cacophany

Resting on his vagrant windows
the sun flickering pendulously in his head
the moist grime sticks to his elbows
splotched with morning sickness
as the draught dwindles under his festering breath

he had not seen the sunrise
until today
when he woke up from his occult dream
lying deflated and nailed to the floor
staring at the wet ceiling
that dripped with pours of sweat
probably off her breasts
and kissed the embers
of his deliquescent eyes


In his room like a submarine
lit
he wheedled himself
that she will knock on his door,
and  illustrate how she gouged the plaster
do drop her love like
paper pins on his impressionable pillow


she
above his somber slough
                 all night long
stared at the floor she had flooded
                            again
with a drowning pail and ubiquity
of the frequencies she changed
beseechingly
as her confidant embarked on
his widowmaker
                       one last time

'totem'

i dreamt of black n white
      rainbows
cycle over dry
   meadows
that hung perpetually
 south
from the roofs of
  vestibules
that rested without pillars
on my vacuous
     conscience
i have dreamed being awake
but not waking up
i have dreamed  falling
from innocence
but not how i got  there

i now wonder where do objectives
come from
and just how many
              elevators
run in this space

maybe the awakening still awaits
the right elevator
a dream half remembered
or
half forgotten

5 days-aditya bahl

Aditya walks down this awkward backstreet everyday

the tin roofs collaring vividly the designed windows
glisten with smears of red and yellow
that bounce off the sun's flaccid cheeks
somewhere behind the pruned
gray hallmarks,they call houses
the air jerks off
the pristine walkers
with its sultry overtones
managing to prick those who sit and watch

Some ordinary curtains married
to a wooden frame
blow towards the west that stares
at him from beyond the thoroughfare
As the wind is pushed through the alley
his head disappears behind the muffling curtains
he feels as if stabbed by a smile
running through
the air divided alleys
that sidle hi arms

the windows feel betrayed
and so do the people inside
Aditya remembers it was westwards
he had to go
he has been standing here for more than a minute now

the sun is about to go down on
the incumbent curtains
while the east is already groping with flashlights
This was the first moment in the last 5 days that he did not feel like crying....

CHECKPOINT !!!

                                                                                   "i thought this was it "

a roulette number

i'm not even the promiscous

                                        ball
i'd rather be the gun
that shoots the damn thing
amidst its pointless travels
            and calls it the clincher

from carlin

                                                                        (1937-2008)


Personally, when it comes to rights, I think one of two things is true. I think either we have unlimited rights, or we have no rights at all. Personally I lean towards unlimited rights, I feel for instance I have the right to do anything I please, BUT! If I do something you don’t like I think you have the right to kill me. So where are you gonna find a fairer fucking deal than that? So the next time some asshole says to you “I have the right to my opinion.” You say, “oh yeah? Well I have the right to my opinion and my opinion is you have no right to your opinion!” then shoot the fuck and walk away…  (its bad for ya,2008)

the poster boy's delight

The air is trivial
for it stinks like scum
that hangs from the roofs
of gutters
that show love to me

this kid i watch rubs his hands
mercilessly
trying to get glue out of his fingers
that sticks to him like a bad word someone once said
that i know all about
A man comes by and hands him a folded paper plate
i launch my umbrella towards the sky
for the air is heavy and poised to vomit

he puts out his hands as if to beckon punishment
As the drops grow heavier
his hands return to softness he had forgotten
the adhesive drips like molten lead to the ground
he manages a smile,i think
and then picks up the plate
which is gluey all the same
but he doesn't mind,neither do i

my chauffeur arrives and i board with relief
the rain is causing a mess
i look out towards the boy

his paper plate sits filled and untouched on the pavement

i twist my muscles further and i see him fighting
to keep photographed heads above ground
the poster almost falls upon his embrace
as if to save him from the rain
but he doesn't mind
before i can see anymore the cold engine
lets out a rant
and runs me away
from the blur i can hardly open my eyes to