Inside a little girl’s heart

Were bigger beasts of Lethe ¹

Untouched 

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

Forgotten,

forsaken

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.

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.