please

night gives up to blue skies gay
but still the monsters won’t go away.

ram cobain

promises

The inkpot uneasy, quietly stirred
As the lover wrote a false word

ram cobain

the edge

the barber picks up his trusted blade
like a man in another trade
he looks long at the gleaming steel
but his is a slip of destiny’s wheel
so he gently dips the tip in water
and merely dreams of scarlet slaughter

ram cobain

born chivalrous

a newborn in the hospital crib
poked his neighbour in the rib
gurgled this may be a wrong time
but I have to apprise you of a crime
while you were asleep they quietly stole
and left you with that gaping hole
she gasped, how did they ever pinch
something smaller than half an inch
now pray what am I supposed to do
(I don’t suppose you might have two?)
shattered thus, she began to cry
weeing and waaing and wanting to die
the first one, gallant, said I’m there
worry not dearie, we’ll simply share

ram cobain

no and yes

my heart yells go slow
this path is one you know
then another voice dares say
wasn’t that yesterday?

ram cobain

sniff sniff

naphthalene balls in the urinal stare
like pleading eyeballs in pink despair
kindred soul, o’ drench us not
and pray pity this cold we’ve caught

ram cobain

not so lovely

enchantress, seductress of beauty rare
ask may I a question that I only just dare
when your bowels groan in nature’s call
does it stink like the rest of us all?

ram cobain

vox populi

self doubt spoke aloud
while conviction whispered
so one gathered a crowd
and the other wasn't heard.

ram cobain

last writes

my love took a razor blade
and sliced till all began to fade
then it walked into a dirty noose
choked grimy from multiple use
next like a child’s sweet tooth whim
it swallowed pills till all did swim
then it held its breath never to exhale
even when all turned bluish pale
last it took a shotgun to its head
and still somehow never fell dead
so it began to greedily see
a little mirage called you and me
but it was just love again being blind
to words and acts and reality unkind
but the stupider bit that gets my goat
is that it never tried a suicide note.

ram cobain

what goes around, comes a round

life, if you were to meet me
in a cold dimly lit alley
I’d dance on my toes
punch you on the nose
and ask how does it feel
to hurt and never heal.

ram cobain

really the pits

her flowing armpit hair
got her many a second stare
and when it was sultry hot
a sniff was greedily sought
from a dozen moons away
men tottered with purses to pay
they’d wash copper at her feet
for a hint of her musky treat
and such was her delicious spell
like drunkards by the road they fell
they’d fight to be the first one to
get happily high on her sweaty glue
aah one dose felt like pure cocaine
and two could drive a man insane
some were zonked enough to kill
anyone who interfered armpit and nostril
between joyous groans and wistful sighs
the lady cleverly upped her price
she chirped “it’s fifty dollars per inhale”
as she raised her arms to a stinky-rich sale
the business woman never gave a discount
whether one came on foot or by mount
whether one had millions or worked on a farm
“cash first” hung bold from her underarm
men moaned by her armpits and wept
as they fell hair-raisingly into debt
the nation cried, the nation rued
and cursed the potion that fetidly brewed
but like a never-forgotten childhood tale
status quo for years prevailed
till one broke but vengeful nosy parker
made good with a Luxor marker
thus Income Tax got a whiff of her braids
and daringly did a reeking raid
they stuck gas masks over their noses
wore cologne vests and held fresh roses
sadly for the missus, she’d never declared
the actual length of her armpit hair
they yelled from far “put your hands up, honey
this ain’t hair but silky black money!”
and as disbelief on her face did hover
they called for a sharp lawn mower.

ram cobain

yes

when the applause dies
and with it the critics’ cries
when stadiums taught to riot
fall forlorn, empty, quiet
when the walk feels alone
and mute stares the phone
when trophies lose their gold
and 16 feels very old
when the willow lifts too heavy
like a tax too unfair to levy
when fresh sinews dare
to try be worthy of compare
when the world starts to forget
its eternal crushing debt
when a new age asks who
and pray what did he do?
when hundreds seem to fade to zero
you will then, as now, be my hero.

ram cobain
saaaaachin sachin

(coincidentally - or divinely - my 100th poem on this blog!)

the uncut version

brave Thakur from Sholay
cried out in dismay
when his hands were severed
and dropped like big brown turds
he rued “Gabbar, you robber
now you I can’t even clobber!”
the dacoit grinned and said
“though you’d prefer me dead
I’ll surrender to you alive
if you give me a high five”
so when Thakur got back
he prayed for a heart attack
for he felt like a prize fool
like Nat Geo’s stupidest mule
especially when a beggar begged for alms
or the astrologer asked for his palm
or when his gym coach asked him to flex
or whenever he saw his Rolex
and during occasions festive
he felt he didn’t want to live
like when it was rakhi
and he had to offer his knee
or when he ordered his beer
he couldn’t clink and do cheers
but yet he was stoically fine
till the waiter asked for his sign
and he felt it quite wrong
when on a really tough song
Indian Idol thought he was a lousy singer
and he couldn’t show them the finger
and his heart quivered and broke
as he heard even sardars joke
for how could it ever be right
to say Thakur wasn’t cut out for a fight?
and woe, when he wanted to scratch
his long leonine pubic patch
for he had to go shamefully rub
against a nearby neighbourhood shrub
and though he wasn’t one to fuss
he didn’t quite like the cactus
or the mongrels who’d gape in awe
at this critter without a paw
and he couldn’t even hurl a stone
or call the dog pound on his phone
and he remembered the disgrace
when a mosquito sat on his face
and bit and buzzed in his ear
and flew off wiggling its rear
next, he realized she was the wrong girl
when for his gift of glittering pearls
his fiancée bought him a cheap ring
and laughed as he stared at the thing
worse was how he dripped in the hall
from 365x24x7 nightfalls
as it’d been a really long wait
since he last did masturbate
and the bigger, seminal issue
was that he couldn’t reach for the tissue
and yes, he felt very shitty
when he was asked to be the celebrity
as Nokia advertised with glee
for their new innovative hands free
and yet for all this, deep inside
there still raged his fiery pride
and he’d give his right arm to have slapped
anyone who called him handicapped.

ram cobain

adios amigo

sometimes the end
feels like a friend.

ram cobain

positively racist

if the silver lining appears black
maybe you’re staring up a nigger’s crack

ram cobain

judas

hope is but a lengthier noose
that swiftly tightens while feeling loose.

ram cobain

the bald truth

I’m losing hair
but no, not there.

ram cobain

un-scab

sweet is the pain we shyly feel
of wounds old, too fresh to heal.

ram cobain

superiority complex

the imbecile asked the fool
where he went to school.

ram cobain

dark thoughts

does night ever feel scared
and dream chilly nightmares
does it wish for a small light
to brighten away its fright
does it worry about strange knocks
and ticking of familiar clocks
does its very black blood sap
at the dripping of a leaky tap
does it ever feel painfully alone
when it hears the wind moan
does it break into a cold sweat
over the howl of a stray pet
does it say a devout hymn
against the flicker of shadows dim
does it clutch its pillow and weep
as it begs and cries for sleep
truly, does night ever say
I’m happy, here comes day.

ram cobain

will I…

will I be famous
as a writer someday
or will I remembered
as an orator who had his say
will I make it as a teacher
learned and worldly wise
or will I be a prodigy
and leave the masters surprised
will I be a doctor
god’s gift to the sick
or will I be a porn star
famous for my 12” dick
will I be a philanthrope
a generous soul indeed
or will I be a tycoon
untiring in my greed
but truth be told
I’m perfectly happy
for it takes a bit of them all
to make humble me

ram cobain

the last time

when was the last time
you wrote a silly rhyme
washed your own car
played air guitar
didn’t act your age
re-read a page
let the phone ring
smiled good morning
said a chain joke
let the sun soak
wore a crumpled shirt
admitted that it hurt?

ram cobain

bloody hell

I thought she’d lost her senses
when she licked her own menses
she saw me gape and stare
like a deer caught in high-beam glare
with ruby-rich painted lips
and red dripping fingertips
she sighed, made a funny face
and said, “It’s just one of those days.”

ram cobain

double dying

the poem ran away
and hid under a chair
and try as I may
I couldn’t reach there
I called out to ma
why and woe that she
went all aha ha ha
all over me.

ram cobain

the reaper reaps

Death woke up different one day
stared into the mirror in dismay
for like an insomniac who daily tries
there were big bags under his eyes
and then his cheeks began to shrink
brittle blue from baby pink
he fearfully touched his vanishing hair
and the shiny skull spots birthing there
new wrinkle lines speedily cut in
like a familiar scythe ripping through skin
his proud pearly whites next fell loose
brown and useless like yesterday’s news
now his eyesight dimmed and blurred
like two spoonfuls of cataract stirred
maybe he heard a laugh but he wasn’t sure
with eardrums broken beyond cure
like an emperor bowed without a crown
his knees gave way and he crumpled down
and like a shower of sudden summer rain
his trousers burst into yuck yellow stain
as his chest started to rattle, splutter and give
he shrieked but gasped, “I want to live.”

ram cobain

ask

I can feed my wrist to blade
make my marker rainbow fade
stamp out glory with my own feet
make my iron hands fold in defeat
I can dream a wizening nightmare
make my skeleton cupboard bare
plot my splatter-glorious fall
make skull tattoos on the wall
I can wage a suicidal fight
gloat happily over my fatal plight
swallow my god and then betray
make my enemy have his say
I can puncture my one life boat
make my breath from seeking float
aim my neck towards the noose
make my wins to make me lose
I can act against my will
make hypocrisy have its belchy fill
tear a historic childhood snap
make best friends feel a stranger’s gap
I can do this and please more
make tears from blue skies pour
if only I could make you bless
make you, yes you say a yes.

ram cobain

one for the road

hunk
punk
monk
chunk
dunk
sunk
bunk
funk
junk
skunk
drunk.

ram cobain

missing mrs.

I’ve heard of these horny old gals
who befriend students but not as pals
but though I thought I was quite cool
I never saw any while I was in school

ram cobain

silent witness

glorious, stoic, discreet sun
if you were to loosen your tongue
what stories would you care to tell
about mice and men and heaven and hell?

ram cobain

alarm bells

the corpse woke up dead
wondered, scratched his head
“have I missed some warning
or is it just Monday morning?”

ram cobain

wake up call

the spook got scared
as he fearfully stared
into the mirror and said
“god, I’m dead”.

ram cobain

first erection

the little boy
grew a new toy.

ram cobain

dirge in the desert

one day the fugitive Osama
cried out for his mama
that infidel, by George
into his ass I’ll forge
the stars and the spangles
and dance as they jangle
he tugged his dirty beard
and as a dozen lice cleared
said, I pine to see Shakira
instead of Al-Jazeera
it’s not in my psyche
but I feel like I’m from Nike
y’see, I’ve been on the run
for over fifty a burning sun
I spray my piss on the sand
and can’t wash my hand
I crap a great golden dune
like king Midas the loon
and instead of toilet paper
I use prickly Cactus tapers
oh how it bloody hurts
my bum pimples spurt
and it does me vex
to see camels having sex
god, send me a fair maiden
for my willy’s long Been Laden

ram cobain

eau-de-cobain

I look down into the toilet well
and see debris rising swell
I sniff and quickly get drunk
on a smell that’d stun a skunk
cloying hard like butcher’s room
I inhale and roll and imbibe the fume
and as befitting my celebrity stature
I recognize my royal signature
my eyes water and I start to cough
as I proudly approach Davidoff

ram cobain

song for Sivaji

Superman forgot how to fly
Jackie Chan how to kick high
Neo how to play sunglass cool
Harry spells at magic school
Spidey lost the art of the web
the Black Bat’s powers began to ebb
He-Man’s muscles started to shrink
Dexter lost the will to think
James Bond spilled his Martini
Pedro couldn’t upright his weenie
Ali dropped his knockout punch
Popeye threw up his lovely lunch
Holmes couldn’t crack the case
and George Bush mended his ways
the day they stopped to see
the one, the only, Superstar Rajni

ram cobain

rhetoric

to give the devil his due
yes, the moron did argue
and with voice, affected, cool
asked if he was a fool

ram cobain

agony

the toughest of things ever to be
is asking you out for coffee.

ram cobain

alcatraz

the fool thought he broke the fetters
as he added Zippo to her letters
but reality gloats that he’s not free
for how do you burn a memory?

ram cobain

violent revolution

surprisingly, after tea
the brain yells “yippee!”
the stomach rumbles loud
says, son, I’ll do you proud
hear today as I foretell
a tale of heaven in hell
gone is the dreary drought
long, tiring, hard fought
today after the slaughter
you’ll need extra water
today after the dirty deed
all prisoners shall be freed
today in one explosive display
you’ll celebrate independence day
today after the bloodless coup
you’ll never want to poop
today after the pitiless plunder
you’ll be weary in wonder
so pre-grab the toilet paper
lest you lose it in the vapour
now run, take the digi-cam
to record the breaking of the dam
hark, quick, clutch the rear
see, the undie trembles in fear
go with authority and aplomb
go brave, go drop the bomb.

ram cobain

mom’s the word

mother, what would you say
if you read my blog today
would you scream out aloud
and gather a small crowd
would your hands, so used to clap
raise towards me in a slap
would you pull out your hair
especially as mine isn’t there
would you in horrified dismay
sit down before our god and pray
would you gasp and wonder
was it education or was it a blunder
would these scribbles of mine
bring to mouth all that you dined
would those diamond tears fall
at the sight of my cheap scrawls
would you, desperate, call out for dad
and would he similarly, feel as bad
would my rhymes not make you laugh
but choke and cut your voice in half
would you mourn what I’ve done
or say, that poet, he’s my son.

ram cobain

abracadabra

in the fender smashing bone
in the unanswered phone
in the blade that cuts slow
in the moment that must go
in the lonely public defeat
in the enemy smiling in greet
in the hero who must die
in the child who mustn’t cry
in the mother who must choose
in the father who must lose
in the friend who must fall
in the god who looks like a wall
in the needle finding vein
yes, there’s magic in pain.

ram cobain

touché

lady, you’re a feminist
ranted the chauvinist
only a woman’d believe
adam was done by eve
the feminist in reply
said you’re a typical guy
true, yes, adam put it in
but before you start to grin
without eve, you’d grapple
today in bed with a rosy apple.

ram cobain

torture

nothing more painful to endure
than an idiot who is insecure.

ram cobain

to sita

oh world, cruel place
seconds last for days
days pass like years
water tastes like tears
the sky, eternal blue
deftly hides all clue
the grass, soft, green
covers all it has seen
birds and beasts graze
like fine forgotten days
can nothing change
yet everything feel strange
they say I must be brave
lead, protect and save
so the body lives
fights and forgives
but this war inside
like the Ganges in tide
swirls cold and burns
like inquisitors taking turns
will I break, must I bend
before this hide-n-seek ends
these eyes grow old
the spirit less bold
sweet dearest, you’re late
ram passes away as he waits
oh where are you
what do I do?

ram

not again!

woe, dismay
It’s a bad hair day

ram cobain

appetizer

if words could bite
would you still write?

ram cobain

happiness

it’s a friend who never shows he cares
yet whose face in the mirror stares
a mother who scolds but whose lap brings
sleep and dreams with gossamer wings
a book that was written in another age
but which takes you there with every page
an ice-cream cone in hot summer sun
that only melts when the day is done
an innings from a champion past
played only for you from beginning to last
a kiss that makes you weak in the knees
and shows you where heaven must be
a guitar note that lunges and lingers
like the memory voice of your favourite singer
a god who comes good when you need
whose stone ears hear you when you plead
this is what happiness means to me
sweet like the world that newborns see.

ram cobain

the player

the horny old man
with his rheumy eyes scanned
the pages of Penthouse
but like a dead mouse
his wrinkled member
like a leaf in December
lay fallen, forgotten
decaying, rotten
he yanked and twirled
conjured a past world
when for a mere 10-minute toil
he could dig out even oil
when crowds would pay to feel
12” of his feared steel
when for a bet he was able
to levitate the dinner table
and colony brats would swing
happily from his massive thing
when bullies would flee
as he unzipped to pee
and maidens would swoon
at the sight of his boon
he recalled the seminal best
of his youthful conquests
when he ruled all fanny
did girl, ma and granny
and today at 84
he prayed for an encore
silently, his wife looked on
and said maturely, “john”
as her whisky she poured
“where’s the chess board?”

ram cobain

first rain

wet kisses on cracked cheeks
like the first word an infant speaks
soothing, like a mother’s hand
you make me whole, make me land.

ram cobain

loneliness

the clock stares
in silent compare
like siamese twins
we’re alike, it grins
I’m you, you’re me
and two’s company.

ram cobain

hail musketeers!

if all the world’s people
farted all at once
would the gas thus emitted
blur a thousand suns?

and if they collectively unzipped
cocked in urinary motion
would the water so released
drown out the pacific ocean?

for in unity there’s strength
so speaketh the proverb old
and the planetary possibilities of shit
might lower the value of gold.

ram cobain

of XX and why why

it’s not the make up
or that bad hair do
not the pearl necklace
or that garish tube
it’s not the vampire-red nails
or the clackety heels
it’s not the overripe zit
or the poor sex appeal
it’s not the yellow handbag
or that grating giggle
it’s not the sagging tits
or the big butt wiggle
for what about you
makes me really sick
is more complicated
it’s called ‘genetic’.

ram cobain

finally

today I danced like me
today I let yesterday be.

ram cobain

scream

for god’s sake
the mask aches.

ram cobain

hand it to her

cross my heart, ‘tis the truth
summers ago, in my youth
I saw a really fat bitch
reaching out for an itch
she was acres of droopy skin
sewed over a municipal bin
her pupils shut in reverie
her hand extended in glee
her stubby finger stabbed
at some crevice in the flab
back and forth, to and fro
her painted nails did grope
like a pet at a door latched
her fingers barked and scratched
was it her front, or was it behind
my sleuth eyes could not find
her nose grunted, her body heaved
oh why and woe, that I perceived
I gasped, I choked, I wish I’d died
as I saw her elbow slip inside.

ram cobain

old age

cracks line the wall
the vessel gathers rust
the tree stoops to fall
the floor breathes its dust
the telly talks aloud
the radio blares a song
the sofa yearns a crowd
the chair rocks along
the phone waits and waits
the doorbell holds its tongue
the clock ticks never late
a photograph remains young.

ram cobain

vocabulary

there was once a man
who never heard the word ‘can’
he didn’t know what it meant
by either design or accident
in seriousness or wit
he never used it
as a child it was “a for ant”
(and yes “c for can’t”)
and when he read the dictionary
it filled him with worry
for ‘can’ stared back at him
like a verbose writer’s whim
and quite oft he was heard
saying “can is only a word”
very nondescript he was
with very nondescript flaws
and like a sorcerer’s cloning spell
he looked like everyone else
but still everyone could see
that that man isn’t me.

ram cobain

civilization

the monkey
found poetry

ram cobain

the inspiration

sir robert the bruce
like a loony recluse
sat in a musty cave
dank like a watery grave
he let out a garrulous groan
for his ass was hard as stone
and hungry and broke
with neither fries nor a coke
his eyes gazed the ceiling
and set his head reeling
his orbs grew wider
for he’d spied a spider
it inched upon the rock
like a pretty girl’s short frock
dizzying tall and higher
like a tale told by a liar
when centimeters from the top
it suddenly braked to a stop
it tottered there and fell
like a drunk in the village well
and landed by his feet
woefully forlorn in defeat
robert looked at the spider
wondered what was inside her
he squashed it to a pulp
chewed, swallowed and gulped
and when it was finally over
fear over him did hover
for was this to be his story
of nary heroics nor glory
for one measly meal
would his legendom be sealed
and thus as he achingly fretted
in excitement his pants he wetted
as he hit upon a master plan
and wrote the script for Spiderman.

ram cobain

acch who?

what would the gods say
if one wintry day
a virus daring, bold
were to give them a cold
pray would it be
a simple ‘excuse me’
and would the reply due
be a ‘god bless you’

ram cobain

icarus

why do great men fall
from splendid ivory thrones
when they could stand tall
on lesser mortal bones
heroes they could be
legends than men too
instead they decree
to be like me or you.

ram cobain

man to man

I confess it’s weird
to spot a girl with a beard
and to see her flash
a budding moustache.

ram cobain

wallpaper

do you have to die
to commit suicide
because everyday I see
the dead on their feet.

ram cobain

the end of ego

the black and the white
the corrupt and the upright
the spender and the miser
the fool and the wiser
the atheist and the evangelist
the weakling and the fist
the lover and the cheat
the winner and the defeat
the rich and the needy
the genteel and the seedy
the arrived and the lost
the servant and the boss
the classy and the gaudy
the star and the nobody
the crier and the clown
the villager and the town
the critic and the fan
the mouse and the man
daily meet the twain
as faeces in the drain.

ram cobain

the jig

today I danced
in my head
because your glance
told me yes.

ram cobain

limer icky

yelled the wood to the axe
what’s with all these whacks
for god’s sake
I’m getting a headache
can’t a tree quietly relax?

------

the thorn proposed the porcupine
if I were to honestly opine
you’re a beautiful lass
but what’s that on your ass
all sticking out in a line?

------

the body enquired of the grave
I may sound like a knave
but do you think they’d be happy
if I make it sweet and snappy
and poke out for one last wave?

------

the victim threatened the noose
quickly, before I blow my fuse
loosen these knots
It’s getting real hot
or should I cook your goose?

------

rambled the drunk to the gutter
what’s with that stupid stutter
stop your din
my head already spins
nary a word shall you utter!

------

cried the dick to the hand
why don’t you understand
that it’s not nice
to be surprised
and made to suddenly stand.

------

the philanderer begged his wife
I swear upon my life
my ways I’ll mend
I won’t screw your friend
so put away that knife

------

optimism told fate
you’re really great
you’re Destiny
but I think you’re plan B
and this time you’re late.

------

reed complained to grass
it’s such a farce
we both grow in dirt
on lovely planet earth
so how come you fly ‘em to mars?

------

the mouse turned to the cat
and wondered to him that
how in a world so vast
he didn’t have any class
and still chased rats?

------

Romeo to Juliet
how can I forget?
your blue eyes
your loving sighs
your sexy friend Georgette?

------

ass laughed at tissue
I’m mightier than you
on your face I slap
my foulest fetid crap
and get away too!

------

wolf to little red riding hood
offered, “if only you would
give me a blow
and then swallow
I won’t have you for food.”

------

song told limerick
you untalented prick
your 5 stanza rhymes
nary worth a duplicate dime
god, you make me sick

limerick replied to song
that’s where you’re wrong
with your repetitive chorus
oh how you bore us
you’re garrulously long!

------

the world told me
your effortless poetry
makes our day
and so we pray
for a longer verse to see

ram cobain

water water everywhere…

I’ve nourished wild shrubs
filled up hotel bathtubs
dribbled in swimming pools
and in pretty girl loos
I’ve performed encores
on unfriendly neighbour doors
sprinkled park walls
and floors of cinema halls
I’ve diluted rum punches
sprayed on rose bunches
pittered on a colleagues cars
and under moonlit stars
diligently hosed toothbrushes
and public toilet flushes
I’ve spelt out my name
played longest shooter games
I've manufactured my beer
sunshine yellow and frothy clear
spring, summer or sylvan fall
I’ve stood tall and done it all
and if you want to meet this male
I suggest you simply follow the trail.

ram cobain

heresy

blasphemy, sacrilege
woe that I should
realize the carpenter’s son
got nailed to wood.

ram cobain

amen

If god were a betting man
he’d put his last buck on me
and even if you weren’t my fan
i think you'd have to agree.

ram cobain

frankly speaking

believe me when I say
“I love you” today
but how am I to know
i'd feel the same, tomorrow?

ram cobain

test tickle

pray what’s the catch
that men like to scratch
their hairy balls as though
it’d make them grow?

will tugging ‘em hard
like a string-strumming bard
quickly make each one
as big as the sun?

will a spirited public display
of loudly yanking the hay
make the harvest bloom
right out of underwear room?

will pinching them with love
like a surgeon’s deft glove
make the twain realize
they were made for XL size?

will rubbing them with pride
like saint with nothing to hide
and cupping them in one hand
save them from getting tanned?

but from my experience
the only thing that makes sense
is that between finger and thumb
lies heaven worthy to succumb.

ram cobain

not in the same breath

frankly, sweet honey
choose your alimony
take my guitar
drive my new car
sell all the cows
keep the penthouse
sleep with the guard
use my credit cards
shop away my fortune
unleash your goons
anything, so I needn’t kiss
that mouthful of halitosis.

ram cobain

a pressing matter

one day after a coughing fit
timmy realized that instead of shit
what came out from his ass
were tired clouds of wispy gas
how he struggled, how he tried
(into his butt cheeks his fingers pried)
but nary one nugget of gold
would into his hands enfold
he wondered about this strange caper
(at least it saved him toilet paper)
dejected, he unzipped to pee
so pray imagine his insane glee
when squeezed out, dear boss
steamy, pungent, mustard-like sauce.

ram cobain

h.v.d.

oh beautiful unseen face
here’s a warm embrace
here’s an animal bear hug
here’s a clinky beer glug
here’s a hand ruffling hair
here’s a lingering stare
here’s an unbought gift
here’s an untaken lift
here’s an unborn starry night
here’s an unformed love bite
here’s to you, here’s to me
here’s to us, here’s to we
here’s to what I’d like to say
happy valentine’s day.

ram cobain

the socialite

she smells of Yardley
and broken dreams
of stale Sundays
and old Jim Beams
of mascara tears
and trophy smiles
of botox rears
and chipped nail files
of flashbulb wrinkles
and derby catwalks
of dollar note crinkles
and Gucci talks
of public loves
and private cries
of page 3 wows
and the perfect disguise.

ram cobain

quite an apology

oh, for a new poem to write
for another fan to delight
but on what, I haven’t a clue
so let me say, sorry to you.

:-)

ram cobain

burst that bubble

say dearie, why all this fuss
over a pimple filled with pus?
squeeze it and let it ooze
or put it to some better use
oil it, massage it, let it grow
till your face can no longer show.

ram cobain

cry for cotton

two teenage bales of cotton
were talking about life being rotten
said one, my father was quite a stud
before he became an ear bud
quietly sniffled back the other
that’s nothing, you know mother?
wispy, dainty, she was so white
till she got plugged in tight
she turned into a tampon, you see
and so for her my heart does bleed.

ram cobain

come

standing, falling
tumbling, calling
wishing, yearning
breathing, burning
crying, bleeding
praying, pleading
hurting, curing
feeling, enduring
hearing, hoping
dying, coping
finding, losing
being used and using
as I wait for you.

ram cobain

for vibgyor

in b/w movies
how did they show
the true beauty
of a rainbow?

ram cobain

slivers of me

a long swallow of summer beer
curtains opening to holiday cheer
sun washed in sweet june rain
a bathroom mirror that’s just as vain
a friend who answers on first ring
bravado only a mom’s lap can bring
a book that hugs on every page
a raise above the minimum wage
music that makes the ears worthwhile
a monday morning that wakes with a smile
a love that stays lovely forever
a gut feeling that never says never
a pillow that always looks rested
a will that never looks bested
a dream that touches the fingers
a yesterday that today does linger
a hero who battles mortal awe
an intelligence that asks a how
a god who must again deliver
these are but a few slivers
of blood, bone and what must be
slivers, slivers of what make me.

ram cobain

the gutsy girl

no she wasn’t my pal
but I knew this one gal
who one day puked so hard
that she threw up her innards
they coiled up on the kitchen floor
like rattlesnakes in sleepy snore
she wanted to scream for christian help
but could only manage a muffled yelp
for like a greedy brat too eager to dine
her mouth was filled with intestine
fat and wet like sausage rope
they were hard to hold, gooey to grope
and when she tried to push them in
they dodged and ran like naughty twins
she used the fork but they wouldn’t stay
like a restless mendicant on his way
fed up, she didn't know what to do
except this, that she immediately knew
it wouldn’t be polite to leave them on the ground
and so she called out for her hound.

ram cobain

3, 2, 1…

you may be Ferrari
but excuse me please
you ain't fast enough
to beat my sneeze.

ram cobain

steer clear

what if you were to sight
a car zipping wildly from left to right
would you think the driver was insane
or that he had never heard of lanes
would you believe it a hit-and-run case
or delinquent sons in a happy race
would you guess the driver had two blind eyes
or that the gravel turned suddenly to ice
would you sense he was an AA recruit
or a dutiful cop in hot pursuit
would you reflect he was speeding to poop
or he was a reporter chasing a fiery scoop
would you assume the brakes had died
or the driver was eloping with the bride
would you suppose it a doctor’s emergency call
or a prince late for Cinderella’s ball
one thing is sure, you couldn’t fail
if you thought the driver were female.

ram cobain

Alcoholics Synonymous

if I were to try and explain
in great detail and pain
the booze high to an abstinent
would it be time well spent?

for how can one describe
Shakespeare to a scribe
and how can one sell
a deaf man an extra-loud bell

please don’t laugh, my friend
for my heart cries to rend
a better example, a better way
to speak what the sip does say

is getting drunk a depressing vice
or is it happy like a Christmas surprise
is it finding that Santa lives
or that god actually forgives

is it the joy of feeling foolish
of speaking stupidly-sane gibberish
is it the finding of Samson-like strength
or unzipping an inch of sudden length?

or is it like a hearty dinner
or the burp of a well-fed sinner
is it like mouthing a favourite song
or an exam where you can’t go wrong

is it like fitting into tighter jeans
or quoting loved movie scenes
is it like meeting a childhood hero
or discovering there exists a zero

is it like a wallet full of cash
or a parent-free new year bash
is it the taste of a virgin kiss
or the release of a long-held piss

I for one don’t have the gall
to try and articulate alcohol
but one thing I’ve oft heard
a bottle speaks a thousand words.

ram cobain

sweet surprise

I read an awesome poem today
I simply loved what it had to say
and when I looked up the poet’s name
I found he and I were the same.

ram cobain

wax eloquent

the energy crisis that looms
like a mushroom cloud of doom
won’t exist, if you care to hear
a far-reaching vision so clear

deep within your audio cave
resides the potent power to save
therein lies the strength to bear
and the virtuous might to repair

for just one scoop of earwax
daily paid per person as tax
would make soon a decent mound
towering 3 feet from the ground

imagine if you could know
an entire family’s outflow
filled in tasty mayonnaise jars
and dripping out of 5-seater cars

and what if the state were to contribute
generously to the government’s loot
they’d run out of warehouse space
with enough and more refills for days

now think of an entire country
self-sufficient with molten fuel free
the GDP would fly, the debt would disappear
straight out of the populace’s ears

ram cobain

dedicated to that beautiful moment when things...
snap

deep inside a head
a white turns to red
a new anger opens its eyes
an old person bids goodbye
a love kills a love
a tomorrow expires now
a friend betrays a friend
a street searches a dead end
a hero falls down
a thorn climbs a crown
a breast disowns its milk
a cocoon fails its silk
a peace curdles violent
a god watches silent
an angel takes a nap
as normal starts to snap

ram cobain

adios

like an iron tear on a windowpane
stuck, silent, spent in vain
like a swirling sea to a paper boat
cruel, casual to drown or float
like foetal sigh yet to be born
imagined, conceived, long forgone
like a dream drawn on gossamer sheets
crinkled, creased, crushed in defeat
like a promise quivering on a tongue
unsaid, unheard, very unsung
like prayer awaiting a stone god
futile, foolish, very flawed
like hope falling in first love again
tragic, suicidal, sweetly insane
like metaphors, similes or clever word plays
like a million repeat attempts to say
but no matter how hard I ever try
I’ll never be able to bid goodbye.

ram cobain

heterosexual for president

if I were to have my say
I’d rule there’d be no more gays
no more lousy limp handshakes
no more barrel-chested fakes
no more men with dainty eyelashes
no more tweety-bird undie flashes
no more creepy crawly “hi”s
no more loving lingering goodbyes
no more pinks and pastel hues
no more pansy aahs and oohs
no more mano-a-mano games
no more throbbings in crowded trains
no more adams, no more steves
no more woosters, no more jeeves
the only exception to this decree, my friends
would of course be… for lesbians.

ram cobain

last but not the least

glittering diamonds
and silicon blondes
mafiasque funds
and magic wands
nothing compares
in the end
to you, sweet, rare
my best friend.

ram cobain

like you, like me

everybody needs some love
a little bit then and all of now
everybody needs to be told
you may be graying but not old
everybody needs to be said
that you’re okay in the head
everybody needs to know
you’ll be there tomorrow
everybody needs to touched
by the littles rather than the much
everybody needs to feel
the power a hug can wield
everybody needs to see
I’m like you, you’re like me.

ram cobain

he with the three

I knew a man called ol’ billy
he was born with 3 willies
left, right, and one in the middle
t’was a sight to see him piddle
‘coz when he’d want to take a leak
he’d give each a li’l tweak
so see which one wanted to pee
eenie, mo or was it meenie
and he wore his Levis’
with nary one but 3 zip flies
and when he got a hard on
they lasted him from noon to dawn
and when his wife gave him a blow
t’was quite the magician’s show
for with her mouth bobbing on one
her ass and pussy too could have fun
and when he came t’was quite the sight
to see her lay painted in coppery white
and when old age finally took Billy
they sent his 3 dicks to Ripley’s
and if you think this story’s false
you ought to go see his six balls.

sonnet to an unknown love

right this moment, where is she
working hard, or romancing a he
is she single, like yours truly here
or is she a couple, like a happy hours beer
is she snowhite fair, or dark as the night
a thing of beauty, or a genetic plight
will she make heads turn, or is her heart her virtue
or will she have neither, but a nice l’il fortune
will she cook well, to feed my chauvinistic belly
or will she expect to be served in front of the telly
will she appreciate fine poetry, especially mine
or will her dream words be a ‘for sale’ sign
will she be a giving lover, a tigress in bed
or like an pedigree poodle, will she play dead
will she get along nicely with ma, like a house on fire
or will they quarrel, like polygraph and a liar
will she speak her mind, or have none
will knitting a pullover be her idea of fun
will she believe in god, or be an atheist
will she love me for what i am, or inspite of it
have I looked into her eyes, or have I never seen her yet
is she a stranger, or someone I’ve often met
will i find her on my own, or will my parents have to step in
is she tamil, punjabi or three-quarters finn
but to tell you frankly, there’s really only one question
only one criterion deserving mention
…will she be a compromise, or a real bargain
a wife truly worthy of ram cobain?

horror

neither beasts nor ogres nor demons old
nor werewolves nor vampires in the cold
nor curses nor hexes nor the evil eye
nor loud breathing nor laughter nor a dreary sigh
nor cemeteries nor graveyards nor open tombs
nor bathtubs nor aisles nor haunted rooms
nor footsteps nor thuds nor rattling keys
nor banshee wails nor rustling leaves
nor planchett papers nor ouija boards
nor malignant skeletons in cellars stored
nor fleeting shadows in fading light
nor forms nor figures in whispery white
nor evil dolls nor wooden toys
nor sweetly smiling Satan’s boys
nothing shortens my living days
like the scary sight of your hideous face

a man called Jim

come my friends, hear this tale
of ol’ man Jim from Lovelyassdale
a peculiar name for a town, you’d say
but he was a peculiar man, and he had his way
y’see ol’ man Jim, he owned the place
from east to west, till the cows could graze
aye, he was a good man too
as sweet as first winter’s dew
but this good man, had his quirks few
(like all gentlemen of his age do)
no it wasn’t gambling, liquor or any such vice
in hindsight, those might even be nice
y’see ol’ man Jim, he loved his wife’s bum
so much so, he called it his best chum
and when she walked, he eyed her backside
like an exhausted Da Vinci, beaming with pride
he loved to grab her when she wasn’t looking
when she was cleaning, when she was cooking
soon it started preying on his mind
this copious bulge of his missus’ behind
round, big, so very soft
like sweet hay in a dark barn loft
oh how he longed to clench those buns
and sink his teeth into each one
he touched them every chance he could
(even when he had to say “touchwood!”)
his wife, the good soul, she bore it all
even when he followed her to nature’s call
he watched her pee, he watched her poop
then wiped her lovingly with a saliva scoop
he watched her bathe, he soaped her there
and thanked the lord she had a pair
and when she snuggled up to him in bed
he flipped her on her stomach instead
he didn’t mind if she had the flu
did her with a polite “howdy do?”
he didn’t care if she had a headache
said, “there’s always aspirin for you to take”
he didn’t stop when she got the piles
that’s when the good wife finally got riled
so the next time that he reached for her lovely rump
she ran to the well, and in she jumped
and in her memory, he gave the town its name
but for ol’ man Jim, things haven’t been the same.

an ode to insanity

like a feast of salty broken glass
the sweet scratches of a mask
a vivid splash of nothingness
a nameplate with lost address

he stands there gibbering to himself
a mighty soothsayer afraid to tell
some bitter truth too big to share
a solemn cross he alone must bear

the blurring of edges, the clarity of space
an angel falling headlong from grace
a race of slow throbbing death
like hurried gasps of bated breath

they pass him by without a glance
this freak of some divine mischance
vacant eyes, twisted face
a canvas too ugly to be erased

yesterday, today, everyday
less black, less white, much more grey
caught in time or freed from it
savoured by streams of dripping spit

he sees what they do not dream
and dreams what they must not see
a vision horrific, or is it pretty
paradise lost or guarded closely

alone, not lonely in the world
like a valiant flag in the storm unfurled
seeing, smiling yet blind to it all
poetic, esoteric, immovable wall

he cares not what they make of him
like a fish drenched in rainy swim
they effect him not, they affect him not
sadly happy private thoughts

scorned like fruit, long gone bad
this aimless anchorless nomad
hard to accept, but what’s harder to know
who’s better off between us both.

ram cobain

mr. hangover

he tiptoes in as a dull ache
alive, breathing, as the eyes slowly wake
whispering, “guess who’s here, o’ ol’ friend
was passing by, with some time to spend.”
you close your eyes, tightly shut
praying you could pray him away, but
the knock grows louder and you know
it’ll be a while before he’ll go
he smiles as he comes in, and you frown
wishing hard you were in another town
“you forgot all about me, but i thought of you
well now i’m here, so howdy ye do?”
he settles in easy, in the armchair of your head
like a weary voyager eager to be fed
you shrug, get up and make some tea
hoping a cup will make him leave
it’s strong, heady, but so is he
talkative, lazy and in no particular hurry
you excuse yourself and wash your face
he says, “it’s fine, take your time, I like this place”
you dress for work, but he doesn’t take the hint
like an unwelcome relative on an unwelcome stint
office is office, but he insists on coming along
graciously saying, “don’t mind me, just carry on”
the hours tick quietly, but your temple gongs loud
someone’s learnt a new trick, and isn’t he proud
he says, “I’ll sing you a song that only you can hear
isn’t that a lark, what do you say o’ dear?”
as the song ends, he belts out the encore
saying, “no that wasn’t the last tune, here’s one more”
you reach out for water, and the Dispirin shelf
he thanks you, says, “Was thirsty myself”
you grab a bite, you go squat in the loo
and when you wash up, he’s still with you
you search for deliverance, and you find him
the man’s as persistent as a foolish whim
defeated, you limp back on one leg
cursing why you had that one peg
and like a repeat offender on his repeat crime
you vow that last night was the last time
till tomorrow comes, bright and cheery
and you say, “Mr. Hangover, so who’s he?”

something in the air

have you ever heard, perhaps?
the fart that sounds like a thunderclap
it booms and rings deep in your head
entering from eardrums shattered red

then there’s the one that sneaks up, behind
sly, surreptitious but well-timed
it comes and goes without a trace
lingering on many a contorted face

what about the one, that chugs and coughs along
like an ageing rockstar trying one last song
it wheezes and struggles to get out
an asthmatic gasp from deep south

then there are those, that wet the briefs
a pregnant cloud of insufferable grief
once free, they pollinate with aplomb
searching, scalding like a napalm bomb

and of course, some just go on and on
like a happy beer drinker in the john
resting maybe for a pause or two
then blaring forth with vigour anew

speak not of those, with a will possessed
indisciplined, impossible to suppress
they slip out at the wrongest of times
and pinpoint the owner, with a signature chime

and then there’s the crowd favourite
Ol’ El Stinko that all love to hate
the bastard that no one calls his own
as victims cringe and cry and collectively moan

so my friends, stop, sniff, ponder
does absence make the heart grow fonder?
and should you come across a new flavour
don’t tell me- it’s all yours to savour.

padmavati

“father…some water…” Padmavati said
to the old invalid, tied to the bed
the father croaked an inaudible whisper
the hut glowing, by wands of camphor

she foraged through the dingy cell
this place less home, more of hell
a pot, a pan…oh anything to buy
medicines, while the father died

but penicillin, prayer, all did fail
like laundry drying in a wet, horrid gale
like a martyr dying without a cause
like brittle, bruised candy floss

meanwhile the aged one, grew more old
his body smelling like green bread mould
and while Padmavati searched for anything to trade
providence smiled on, too happy to aid

now desperate, she looked at the empty room
barren like an infertile womb
the only commodity left, of interest to the buyer
was now the lady, who opened for hire

matrimony thus commenced, as a one-night stand
and her body caressed, by an alien hand
but even polygamy has its price
one insulin injection, for two creamy thighs

so when Padmavati reached home, torn, tired
“my good daughter…” the old man enquired
“you sold something…” he contentedly sighed
“yes father”, Padmavati replied


(the name ‘Padmavati’ is taken from an r.k. narayanan story, in which the protagonist, commenting on the dismal lack of barbers in the town, disgustedly says
“one and only one Padmavati for the entire village!”)

A small tribute to the merit of having no merit at all…

to nobody in particular

oh how good it is to be
just another fish in the sea
not big not beautiful not even rare
a sight unworthy of a second stare

not blessed with abstract intelligence
or poetic talent that doesn’t make sense
or a lover’s heart doomed to pine
like sniffling snow in yellow sunshine

not wanting like a millionaire
aged, broken, beyond repair
or so famous that nobody knows
what all you’d give, to just be ignored

not pained by easy sparkling wit
that bubbles and burns like acid spit
that when spoken, stamps a scar within
specially on those you call your kin

little do they know, the superior small fry
the great merit of being an unexceptional guy
for it’s the weed that escapes the plucking hand
and what use a flower on a garland?

booger woogie

sneaky eyes scout the room
ah it’s empty as king tut’s tomb
the moment is right, the finger’s ready
the heart flutters with a joy quite heady

the right hand moves up through the air
happy, expectant, without a care
the index finger, stiff as a pole
lustily enters the pleasure hole

excavation begins with a gentle probe
like a palm caressing a woman’s robe
the pace quickens as the finger finds
a biggie to excite both soul and groin

yup, it’s a huge one alright
round, dark and squishy moist
fresh and hot, with little hairs sticking
like ripe peaches ready for picking

rubbery nice, like potter’s clay
it’s easy to shape, easy to play
ah what joy the hand can extend
when there’s a nose that’s willing to lend

proud fingers knead it to a ball
happy as a girl’s first barbie doll
dabbing up pieces of baby snot
for only bit by bit makes a lot

now the party is over, the larder’s bare
the joy’s receding, the evidence stares
but disposal’s easy when the body is able
the hand rubs quietly under the table

behold then, the moral of this story:
“inside each of us lies our glory”
and doesn’t it show that god loves you
when there isn’t one nostril but two?

ram cobain

writer’s block

the shovel hits stone
the earth tired, groans
this drought’s been long
the sun burns strong
the last drop’s dripped
the faucet’s tightlipped
the breast’s run dry
a little child cries.

ram cobain

the wedding night

he takes her by the hand
up the sparkling stairs
a bride without a marriage band
a groom with receding hair

they pause to air their lungs
this walk filled with promise
he grins at her face, innocent, young
and rewards her with a kiss

the door, there it stands
open, inviting, ready
she looks up at her man
heart racing, feet unsteady

the bedsheets hungry, red
the pillow soft, so warm
and like a hyena unfed
he grabs her by the arm

he holds her tiny waist
firm, rough, really strong
hands strip in needy haste
while lips break into song

he plunges deep within
this crevice yet unexplored
her world starts to swim
and her thighs drip wet, gored

he looks into her eyes
tired, spent, had.
she gazes back and replies
“can I go now…dad?”

ram cobain

poetry

what is poetry
but reason in rhyme
what is poetry
but a way of stopping time
what is poetry
but prose gone good
what is poetry
but thought for food
what is poetry
but the esoteric made easy
what is poetry
but the simple made sleazy
what is poetry
but intelligent feigning ignorance
what is poetry
but the stupid making sense
what is poetry
but a voice in the wild
what is poetry
but a grown up child
what is poetry
but a prison door wide open
what is poetry
but a windowpane broken
what is poetry
but a cleansing smile
what is poetry
if it isn’t worth your while?

ram cobain

adverti…sin

your toilets will sparkle
your hair will shine
your investments will make sense
and retirement’s just fine
your cola will make you cool
your energy drink will make you win
your water will make you pure
and coffee will make you sing
your breath will stay fresh
your teeth will never decay
your skin will turn fairer
and that pimple will fade away
your car will earn you respect
your fuel will make never touch zero
your tyre will make you unstoppable
your cycle will make you a hero
your deo will get you women
your cigarette will make you a man
your suit will make you complete
…just buy my brand

ram cobain

please read

incredible, strange and sadly true
there exist such people and not a few
they’ve never met the catcher in the rye
or stared into Poe’s stony eye
never asked who was John Galt
(and what did he halt)
or why must sweet Veronica die
they’ve never escaped from Monte Cristo
never matched grey cells with green-eyed Poirot
never cried over George and Lenny
never said a prayer for Owen Meany
they’ve never fallen in love with a Juliet
never trembled in a Tommyknocker sweat
never searched for the holy grail
never hunted a Moby of a whale
never been friends with a Corleone
never had Rome for an enemy
never stayed locked in Anne’s cage
never broke free of human bondage
never ever heard the mariner speak
never seen a Huck Finn week
but to cut a long story short
please pardon this one…
they’ve never known what’s elementary
like dear ol’ Watson

ram cobain