Harbinger

The first time you learn to make

A kite and fly it. You get wings.

You're a low-key unlicensed pilot.

The first time you feel that air in

Your ears when recklessly peddle-

A heavy dirt track rider.

You fall in love and trace a line of 

Romance on the desk. The touch

Of love and stuff, you're the poet 

Plato once talked about.

And you almost found gravity 

After you see that jackfruit fall,

So to hell with Newton and his laws.

You somehow fixed the radio,

Carried a rice bag beyond your

Body weight ratio. You skipped school, 

Went around the village, climbed trees 

To steal mangoes. You explored.

You the sailor, voyager, the risk taker,

You freaking Ferdinand Megalan.

And the Spiderman for saving

The falling pickle jar.

Who ever lights the lamp the dark

Is an inventor of fire.

You once lit up a hut in the farm,

You're harbinger of this civilization.

Lists

I gotta get my hair cut, gotta stop
Biting my nails. Sometimes hopes
Pumped up, I put up in my list that I
Should get a passport and a nice car
To travel across the mountains and the world.

Then there are days I've to deliberately
Remind myself to take a bath, shed the sugar
And take long noon naps as nights are
Already fucked. That's cold steel of
Self-actualization after looking at my wallet.

Sometimes there's a to-do list to wake up,
Sleep, read and write. And other things
That I think matter, to impact what course
Of Geographical timeline, I don't know.

But many times my lazy streaks run wild.
Nothing happens on those. No lists,
No goals. Only some hazy reminders
To not kill myself and jerk off less.

The insurance, taxes, room rent and
The unwashed clothes on empty chairs.
The trekking trails that mock my tiring legs
And the other stuff in a book with the bucket list
That I haven't Ticked off in five years-
It's exhausting.

A house, a marriage, a big fat salary and
Gifts for themselves, those who expect these
Vanities. Someone said I gotta plan a
Funeral too and design myself a tombstone.

My single room is small enough and heats up
So much in the summer that I've got an

Epitaph written already and I'm in search of
Someone who can write an eulogy.

If you have it in you, come up dear as the final 

Nail in the coffin.

Forbidden Love

I try to conjure you by
The old tricks of black magic-
Lemons, green chilies,
An inlay of said patterns laid
On the floor with chanted Ash
From the ancient temple of a
Furious goddess.

Vermillion and turmeric in
Excess to throw around when
Confused with the procedure.
Capturing the full moon in
Jinxed water, I invoke your name
In what I think is Sanskrit.

A crow comes flying after
A short while to sit around.
The Tantrik had given a clear
Prophecy that,
The bird would be you.

I build you a nest and buy
You a make-up set.
You leave no attempt to make
Yourself, extra bit of fair.
But they now, say that, how
A white crow is a disgrace.

Many disapprove this mess,
Saying how inter-species marriage
Is such a ninth-degree offense.
But true love is blind you see,
We don't care... to all incoming
Criticism we invoke, the fifth.

You say caw-caw, I say
Love you too.
We talk about having our kids
Or maybe just hatch some
Cuckoo's eggs.

This is a divine-sanctioned
Madness, our love, you say and
The inter-genus Gods witness
The fantasy to shower us with grace.

Beliefs

Some of my friends are
Finding different beliefs.
Some believe in money,
Some in their family-

A wife, kids, and a happy
Ever after.

Some think traveling is
Everything and on their
New hefty bike, they
Commute to office daily.

For some, only Hanuman
Is great, for some screaming
Their devotion in speakers
Is the only way and some

Have gotten hitched to
The-one-who-must-not-
Be-named and the best ones
Have made dogs as their pair.

I don't know about mine,
I just judge and laugh on
My bad days and try not to
Kill myself on the good ones.

Hibiscus

The hibiscus that has
Profusely grown like a
Boundary around my house.
Was planted by my aunt,

A couple of couple of
Years ago, besides the one
That has been there from
My childhood.

It's full of unopened buds,
Easily at least 20 Red flowers
Every morning flirting with
Fresh dew.

If my grandpa were alive
Today, he would have been
Filled with excitement to pluck
Each one of those to offer to

All the all the Gods.
Maybe the almighty would
Have blessed him with
A couple more years of life.

Sad that his expectancy
Fell short by a few flowers.

End of the world

At the stroke of midnight
Empty beer bottles pile up.
The stench of half-eaten biryani,
And the dirty dishes all
Over the floor.

The shearing pain in
The head of the hangover,
You can't handle-
Orphan written
On your forehead as you
Can't remember your
Father's name.

She comes to mind and
The life you couldn't have
And the unborn children
Scream and you roll over
The floor and cry.

At ten past two,
You think you're gay and
Try to kiss your drunken
Friend beside you.
He slaps you first and
Consoles you into a weird
Sort of existentialim.

An hour later something
Gets into him- he convinces 

You that the world is gonna end.

Douglas Adam takes over
Your drunken head and
Takes you both to
The restaurant at
The edge of the galaxy.

You order masala dosa
And cutting chai and write
Each other eulogies in a hurry
On tissue papers.

At the end of the world,

By nine past four, you understand-
All the fireworks were just
You puking heavily without
Understanding why and
The eulogy sounded so good, 

You really wanna die.

Unconjured Ghost

As a kid, I had fallen in a
Pit full of cattle urine in
The backyard when I was three.
If my uncle hadn't pulled
Me out in time, I was gone.

The buffalo that everyone
Cautioned against,
Got me when I was five.
The horn tore my jaw,
Threw me across and
Some I survived that.

When I was seven the tractor
Ran into the electric pole
While I sat in the driver's seat,
With my father.
Got lucky there too.
I survived.

Later as I grew old.
The electric sockets that
Were kind. The near brush-off
A speeding truck while I
First rode the bike.

The waves that took me
On the beach, and threw me
Back.
All those flues, fevers,
Typhoids and smallpox.
Many die on hospital bed
For medical mistakes-

But thanks to all the nurses
And doctors, who were careful
And sane while treating me.

The dent in the fabric of
The space-time that wants
To flush me out,
Keeps forever waiting and-

My ghost stays unconjured.
And maybe a kid my locality
Sleeps alone at night with
No worries and his bed stays

Dry for another morning.

Nightmare

Sometimes I wake up

Unprepared for my physics

Exam and as the dread

Of failure drips as sweat

Off my brows-

I wake up in relief as 

It was only a dream.

But wait, is it fifteen

Past elven?

I'm already an hour late

To my office.

With the manager's angry

Face in my head.

I run to grab my brush-

Slip off the wet floor-

Get hit in my dizzy head.

The alarm goes then-

The priest calls my name

Aloud at a funeral and

I fail to reach anyone to

Mark my presence.

Soundproof coffins-

What a mess and

This time why the hell

I can't wake up?

Am I really Dead?

You'll never know

She tells him stories that

He doesn't understand but

He nods his head into 

Submission all night.

He wants to know why

An unicorn copulates with

Cats and Why the Ravens 

Switched to the rap instead

Of their usual caw-caw.

He doesn't understand why

An alien army would invade,

By telling jokes that don't

Incite any laugh and about-

The paradox of why some

Plants volunteered for

Domestication to colonize

The species that thinks

It is too smart.

And she goes on and on

About the monkeys enslaved

To forcefully fart and flowers

Moulded into firearms for

Battles they never fight.

The stories never end 

The sun never comes up.

He doesn't complain and

You'll never understand

Why this has to be a poem.

Edge

Every night the fan off
The ceiling shivers out in
Anticipation of my death
By hanging.

Sometimes it asks me if
It could withstand my weight.

And the little bit of empathy
That's left within me tries
To eat less and workout
To shed calories for its sake.

All the while the sleeping pills
Wait for me from within
The drawer for the streak of
My insomnia to get to my head-

Things sink and rise.
They repeat till I reach
An edge. But the sad warrior
In me is not brave.

Seems like he's addicted to
The comforts of his breath.

And the train tracks and
The bus-tyres wait in vain.
While the box cutter on my table
Out of frustration wants to

Voluntarily retire.

Brinjal

Mom listen, why it has to be
The damn brinjal always?
Almost every day, it's like
Every other vegetable is on a
Protest, retired, or died in a
A bomb-blast.

What happened to Bhindi?
Did the government ban it
Because it looked like a phallus?
Or the chauvinists cancel it
Because of too much of
Feminism in its English name?

Did the potatoes fall prey to
Irish famine again or
The Israeli forces employ them
To make bombs that could
Feed the hungry children of
Palestine?

Ridge-Guard is my favorite.
But you know that already.
Why hasn't it seen the inside
Of our kitchen for weeks??
What do you mean it refuses
To visit a secular home?
Has it already joined the bigots?

If it makes you feel any good
Let me tell you how even
Sadguru has categorically said
That eating Brinjal affects the brain.
The way he talks utter shit,
Looks like his mom fed him too much
Of it to him when he was a child.

I'm paraphrasing him so that
It is godly enough for you to
Understand why I'm unable to
Do good in exams.
Maybe that's why people in
Hyderabad use it as a cuss word.
Can you understand my
Frustration here?

And you know what I think??
Maybe God cursed humanity to eat
Brinjal, when Eve ate that
Forbidden fruit and made you
The guardian to make sure
Everyone ate it daily.

Is that why they say,
God couldn't be everywhere,
So he created moms. Why??
Because you're his agent
To feed us Brinjal?

Act of Listening

The other day I talked to a
Sparrow who told me all about
Her morning Riyaz and her
Favorite ragas.

Met a Hyena later on who
Flaunted his art of deception,
Tricks of fake tears and
How one should be ruthless.

The ants went on about
The importance of teamwork.
And the bees about their
Productivity hacks.

A wooden log by the street,
Told me all about his uncle still
Standing in a place for over
Five years and counting.

This act of listening to
Everyone seemed interesting,
Till I met a stone lying idle
On the road who started to

Boast about his ancestry at first.
That his forefathers formed
The foundation stones of
Monuments of Hampi.

How his friend is being employed
As a brick in Ayodhya Ram Mandir.
His boast slowly turned into
A sad rant eventually about..

How he's jobless even after
His younger brother got an
Employment offer to pound
Ginger and Garlic in a kitchen.

The problem was too relatable
So I asked him to forward his resume
To my mom by that evening,
And next day he was sitting under

One of the legs of my table to
Level the extra ground clearance.

Divergence

Through the mist and dust and
The dead leaves. A path that
Carved itself out of the forest
Aspiring to become a road-

With re-enforced cement or
An asphalt overlay hoping to
Reach a distance city.
Now it chokes in a tiny room.

And the timber of the pine,
That wanted to be reams and
Reams of paper be part of
One of Murakami's novel

Now sits on some professor's
Desk hosting a research paper
Claiming- how refusal to watch
Black people porn-

Is an obvious measure of
The racism in your veins.

One of those dinosaurs,
Must have dreamt of becoming
A red giant maybe. Then it
Ate dust on that fateful day-

And now it's a fried chicken
On my plate.

One of those primates that
Aspired to be an alpha to
Rip those bullies and to have
New damsels daily as trophies-

Somehow ended up as my
Father and his sperm that
Won must have had hoped
To be a cool brat at least.

But no, he had to be a poet,
Philosopher and a loser.

What If

In another life, we would have
Ended up in the same house
Maybe the green or the blue
House of our school hostel and

Fought over, the toilet duties,
To carry over the sourness
Throughout the school life.
Or maybe you would have been-

That friend of mine back then,
Who gifted me a Reynolds-Gel-Pen
Every Bday and had lunch with
My family on parents' day.

Who eventually victimized
Himself, blaming the system
And lost in touch after school.

Even worse, the part-time
Bully of our class would have
Shown interest in philosophy
And poetry and like a nerd

Explained those juniors about
The stars and the night sky.
Eventually listening to too
Many songs to lend his playlist-

To hitch me on conversations
We now go and go on and on.

I would have completed the
Spiti circuit on his bike you know
And you from your own
Bystander life would have-

Laughed at us for being so gay.
As you wouldn't have had
Anything other than that to
Get at us in one of those

Trolling sessions of our
School reunions.

Simulation

Canary, a yellow sparrow-like
Bird sacrificed in the coal mines
To test the levels of carbon monoxide.
Rats in our laboratories of course
As tin cans to test fire our
Experimental medicines.

Haven't the dogs been our
Long-standing first line of defence
Against those heavyweight carnivores?
And the cattle of course
Butchered into meat to satiate our
Not-so-starving needs.

Have we been held hostage in
This ranch called Earth too?
By some higher civilization-
To test against the level of
Oxygen and temperature rise?

To derive a formula for optimal 

Resource allocation through

A false means of fair competition?

Who are you sitting above in
A surveillance room studying our
Simulated lives?
Can you please delete the footage?

From the previous night.

I wasn't supposed to pee standing up,

I accidentally identify myself as male.

Carrom Coin

By the bench in the park,

Found a carrom coin this morning.

My math teacher would've liked 

To know the probability of getting-

A white coin, only a black coin 

Or the one other than the pink coin-

The simplest answer to that 

Question is 'one' and the coin

I found was the Queen.

Somewhere on a tattered board 

Her black soldiers and the white ones

Might have been waiting for her tirelessly

And the striker might have already-

Slipped into existential questions

Of why or for whose sake it must 

Strike purposelessly.

And the four jobless blokes 

Sitting around the board

For an afternoon session,

With talc powder in hand-

Might be considering the option of

Elevating ranks of one the

White soldiers temporarily

By painting it in pink or otherwise.

The Queen meanwhile sits here

On my table offering me 

A chance of revenge over all those,

Childhood bullies-

Who never let me win 

In a fair game.

Prank

The sunset on the horizon
Turned out to be a LED bulb
With faulty wiring that mislead
Many insects into hiding.

What looked like hunger was
Just an erection in the pants that
Just wanted to sexualize everything
With the hump in a shiny attire.

The crude romance was just
A free hitchhike,
She left the pillion when her
Luxury bus arrived.

What looked like a dog was
Just a boy who had changed
His pronouns and now he has
Learnt to bark.

The blue mountain in the distance
Was just Diwali smoke flirting with
The fog- just like that friendship
That felt like a prank -

Done with two rupees
Plastic lizard.

What seemed like a dream
Was a stink of reality-
The water park experience of
Me wetting the bed by morn.

Removing Tropes

This time, the hero will not
Come running and jumping,
Thrashing a couple of
Local gundas-

There is no entry scene
Planned.

The heroine will be clothed
Normally. She doesn't have to
Reveal her mammary glands or
Adipose of her thighs.

There is no item number or
Rape scenes thrust.
No need of any social commentary
Or political philosophy.

No one is gonna come to diffuse
The bomb in the temple.
The lovers in the climax will not
Be able to marry this time.

The fallen hero will not wake up
To the wail of his lover.
Things somewhere got real
Real and he had to die.

The boy who read in the streetlight
Couldn't make it big and the
Patriotic don couldn't defeat
The evil Mafia lord-

All the stories dried up by
The time the tropes were removed.

And Basanti danced out of her
Free will to marry Gabbar and
The hand pumps stood in protest
For unnecessarily portraying,

Them as weapons.

Real, Inverted

A convex lens casts a real
Inverted image on a screen-

A pointy skyscraper can
Look like a ball pen.
A large Banyan tree, like
A buds of broccoli.

Women walking in skirts
Turned upside down but
Why hasn't it revealed
Any pale parts?

A God-man who passed by
Looked virtuous through it.
But you should imagine how
Distort his reality might be right?

A biker on the go seemed
Like having an anal with
The bike, clearly
The bike was winning.

And maybe someone
Looking at your eye from
The other side may get
Surprised at the strange-

Genitalia with lashes
Fluttering on the vulva.

Quick Gun Murugan

Two cats stand face to face,

In the empty passage,
Of the neighboring alley.

Roaring at each other from
A distance.
They stare at each other
In fury.

It's a western in slow-mo
In my head by now-

Both, ready to pull out
Their revolvers from the
Holsters to take out
The other first.

Somehow it feels like
The other one would be
Quick and Clint Eastwood
Would die in this duel.