Transit Tourist

Three men stared

At a rock drenched sunset,

Scratching names on the back of mirrors,

Sitting on the promenade by the sea;

Bodies pierced with spears Through cheeks Like skewed roasting chicken, Whip brown skin. Seeking pittance in change In God s name.

Skins with goblin eyes

And mugs of brown cold coffee_?

Grin and please

Their foreign fancy.

Capturing celluloid crucifixes

In a native concept -

Take back reminders

Of exotic third world economies.

Reel Dead

A man at the footsteps Of his half eaten fruit.

Penalty for consuming The original motive.

He lay like God himself, Half stretched, half sprawling.

The arm like chewing gum,

The other tucked beneath his nakedness

Entwined within a knot

That tied him down to dirt.

A thin movie of dust

Cut shadows upon his face.

The sixteen millimeter parched, The reel spinning in loops.

The narrative ruined

In a simple scene.

The audience departed.

Eyes as gaping as button holes, A little bitter, a little sour.

Love Thirst

Like love,

In a duplex.

Imbued between a two step,

Plinged on hallowed

Scared multiplicity,

I stood rooted, all alone.

Linear and tending to unit.

Writing short stories,

Captive in scale slurred,

Clear serum,

Footsteps

In resonate vacuity-

Remind me,

It is time.

How I wish,

1 could sit on that bench,

Among

Crew cut grass.

Hold hands,

And

That love thirst quench.

Half Way To The Horizon

(A poem in prose.)

Halfway to the horizon, I
switched the flame off.

Seeing the hissing smoke escape,
While the ochre prism dilates.

1.

I burnt the glass that held a lamp. It held it gentle within its clinched
shell. I also crushed the ochre prism that was crafted recklessly The
lamp never went off ~ The light never left the flame -Burning
bright -Burning strong -

I put the evil, calm eyed glow out. 1 could never let it burn
unsupervised. I had to leave.

Like us chance was dynamic. It changed every second, not really
giving chance another chance.

We met by chance -1 met - we met - then learnt to fall in love. I

fell in love, a deep love like deep sleep.

Like change we memorized fleeting glances of each other, not really

giving chance a chance again.

We wanted to touch but the skin on our fingers polarized against

feeling.

I think we met by the old dying house, sitting on cracked steps,
wishing they were white like new, burning grass and recording their
charred remains.

Old Music

An old cassette Fractured at its
hinge Loosely swings To a
momentum of memory.

Almost a part of a large collection!

Stacked up - upon the tray

Words dappled in doubt Like a last
straw, In turn, a reversal of motives
-A moist reminder.

It has left a yellow dust

Like thick eye brows,
Stroked on the forehead.

Reversible -

But indistinct for a long moment.
Muffled in bass and drone, A twang
that sometimes hurts.

A friend borrowed the cassette, Another
borrowed from him, A memory surging like
circulating blood, Pumping an ecosystem of
emotions.

An old cassette lies waiting,
Fractured and inked,
Stacked up - upon the tray
Dusty.

The original words -

Irreversible.