Categories
Poetry

Crime

crime

 

–aka consumption–

 

the purple haze that tempts and promises
dangling condolences for your lack
a wink that screams I’ll fill your void

every store, a whorehouse

the strobe lights give you pleasure
as you walk along the aisles and stop

to gingerly take down something you
don’t need

***
the child had scars
that he couldn’t explain
he looks and smells like cocoa

and they never knew

Categories
Poetry

No

brokenwings
by Andre Wee. Courtesy: Google Images

 

a chiffon weight in my underbelly purrs
when you moisten your words with notes
dipped in muscles, putative strength

I’ve sharpened myself on this whetstone
of casual undermining chatter, first from
genetic precursors, blood-buddies peppered
across dead branches of a family tree
and then from you, your innocent ignorance
of me, your colorblindness to my rainbow

and I remember the gray wires on your chest
your loud boom of a laughter, lacking nothing
as far as you’re concerned, while I count the
missing feathers in my wing, fractured, in a sling

so that the next time you throw a dart, I shall
spring back a step..? no I shall learn to cry,
no the secret in fact, is that I’ll be wordy to you
in a way that makes my smile scream a big No.

Categories
Poetry

What Ails Me?

what-ails-me

Webs of discontent, laced
Around bloodstreams and skin

This discomfort is synonymous
With unmet demands of the world.
Yet I’m glad, while knowing
That I’m up to no good, these days
Like a cat, who is proud for no reason.

I rely on words to cure me.
Curves of letters appear therapeutic.
So pathetic has been my recovery,
That I have relapses more often
Than I find time to write!

And it’s all      still        in my head.

I pick up my pen then,
Thankful for the little things,
Yearning to get out of the rut
Of writing for my being
To writing with my being.

Poetry has never smelled better.

Categories
Poetry Street Art Poetry

Excuse Me, Sir

banksy

 

Excuse me, Sir

But what is the procedure

To peel off religion from my skin?

 

I find no trademarks, no barcodes.

I find no brands, no logos on me,

No palpable evidence of my faith.

 

Birthrights are strange,

For no mother would aspire to leave a tangible mark

Yet, you perceive an invisible permanent tattoo

As if it also traverses the placenta.

 

Sir, could you tell me

Which God created mountains and plains,

Which God designed cells and space,

Which God knew all the arts in the world,

And the skills to be the mightiest,

And if it’s not Zeus, Jesus or Allah,

If it’s not Krishna or Buddha,

We have a shy God, Sir.

 

Sir, even if it is one of them

If by any chance, God was One if not all,

It’s tyranny to command faith due to power

To ensure worship, in spite of his absence,

To instill fear, in spite of good grace,

It’s narcissistic to allow temples and tributes-

I’m not sure I want a tyrant for a God.

 

You seem to know him well, Sir

You seem to worship him and believe,

He has not told me Sir, but I’m sure you’d know

How do I peel off religion from my skin?

Categories
Poetry

Remember What You Live For

deep-breath1

When a solution defies you,
When doubts plague you,
For the love of life, when you cry,
When even music’s an empty artifact,
Remember what you live for.

When your lips tremble,
When love seems like a maze,
That you fail to traverse,
When a few bad hours have swept over you,
Remember what you live for.

When you don’t find meanings in books,
When friends seem few or far away,
With all your heart, when you want to quit,
When even breathing seems like a chore,
Remember what you live for.

Own your life for the moments of joy,
A wink, a gleaming smile, a hi-five,
Or of simple quiet existence,
Of the very fact of feeling sad,
Of exactly that, which renders you human.

Consider the nature of life that teaches to live-
That scribbles successes and whispers failures,
That trains your heart to ever aspire,
What gift could be more precious
Than the freedom to start over again?
Add a line or erase one from the poem of your life,
But remember to absorb the essence, despite life.

Remember that you live, for no process is finer,
No experience lighter,
Than being able to breathe in spite of the odds,
Than being able to return and say with pride,
That you will, no matter the challenge,
Remember what you live for.