Compromise

A peaceful Co-existence of a human being and ants. It didn’t happen overnight; not in one day. It was a gradual acceptance.

The ants had appeared slowly, gradually – ten, twenty, fifty, hundred, thousand……….. They invaded her table, bed cupboardsm window sills, practically the whole of her room. They had the discretion to make it appear s if they were not there at all. But if she picked up some book from her table-there they were, lazily crawling underneath. They lurked silently, peacefully, below the bed sheet, in the crevices between shiny wooden planks-marching single file through the grilles of the window.

She had everything to destroy them-disinfectants, moth balls, kerosene. She even tried to find out where they originated from-hoping to squash the origin, instead of squashing them. But……she had to admit defeat.

When her brain cells were too tired to fight, she accepted their presence, slowly, gradually. Fighting had mad her weak-mind and body. She now preferred truce-she who used to boast in her youth that she always preferred to fight it out “ I never compromise” She re-heard her young image flaunt her trust in a transcient state of self self sufficiency. She had later learned to sigh; and further later not to sigh. So, without sighing she thought that she was no longer younger. And she accepted the ants.

The ants were well-behaved. They never fought with her. They would go about their business in a languid fashion. She sometimes tried to find out what they were up to. She followed them in their march. But they always disappeared into some tiny hole, or a hair line crack on the wall, leaving her totally at a loss. It disturbed her for some mysterious reason she couldn’t fathom.

After the trace she realized that the ants were not a problem by themselves. It was all her attitude that had made her consider them troublesome. She remembered that they had never tried to get into her ears or nose when she was fast asleep. She had only imagined that they would.

Looking at those sluggish little things, dreamily wandering through the floor, her understanding apologized “Sorry for the misunderstand.” she smiled to herself thinking of what the truce, finally, turned out to be co-existence, understanding. Later she wondered whether she wasn’t trying to smooth over the friend-enemy dichotomy, with the loftiest philosophy of understanding. She kept on wondering, often.

And the ants, in their own way, asserted themselves-silently, peacefully.

1998

I want everybody to love me

I want everybody to love me
Love me more than
they love any one else.
It’s not very difficult.
You only have to put it
A little effort.
I want to be prima donna
Once that is achieved
I lean back
heavily satisfied.
And then it comes
Satiety.
I feel like running away
From that whole lot of fools
Who can’t do without me
I shout at them
That I no longer need them
Because I have discovered
They are all fragments of my ideal.
I have long since ceased nourishing guilt
Over my mighty selfish heart
I want to give up hope
But the hungers of my mind
Tempt me into newer mistakes
I am fed up of the game
And start thinking
Stupidity is the only way out
I start being stupid
And snugly fit myself
Along side an image
A thousand times removed from reality
Nevertheless retirement has its own
Advantages.

At the sacrificial altar

At the sacrificial altar.
I put down reverentially
Everything that you are.
Parallels.
I escape from you
Sacrificing myself
To get
What you cannot give-
A God

After the appearance of
All your belongings
That are familiar to me
And stop reaching out to me.
I want to be
Free from memories.
Whether it would work out or not
Is a totally different question.

Sometimes I think
I am a fool
But my thoughts never free
With my emotional needs.
Certain tender expressions of the mind
Are fragile.
Need taking care of.
I can’t throw them out of the window
Of my third storey apartment.
So I try not to resent
Doing what I do.

Weal or Woe

Ah, the bear of solitude.
To hell thy clutches sans gratitude
Once, thy embrace how did I Yearn
But only to remain the picture on the urn

While all the world sleeps
Ha! the burning candle of my heart
Lingering down the mountain sleeps
How do you puff and pant

When you creep down to ashes
The moon of me too diminishes
But this qarb of grace, the gift
With which you enveloped
Gives me the power
To remain ever.

My mirror has gone mad

My mirror has gone mad.
It throws weird images at me
In the past
It was sensible.
Once an angel
Once a witch
But always
One image at a time.
No
There are silent screams
Thrown at my feet
Like empty oyster shells.
Once I caught
A pretty wine glass
Before it caught my eye.
Later
There were faded violets
Today I was shocked.
It was an egg
Fidgeting in blood
Like a fish out of water.
I swear, it contracted
Like a heart.
Gory, terrifying
It spit out a sperm
and died.
An empty red plastic bag
Horror!
I tremble………
Before I collapse
I throw my mad mirror
Out through the window
Down to the streets.
I killed it.

18 August. 1993

The peak of winter

The peak of winter
Poetry is frozen the world.
I dream of blood.
Blood dripping from my womb
Smearing my dining table
Where I treat my guests;
Leaving marks on paper bits
It evaporates.
The faded stain remain.
It is warm
Stops me from shivering
Stops me from freezing
But it is still winter
And poetry is frozen.
I need a hot hand, a touch
So hot that it I will burn
And set poetry burning.
The ice set ablaze
Dripping scalding drops
Each drop an emerald
Priceless.
The format of love,
An ever-evolving thesis,
The touch
I wait.

-1992 December

My mornings prick me

My mornings prick me
Like an unkissed desire.
The bloom is the only gloom.
I mistake the sunrise,
As in a photograph,
To a bright sunset.
Which ways do I go?
Rise with the sun;
Or sleep with the Moon?
Sleep by the day;
Rise by the night;
Or both interspersed?
Show me a fire
Where I can drop my thoughts
One by one;
And cook my heart
No guests.
The barbecue is strictly for me
Who knows
I might wake up with sunrise
The next morning

-1992 December

Earlier there were the roads

Earlier there were the roads
The wheels rolled with us
Clippety-clop, clippety- clop
We trotted along.
Then we started jogging heavily
Later we ran.
It was fun, excitement and adventure.
Suddenly the roads are no more.
The tar melted off the stones
The scattered stones swear vengeance.
Then there is the shock of a gleaming rail
And a whistle of an electric train.
We trot along the naked stones
Run, faster still, gasp
The train runs past us
Knees tremble, we stop, stare, freeze.
The electric train runs past us.

-1992