Sunday, December 13, 2009

The Other Revolutionary

She took up Irabot’s sickle
To chop off the overgrown beard
On her mother’s chin
She too is a revolutionary

The wicked wind licks lecherously
Her thighs along which the phanek slithers
Yielding to the wanton wind
The phanek prostrate on the wayside cried
‘hey lady! you have dropped me’
She knowingly did not look back
She too is a revolutionary

The evening prayer to Sanamahi was offered
Forgetting her crimson lunar cycle
Only to remember when her man tucked her phanek
From her waist in that drunken night
As the faint scent of haeme whiffs along
She too is a revolutionary

She rode away in the air
Screamed with the muffled mouth
Forgot when ought to remember
Swam in the cloud
She too thinks a thought
She too is a revolutionary

That night in that bloody war
A seed of revolution was sown
In her ravaged womb
Against law against time; against all dimensions of life
A revolution grows in her belly
She is a revolutionary through the ages

Sunday, December 6, 2009


Violet leibaklei pierces the earth
Many a summer ago when she once walked on this vale
Its faint scent opens its eyes whenever I close mine
Her dim soul glows whenever I look at a lazy distance
On the way back I saw her soul slowly descending and rising
With the waves of the archaic wind
In the autumn air I saw it nestled in the cradle of a weightless leaf

Indigo sky mocked at me
As I once tried to play with the clouds
At last I played with pebbles and marbles
As if there will never be a game after
It was the morning that went and never came
Although I waited for the final game
On the way back I saw it between the human bulls
In the muddy battlefield I saw them rolling like buffaloes in the mud

Blue ribbons with which I bound my hair
Fell and trampled in the dust and foot
That day when I first came out of my home
Seeking a strange freedom in that seized street
On the way back I saw freedom curled asleep like a street dog
In the garden I saw it playing hide and seek in the folds of the foliage

Green moors of this valley beckoned me
Whenever I am exiled from this land
Like calling me for the last truce
‘As you killed my son give me your daughter’
And I shrugged and said so as you say
On the way back I saw her son making love to my daughter
From dreamy mountain I saw their love melting down in ravines

Yellow November fields opened itself for her visitors
Who were never ever inheritors
Wild herbs; shrubs; half sun baked cow-dung and snails
Their sole heritage from this soil red with their kin’s blood
On way back I saw the visitors performing their daily rites
In the field I saw their dreams opening pearl-less oysters

Orange suns deliciously drooped on my courtyard
I plucked them one by one
One for me; one for the unknown; and one for the unnamed
I put them in the jar of my anguish
On the way back I saw suns getting burnt
In the jar I saw them melting into warm rays

Red cheeks of that summer beauty
Blushed by the unruly highland wind and Orion’s luring gaze
At last they fled with her beauty
And the lovelorn searched for the stolen
On the way back I saw her beauty kneeling at the tomb of the slain
In the grave I saw it walking every evening like a lost ghost