Monday, February 27, 2012

Inside a little girl’s heart
Were bigger beasts of Lethe 1
and unreached.

For each composed – ‘born as an angel’
Resonated as ‘the devil in disguise
To his silences,
to her whispers.

Time took her lessons
As age gifted her the presents
Word, reword, 
lost words.

As a maiden mother of Life
this Irony wore the best of cloak
From Nietzsche, 
toward him.

Like walking with a void
With self, in loss,
to Kashmir 2
Are we strangers ‘Kashmir’?

A bond beyond speech and silence
Is that the scar of longing?
(…Ye Dagh-e-Arzu Hai?)3

To that single drop of faith
In all the extended tragedies
She commits a sin
now and then

A little less mind, 
a little more thinking
Incomplete yet abstract
We, the complete poetry.

1.Lethe in Greek mythology a river in Hades; the souls of the dead had to drink from it, which made them forget all they had done and suffered when they were alive.

2.Kashmir is the home of Agha Shahid Ali.

3.A line from Allama Iqbal's Chand.

Monday, February 20, 2012

woman in a metro

picture by BOGOTRON

“Stand clear off the closing door”

I am deaf. No. Earphoned.

Machine-woman, say it once more.

A little malnutrition girl.

A fat giant lady.

A naked. No. Half – covered teen.

A group of menopauses.

Words in. No. Words out.

One drops, five newly count.

This is WOMEN only!!

Did you not hear it pervert?

Yes. No. Wow!!

“Stand clear off the closing door”

A warning. No. A shameless sign.

Government wears a condom

I see. No. We see.

Then rapes the audience.

Voters please drink tea. No.

Vote. But tea? Fundamental right. Tea?

Rape. No. Get raped. No. Only vote.

Are you sane? No. Then drink tea and vote.

A women. No. A chick

Speaks about right and then wrong.

Gets tangled. No. Was born deformed?

Half-read, Unaware. Foolish yet special.

So gentlemen

“Stand clear off the closing door”

Reserve a bogie for ladies

Because men were born shameless

No. Polemic. Who cares?

Women have become overbold

Reserved. Raped. Yet empowered.

absurd scribble makes more noise.

And her silence is a lost tongue.

Still. Yes. In the crowd of strangers

Virtuous. Vicious. Yet beautiful.

Is a woman.

As I stand clear of this closing door

I see too much to blame. Yes.

I count too less to acclaim. No.

This has been a daily game. Yes or No?

Curse the unfortunate

And challenge the same.

But everyday like a victorious Athena

The metro. No. A mineral vein.

A masculine. No. A true feminine.

Makes this city grow. Yes. Live. No. Breath.

Yes or No?

But like a separated. No.

Like a working class heroin. Yes

It lives with an uncertain ending

for each blank verse she compose

and the door she wishes to be close.


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Poet Of Minutes** by Nidhi Sharma is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at