Words can create magic and I want to get lost in them for some part of each day.

August 28, 2012


Love greases
The noisy clanks of Lust
Fills out the rough edges
Smooths the Angularities 
Rankling  for attention
As the fiction of friction's frisson
Chafes against the Reality of fracas
Love Daubs an Ointment
And cools the Heatened 
Rusty mental grooves

Potholes still make you wince
But an Ouch lesser.

August 20, 2012

The Ultimate Indian Male Fantasy.

Money anyhow ,cricket , T.V, exotic wines
Pricey cars , cells and bikes- to make me feel Masculine.

Big Boobs.

Womyn with voices soft and polite
Mute would be nice .

Big Boobs.

Womyn who dress like a million Dollars
Womyn who love cleaning dirty socks and collars.

Big Boobs.

Womyn whose cooking would make my Mom's heart swell
Obedient,respectful,dutiful- Bombshells.

Big Boobs.

Religious  decorous , glamorous ,sexy ;
Educated , open minded , modern but only on backseat .

Big Boobs.

Who know when to look the other way.
Who let me feel like a Man and hold sway.

Big Boobs.

Womyn who earn their keep and have rich dads
owning Metro Property and a beach-pad.

Big Boobs.

Unwicked Womyn who represent the noble culture of India -
And  who always take permission to visit the shrink for their Schizophrenia .

Big Boobs.

Plum Times !

I tell you -

The Time is Ripe 
to shed all gripes
Full and not so Fair,
Sticky reddish and Sour
They are ripening and ready to fall 
Just give a nice shake and tumble.

I am talking of plums silly !

Ripe from the boughs
Fat Plums await you.
What better way to analyze
Who did what how and all the whys 
till I stomp out 
while you iron your doubt
sitting unsure but happy
sated and  bemused.

Holding the blue- red cheeks 
Against your lips 
All honey and tingle 
the nectar bursting forth
What better way to
drown this acrimony
In  a fleshy sweet sour symphony .

Regret .

A yellow blade of grass
Tip singed with the Heat of Despair
There is no water to Green it
Yet the Roots
Cling to some Moisture of Hope.

August 2, 2012

बारिश के बाद .

रात भर बूँदें गिरती रही .
सुबह देखा तो :
नज़ारे सब नए थे .
पेड़ नहा के सब चमक गए थे।

थोडा झुक कर  
खुद को पानी में निहार रहा था 
नन्हा सजीला नींबू 

पीपल अपने हर पत्ते की नोक पर 
थामे था एक सुनहरी बूँद 
जैसे त्योहारी की तैयारी में  लड़ियाँ पिरो  रखी  हों .

और मालती की बेल 
यूं लहरा रही थी अपनी महकती लटें 
जैसे अभी-अभी shampoo कर 
अपने बाल झटक रही हो।