Sakha when almost everyone burns everyone else alive
And soaks in the smoke
How
How do I blame you for the violence called life?
When last night you didn’t find the spark
How do I blame you
For digging deeper and deeper for the light?
Instead you found blood
That doesn’t burn
And how do I blame you for wanting to get away
And making that U turn?
In the red flood
Many dreams disappeared
Many woes did too
In the end everything works out
I hope it does for you
She told me
That they treated women like curry leaves floating in the Dal
They put us in the hot oil along with mustard, hing and turmeric
We splutter
We burn
We flavour the dal
And when we are served
We are picked out
And thrown
Straight into the garbage
She told me
Not to be the curry leaves
My Ajji (grandmother) and I both, idiots of the first order
We tried to be the dal instead
And got eaten up
There was a time
When I knew not
That tongue is black
Darker than the thoughts
The tongue would then
Wag at will
Thrash out in all directions
Had her fill
Leaving debris
Of dead words
Poisoning even
The sweetest little bird
The eyes normalised death
For a while
Every being has to die
The tongue said with a smile
The dead screamed of balance
The tongue refused to pay heed
Thrashing at will
Till it began to bleed
Stop the blood
It screamed
As I tied it up
The world beamed
The dead rise
From the dead
Happy now
That they can batter my head
I love you
But where’s freedom in that?
Love doesn’t leave me alone
Not even for a second
Riding on my back everywhere it goes
Love is many
Just like me
I love you
But where’s freedom in that?
You stay away
But love doesn’t budge
Every minute every day
Love is a smudge
My body and my soul akin to darkness now
Love has the last laugh
Hope is a quaint European street from a movie
With roadside cafes and little shops
Not so busy
Yet prosperity blooms
Hardly a shopper steps in
Yet there is no gloom
Hot chocolate
With a heart
Every cup
Is an art
No poverty
No trash
No sadness
No lack of cash
Hope lives in the reels
Hope lives on the cloud
Hope is the zeal
Hope pulls the crowds
On a quaint European street
Broken men
With the shards keep poking /stabbing women
Not one but many
Everywhere
Everyplace
Every minute
Even in space
Sometimes there’s blood drawn
Sometimes just pieces of skin
Sometimes bloodless flesh
And at times nothing
The shards
Become havens of / for biodiversity
The men go on
Poking / stabbing is way of life
Peace is nowhere to be seen
Even sleep is about strife
Wars don’t need fancy weapons
No swords, no knives
Just the shards of broken men
Fallen off the panes
If I ever had a soul
It would have been brown
As brown as the aromatic coffee beans
A little darker maybe
Somewhat akin to mildly dark chocolate
Earthy as the fragrant brown earth
They say souls are colourless
But they also say that eyes are the mirrors of the soul
If I ever had a soul I am sure it would have been brown
As brown as the trunk of an ancient tree
Eternity contained in its girth
What have you done to time?
Putting words
Into its meaningful mime
Putting a melancholy tune
To its delightful rhyme
When it was walking
With its easy stride
You pushed the horses
On a racy ride
Do you think you will get away with it?
Time is no fool
With the evidence you have left at every step
In no time will it lose its cool
And when time stops
Nothing will move
Neither you nor your kin
Will be able to groove
©. Gauri Dixit
Sep-2018
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