Sunday, February 17, 2013

Mother and child

The cloud stands still, poised
Time for its afternoon siesta

Before I was born
I wrote the script of my life
Now, I improvise
Since life arranges itself

In my times, the government would ban all newspapers
For causing anarchy
Among children below 18
Said Proudhon to me

Buying a bus ticket is plebeian
If you pay in foreign currency
It could be noble dilettantism

Who is this man, mother?
He is my husband, dear child

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Freedom of expression and other shorts

A really beautiful woman weeps
When the tears fall on the ground
The snow melts

The river chases the wind
Turns around a bend
And drowns in the sea

My old socks say
I think I am ageing
Please buy me brand-new shoes

My dog envies me on one count
I can put my hands in my pocket
Whistling the Bohemian Rhapsody

Why is it
During the maths exam
I dream about Kafka and his precursors

Instead of the garage I administered 
A strong anaesthetic to my Tata Indica
Now she is fine

They say
If you dip tea bags into the waves
Dolphins will dance the salsa

From the 29th floor window
I see the city has fallen down
And fractured its knees

True freedom of expression is
When she is permitted to wear knickers
And sashay her hips on the dark streets

I'm rehearsing
I'm practising
So I can live life in the next one

Friday, February 1, 2013

One plus one is zero

One plus one is how many?
One replied, the student
How so, asked the teacher
Sort of bemused

Well, it's something like this
When the rivers Kannadipuzha 
And Kalapathipuzha come together
They form a confluence of one

Oh, said the class teacher
Then one plus one is zero
Since the Bharathapuzha is not a river
It has become a sewerage