Assorted Poems


Loki

Squirrels call him the jungle beast 
Troublemaker 
Tinkerer, cook of bad spongy tastes 
Funny (sic) telltale
Up your gullet went his 
Concoctions 
Down his throat, and then into his 
hoarding heart. Spindles of assorted 
foibles 
that doesn't make hair gray, 
But whitens it.
Squirrels aside, (and even them) mistake 
him 
for mischief, but tears do not know 
prank 
from frank hate. 
And neither, I believe, does Loki.

-

Three times me

Two times I wrote her 
once she said she didn't have the time 
twice she said nothing 
and once, even I played at  
that game,  
being silent, that is. 
The last time I said anything 
though 
was a long 
time ago 
so when she smiled this time,  
black eyes caught me 
by 
surprise. 
Nah, didn't, really 
I am bold enough.

-

LifeMoney

Life I have to give you 
my child, 
A mistake it is to 
bring you here. 
Pure joy and a piece of God, 
Umpteen acts of unlove, 
But it is you who I love 
and love,  
Not your father 
not that bastard, 
I'll bring you in 
and you'll bring joy, 
When there's no money.

-

I Said

Today
a gray
offshoot of a white
branch in a brash brown
tree with an unnerving yellow
tinge told me that it had too much colour

Little,
I said, and the
little tendril frowned
Too much colour it said:
when my sister across the road
is so withered and beat and crumbling
wishes do I make some of mine do lean 
into her

Smiled
I did. What will
you do when your life
begins to bleed? Worthy
sacrifice said the Wisp; wool for a
shoot's sense, laughing, doubting, said I

-

Stray

Mr. Rahul! Is he an upright 
Man! Ever Patient, Gullible 
Morbid And Mad. Mrs. Rahul? 
She swears by ethereal Gods 
Astrologers, Demons, Sarees 
and Soaps. Their Girl, Alas 
takes to Thinkers and Prose 
She strays, too much, way out of their Box.

-

Self Taught

I still think
good words stringed together
make music:

Today, I rose to find
red roses
waiting for me by a window.
I turned its pages and felt a breath blow out 
my muse.

Whispering aloud, I knew
a string throb,
a metre escalate,
inarticulate throbs burn...

And then I shook away the delusion
My poem, 'twas.

I wish someone would teach me humility.

--

Vysnu: http://vysnu.com/