Seeking Saturation Part-2

I wrote this just a while back as a letter to my childhood friend, an
artist and dreamer like me, to whom a mail was long overdue. I wished
to write in prose but i was too full of myself so..For now,I rest my case;)

Where do I begin? There is always so much to speak to you, to hear
from u, so many burdens to unload, so many more learnings to unlearn,.
where do I begin?

If I were a poet, I would sketch you a picture with my words, my
imagined metaphors of my consolidated spans of experiences and lives
lived
But I havent practised the painful art of expression too long.

If I could even half-draw like the way you dream, I would take you on
a deep long journey,
Inside my self and the many more costumes and hijazs I don, like a peace soldier
Who, hopelessly still believes in love, yet feels militant in the
warped web that human relationships manifest into.

If I was an orator, I would ask you to pay me court
To endear me with your arts and only than I would have charmed you immaculate
With the wine of verses and the minute little details of the night's excesses

But I am none of the above, ofcourse.

That's why this befits only an electronic note of fragmented nature
My heartbreak is complete, it is after all my own desire and my own
decisive frenzy
I turn towards ascetism ever much more, the inward gaze becomes
highlighted when these trappings leave me alone.
Alone by choice, at this very moment, I dont dream of inane men or
nicotine-laced postscripts
I dont even give in to gluttony's merry potluck party
I dont even sulk, nor do I attempt a fake laugh

I know more than I should, at my age,
Is that my disease?

I desire more than most women should,
And even these desires, these passions, are of not this world
Is that the heresy I commit?

I have travelled so many lands in a frenzied pace
Yet accumulated sparkling memories from every encounter
Is that what twicks your jealous soul?

I ask questions which we are still searching and formulating correct answers for
I see through your half-truths and half-loves, lived in fantastic interiors
You build to raise your kids, to showcase the good life, the stamp of
the currency
Maybe that's what you always seeked, but why do you wish to straddle me too
To your many fangled contraptions and acquired exhibitions

I am here, at my own sweet pace
I will go before it's too late.

13 August 2009.

From Untouchably Yours

An insect sipped into your beer mug
Shaped for a cuppa coffee.
Your untouchable doesn’t even dare
To look up beyond your pelvic bones.
There seems to be an anarchy of sorts
Countering your fascisms and superstitions
And politics of maniac dictatorship.


These socially-sanctioned orgies
Of the hi brow and the well-heeled drives
Passions of incestuously volatile frequencies.


Godless, the gypsies who died in Aushwitz
This war now, you are told, is always fought
For your religions.


Heedlessly under-circumventing
The warnings of your tarot card reader,
You try to uncage yourself
Emerge anew
Like a slave child, like a burst of balmy rains!


You awake, you order some coffee
In your custom made cocoa mug;
Your untouchable does the honours.

00.05 hrs. 14 August 2009. Kharguli Hills, Guwahati.