Cerebral Fallacies

in denial of rapture we seek, like sailors we sail to thoughts stranded at bay adrift and in hot pursuit- sometimes rocking the ship yet gently gliding to~ the one of many nights till epiphany calls and ever so suddenly do we dive headstrong into the currents of life as we see it, know it and percieve it we sieve "the light" in the prism of our intuitions and take warning forecasts of the stormy weather abound the waters sift but we wait for the currents to go upstream--- but whoever listens to what fishes think after all, they hardly but say it but take heed my friend we sometimes forget about the deck that beautiful sundeck atop the hull where the evenings go by our ticket to the shores unseen,untold "where the living are" moving in our dank, placcid waters we mourn a favourable tide when woe betide we become the day's catch Alas my friend, yarrow hesitated is yarrow lost for 'the light' shines only for those who dare hope!

two sides you beam to me from your million light-yeared smugness a farcical leer only to greet me on the ringside of a severed moon decapitated and shown its place in the pithy corner of an everyday sky and that I put a wager out to you, that for every word I loose to the sky every thought that is devoured by this dark dark night I will be paid in sunny days yet you- armed with nights; like unfinished metaphors choose to be stupefied into the debris of your sullenness every morning While I floss your teeth-- with romance in that one cloudy puff that I blow to you through one million sunshined light years, only for you to come back~ with a putty red eye by dusk... alas, winning was such a bittersweet torment ....

the heart yearns for an inspired sadness silly handwritten notes that have handlebars of music new reasons for self- hatred, contempt that is shared in old songs and cigarettes stubs passed around in illicit groups sitting in shrouded corners fringes and caps sitting in between the gaps in a background of graffiti and noisy silences as I see it home is still far away

Dear Mrs Kamala Das, We are destined to meet in words, you and me! Be it our shared lingual franchise, our roots, the ruminations of the society we have inherited, the philosophies we grope around with in our lives or quite simply our gender even. I came to know you on a sunny little humid afternoon as I worked out my laziness at an aunt’s house in the very Malabar you grew up in and made eternal through your words. I began reading a manuscript of Indian poets. It began with your poem. It spoke of your fatal seduction by your husband. Within minutes we were on an intimate journey, you and I. To say the least, I was first alarmed and quickly piqued at how as a 20 year old I could sense your sense of detachment yet ardour of your complaint on what should be ‘conjugal bliss’. I moved on pleasantly to explore Jayant Mohapatra and Nizim Ezekial, whom I thought quite impressive in his metre as well. I must say that I held together in a couple of typed photocopied notes; some of India’s fines...

Can i perchance unwrite this love? Can i forgo this feeling and choose another? Can i keep my dreams unbound, moor them to ships at sail- Can i write cumbersome poetry, that have been written before so that our love our greatest loves, remain in the fading lights of your eyes...

In my right mind i am perchance servile to destiny in my gluttonous state i envy time asking for more on some other days i ask no one, i tell no one my dreams split open like an egg nicely done in sepia in my head but then can i run, as hard, as fast as he wants me to go will he let me ease up just a wee bit take a breath let me look at the falling leaves squint at the tinted sun while i run past my lives several of them lying by the highway as i pass them by

the day is brittle, two suns break it open as one the moon capsizes the idea, that it can be broken like little play things that shatter the afternoon siesta and reverse the fortunes of the night the day can bend too it stoops to touch its feet in a futile exercise that lays the world at your feet!

I have issues with black ink written on yellowed brown in halting yet moving verse! I am yet to come to terms with this orchestra, this strange but all familiar tune! I want these words to shake off their insolence and stand up for themselves! Elucidate, speak of the vagaries of time and chance, things of the gamine nature, which have no bearing on the destinies of today. They must become orderlies of the fecund mind and temptresses of day-altering truth! I will completely fill these pages with me, infest them with my curved signature. Emboss it with verbose authority so that it ceases to have identity of its own if not from my tepid infiltration. How infectious could I get, how random, how withdrawn when I write here how singularly insular or how cumbersome and comely. Whatever was the rage, is all on the page. The yesterdays, todays and tomorrows. the absences, malignant tumour of the unknown withheld on pages...so that this paper has no other face, other than the role i give it to p...

My temples of repulsion my altar of truth my abysss of contention and the valley of fear My arguements in favour of my idea in retort to my faith healed by its impending doom my heart punctuated with wily heartbreaks my nights inundated wiyh day breaks my words inroads to my soul my actions faithful to its conflict my glass ceilings pitched against the sky my dreams frothing at the mouth my mind alas weary to be set free!!!

How can you satisy that which never sleeps the kind that creates worlds within worlds and calls time over for a fete The mind lays as if in a seige sate in its own playthings doors leading to laughter and windows leading to gloom There was always succour in doubt, but then how else would we have known!