two years of poetry

the muslim chewed quickly on his beef

worrying the doorbell might bring him grief
street children, they starved once again
as their money was spent on a bullet train
ex-servicemen pondered another hunger strike
over long fake vows over a pension hike
porn blinked out from internet browsers
and khadi chaddis grew fast into trousers
doctored videos became the rage
and history textbooks tweaked many a page
the ‘terrorist’ Afzal Guru was called a martyr
when there were found some MPs to barter
students were beaten up in open court
while the saffron flag fluttered in happy sport
the cost of pulses stayed above the roof
and the horse, Shaktiman, lost more than a hoof
of black money there wasn’t seen a single buck

the Swiss ATMs, perhaps they all were stuck?
farmers continued to struggle for hope
and often found it at the end of a rope
the Pakis were allowed inside our airbase
they looked here, there and showed us our place
the cry of “anti-national” came to be heard
for development is a much longer word
but yes all wasn’t grim, one must agree
there was quite a laugh over a degree
and Indians rediscovered pride from shame
on a suit that chanted one single name
and as Adani triumphed over Birla and Tata
none was happier – than Bharat Mata

ram cobain

pov

she leaves his life never to return

and so he kindles it like a burn

like an ember that hides a raging fire

or a cold yet consuming funeral pyre

aye, his memory of them belongs to the past

but see how sweet-talk can make it last

(see how long it can continue to be

when there’s only you left, of you and me)

and so he copes, with shards of yesterday

bent and bowed, from tears that weigh

and what of her, must you curiously ask

she takes to cigarettes, a swig of the flask

she takes to men, one each black night

and in blazing darkness, finds her light

as she realizes, with a toss of her hair

in the mirror she’s alone; he never was there

aye habits picked up, can easily be dropped

and nostalgia is evil, it’s meant to be stopped

so she remembers to forget, to care about him

till the remembering gets hazy; hey now it’s dim

till all that she recalls is there was a man

a fast fickle fellow, oh how quick he ran!

so she smiles and snuggles with her point of view

and believes forever – only her love was true.

ram cobain

unhurt

The boxer smiles, picks up his glove

and gets back to the business of pain

knowing after infidelity took his love

he won’t bleed like that again.

ram cobain

pause

we run along like wildebeest

pounding hard on earth

dreaming of maximum, racing for least

never knowing our worth.

ram cobain