don't even sit at any more,
The dog's chin touches mine
in a manner and at a time i can never remember
O how i wish there were bottles dry enough to drop your head in,
Without the throat and with my genitals hanging outside my underwear
all cold and too proud of their audacity
I howl to the sky every night,standing on a hill of dirt
it took me years to accumulate
The dog waits for fingers to be pointed up
His lazy ass not worth kicking at unlike mine,i think
i wonder if they agree with me on anything
except barking at the people in the streets below
and being subtle when you can't be smart..Aaahh screw that...and screw you!!

Wheatfield imaginations

The little capsules shine
as deafness or the like looms.
Through the ochroid heads
that sway gently from one silent moment
to the whisper of another approaching
i can see the night sky drool over me
as fetuses crawl across the sky,
I see naked bodies of lovers entangled
and their violent convulsions leaving a stir,
My shoulders fall in embarrassment
and between my legs even the shadows stain
as an ocean floored by glowing pebbles
bears down on me,like an abortion of the day gone by
i fling them pebbles across the fields
and watch them drop over the bend,
where my last breath takes its fall
and where the disheartened gather tonight..

To the point of absence

The evening recites to me
its essentiality,everday
it breaks my mood to remember things
that made impunity our only culture
I fear waking to the same purpose,
the unkown to emerge and seem familiar
In a misty corner of the street
my heart is slurred by the expression i carry
I see people with torches flashing through their pants
and their sleeves buttoned to their necks
i see people with the moon around their neck
and a whole lot of the sky to run around with it
Their is little honour,there is little honour i say
The lights outside a brothel
count down their own days to doom
as they fail to look away yet not wanting to
In a way every man circles himself to a point
of absence,death

Saadhu

The devotees sat glim eyed and awashed in the flow of his intellect.His smile bore the grace of a bright winter sky yet the power of a mountain falling over to the wind.There were thousands who ascended the mountains with their wives and children to catch a glimpse of the sadhu every day .It was believed that the Sadhu was one of nature.His body merely canvassed what was believed was a unison of the elements of nature and the energy stored within him.On a clear sky he seemed to have a plastered smile garnishing his face and on a cloudy day his eyes would leak water.During the winter as leaves would fall so would all the hair on his body.In summers when the valleys would run dry his ribs would jut out like a cage being pushed through a wall of clay and his eyes would remain red for months.




He considered it not as an affliction but a gift.He felt pain but he felt pure too.That,he claimed was a small price to pay to be one of nature's own children and to be under the hands of god himself.He seldom talked to anyone but still thousands would come from far and away to witness this conspicuous man and the many variations of his inborn diction that they would lay bare at the best of their personal judgments.It was the greatest thrill of all.The nakedness of someone else's body was as artistic as people were willing to get with their imaginations.Many thought of him as a God and many cried fould to his antics and declared it theatrical for the simple minded.Medical journalists crowned him as alien and a possible medical phenomenon wheareas the law makers of the valley declared him a fraud and a baffoon for trying such tricks and the impotence of them to affect anyone else but him.


On a grey winter day an army of tall,heavily built men in brown overcoats and huge assemblies of machinery moved into the valley.It was declared that the hills bordering the underbelly of the territory on the other side had to be paved clear for a trade route to be layed which would serve as a transport route between the territories.People were dazed at how such a feat would be accomplished in what the men claimed would take just a couple of days.Rumours spread all over that there were to be orchestrated an explosion,a celestially inhuman feat,a blast of proportions that would swallow the hills and reduce them to dust in a matter of moments.Awe struck by the idea the people demanded to be audience for a show that promised such grandness.



So it came to be.The people of the valley lined up like goats against the blades of the Ganga near the foot of the hills about to be brought down to their own.On the other side of the valley the mountain now deserted and abreast its flat summit inside his hut the sadhu sat staring at the thatched roof muttering to himself "May man's will be blessed by another's".



The Liutenant of the army raised his hand signalling the advent of something majestic.The levers were pushed,the wires ignited and with a thunderous explosion all that remained of the hills and the sadhu were mere dust.He vanished as if eaten by the earth or scalloped by the sky into figments of air.The people of the valley stood stunned,gaping at the blue sky that slowly began to emerge from behind the clouds of dust.Back at the Sadhu's hut a couple of devotees found the place devoid of any human presence which sent them running down to the valley screaming "He ran away,He ran away".The valley exuded with rapturous applause as the men of the army took their bows.

The Good Samaritan's eye

They hid behind the trees
we thought we would leave standing
in our streets,
Watched us spend our days
digging into the ground to get into space
and the nights,wandering lost in it
We walked around barely ever smiling,
Our tragedies so slow we grew old knowing them
We made love and washed off
our tortured sensibilities in it
We lost love and rubbed shoulders
with the executioners..
On the road going up the hill
we were the white horse questioning his faith
On the road going down
we never thought twice,and ran
like they ran away from us