# 1
Everyday
He read a big fat pedantic tome
Full of phantasmagorical words
That tickled his palate no end
But unknown to him
Daily
She used to swot house flies
With the same book
While he had his afternoon siestas under the oak tree
# 2
He saw a herd of donkeys
Crossing the street, purposefully
In a rare moment
Of honest incandescence
He forgot who he was
And started to bray
# 3
Very confusedly
He paid obeisance at the memorial
Of the martyred leader
On his 17th death anniversary
He muttered a silent prayer
For the lengthy life of the martyred leader's assassin
Who may or may not be alive
Or dead
According to the people of the land
Who no longer distinguished good from evil
# 4
Her seven daughters
Had nimble fingers
With which they collated splints
Transformed them into matchsticks
With a sulphur dip
Faster
Faster
Than anyone in the district
Not that anyone
Knew
Not that anyone
Cared
# 5
Not knowing
Where he was born
He uprooted trees
With his bare hands
In order to reassure
His inner self
That all things have a root
Of some sort
# 6
For 58 years
He plastered movie posters
Of all shapes and pedigree
On the city walls
Genres appeared and outgrew their purpose
Movie stars ebbed into wilderness
Golden Jubilees celebrated
He knew it all
Until one day his vision faltered
Due to c-grade adhesives
His grandson double-seated him on a bicycle
En route to the optician
That's when he asked his grandfather if he had ever seen a movie in his living life
# 7
One by one
He fed wrinkled pages to the fire
To ward of the winter chill
In his index finger
That had once pencilled words
One by one
On those pages
For hundred and one years
# 8
The elephant is no no more
In fact seventeen elephants are no more
The elephants had survived
The Aryans, Buddha, Moghuls, East India Company
All the Gandhis
Until it raided a semi-solid shed
That stocked chewing gum
Which the hungry elephants swallowed ...
# 9
He tells me
Mosquitoes invaded our township, saar
Causing allergy, malaria, malaise
He hasn't slept from full moon to full moon
So he dozes in the office
His children scratch their skin, incessantly
Instead of solving algebra and calculus papers
But my wife is happy, saar
Our relatives will not visit us
You see, mosquitoes have invaded our township
# 10
The river has changed it course
Tanks, wells, spring channels are dry
All that remains is sand
Which is being stolen
By the people of the land who have three choices ...
- To Steal
- To Migrate
- To Search
For water, 500 metres below the ground ...
Thursday, April 14, 2011
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2 comments:
Loved every one of these Ramu though No. 6 I liked the best! I love how you have captured everyday experiences into small poetic vignettes. The topic/style of your poems reminded me of this one particular poem which I realyl like... "The Former Miner Returns from His First Day as a Service Worker (at a McDonald's somewhere in Appalachia)" http://wonderingminstrels.blogspot.com/2000/09/former-miner-returns-from-his-first-day.html
2 is too good. This whole section is graphic.
periyavar
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