Separation

Our love was shaped
Like the marriage ring
Grown into our skins
Tight...hurting.
We wrench it out
And gaze at the
Hidden skin.
Exposed to light
After years of secure binding...

Bondage

His pleasure came in her bondage
The erotic threads which tie her self to him
Giving him absolute control over her passivity
Like a hesitant master, he needed that reassurance
Of a delivered slap, once in a while
Which she had to receive
In the true pose of submission and pleasure.

Shifting Houses

It is only when you shift houses
That you know
That your self moved in certain corners there
When you drag old dust filled memories out
To pack or discard
That you know
They existed in those particular nooks and crannies

It is only when you shift houses
That you know
You did own certain corners of that place
Where your things, like your signatures
Were cumulated over years
Leaving dust marks on the floor
When wrenched out.

Bubble of Peace

peace is that fragile bubble,
which you inflate day by painful day
of repeated chores
till it bursts
spilling
hatred, frustrations, dead hope.

Logbook of Lovelssness

We each have one
Calculate, add, multiply, enter
How much have I done?
How much have you taken?
We scribble in our minds
Tick each entry with a countercheck
And then, leave it,
Only to take out
And nurse once in a while
From the almirahs of dustfilled relationships.

What do I Want?

I am not so sure
Of anything, anymore
What is the kindness that I reserve
For a stifling, clutching hand?
What is the hatred that I feel
For my own insecure mind?
What is this feeling of power
Over the powerless?
And absolute weakness
In the face of empty power?
Why this silence which spreads over my tongue and self
In front of a loved one’s razor sharp hatred?
Why do I reject?
when what I badly need is to give myself up
And forget my existence?
Why do I clutch desperately and humiliatingly
When I can actually stop my tears
With just a small cut of the tattered bonds.

yet one more evening

yet one more evening
where i go out with you
into yet another family
where the woman has shrunk herself
where she and i, both smile
like dead japanese dolls
where men drink wine
and talk politics
where she and i
sometimes take a fag
the only remenent
of our tattered independence!

Everyday Life

Whirling through a dark maze
Of misery and numb silence,
One reaches a small island
of little things, everyday smiles
small deeds like cooking a meal
walking together, sometimes parting ways
without hurtful,abrasive words
Sometimes, finding each other again
unexpectedly, in a turning.

Goodbye

Packing all my bags of frustration
i move on to my next destination
wrapping years of flooding tears
i have to now leave you, dear
tying up my never ending boxes complaints
i have to build a new nest
brushing up my old, rusted dreams
i am getting up slowly
to rediscover my old ways
where i used to smile and sometime even laugh.

A Dementor’s Kiss

Fantasy world of children’s words
Where the character which oozes death
Does not kill
But, draws out life
With one single kiss.

Poisoned Morning Tea

The hot cup of brewing tea,
Mixed with daily doses
Of complaints, frustrations
And a small lacing of intense hatred,
"Just a little, yes, Thank You"
And we sip it on the terrace
In cain chairs,
With the breeze
Outside our happy home!

Blanket of Matrimony

A tussle of egos,
Where I repell
And he clutches,
Both in disgust,
Desparation and misery.

A tight knot of resistance
Which finally loses
And releases itself - numb
While he comes
Tired and sad and alone.
Yet, emptily clutching his
Mark of masculinity,
Of meaningless conquest.

A hurried turning back
Where I face the wall
And he, empty air.
We, united by a common blanket -
marital hate.

Days of Forgetfulness

Yesterday was the day I forgot...
Yesterday was the death day ...
Of so many things.

Of pretending to be happy in settled love,
Of telling myself that what I need is secure control.
A base from which to grow
little babies and probably vegetables.

Domestic Violence

Sleeping fairy tale girl,
Enchanted in evil magic,
Passive, closed lids,
Numbed with daily chores
Habitual love,
She awakens for a quick second
only with the whip of an occassional, slapping hand
And then the chant begins anew
Of protestations, endless love,
and blame.
Which lulls her back
To her dutiful sleep.

A Simple Pair of Scissors

In the shower in a hot afternoon,
my man busy in his mental world,
which he jealously gaurds from me and others.
me, busy with material life,
both mine and his...
Water, cleaning, bathing...
I realize i need help
I cannot go on alone
I need a pair of simple scissors to cut open the packed secrets of my life
we need to do it together...
To clean me, to wipe me shining, to comeout fresh
I cry out for help...
"I am busy,"
Is a reply i have heard before,
is a reply i will keep on hearing
I drip tears in the wet bathroom
I know that I will never be heard,
I know that i will die without help.

Families

Families are places
where words spill out
like old, festering wounds
they reek out centuries of vomit, spit, semen
And…of course…Blood.

Peace, Hard-Earned

The light winter sun
Filtering through an early morning window.
A lover bidding a reluctant farewell
A piece of hard-earned peace!

Numb

First came sorrow
In uncontrollable gushes of tears
Which soaked her lonely pillows.

When she realized
That tears were worthless
Not even worthy of a second glance or a forgeteful hug
They stopped.

Then came anger...
It burst out like a long sleeping volcano
Jolting her with its violence and force
After the flames and the lava drained out
Destroying whole nations in its wake
The embers settled and the ashes covered the floors...

Then came numb silence
Which she had seen, feared and avoided
In both sorrow and anger...
It finally came...

End of the Honeymoon

Only in moments like this
Did her life become clear to her.
censoring ...
her gazes,
her words,
her laughter,
her movement,
her thought,
her "self"
Covering her body...
Covering her mind...
so that others finally understood her
As an insipid, dead person.

New Habit

We had finally understood
That we will go on like this
Without talk, without love,without tears
And more frighteningly...
Without hatred too!

Yet,
I have developed this new habit of late,
I weep incessantly...
Loudly, embarassingly, crudely
When I read any cheap romance of grand passion
Picked up from the roadside.