Artist....Junior !!

If i could dance in rain

If i could paint a rainbow,

If i could imagine with breeze

If i could die and live.

Years passed and they ask me now

How old are you??

I dont care, for i am happy

Age is just a number.

Things changed and they tell me now

This is the trend!!

I dont care for traditions

Nothing is constant.

It is easy to show the face,

Because they know you.

If you smile

They'll know you are happy.

To stand like a post-show clown

With decorated right shoulder and arm,

And they role and it acts

And they cut,

Do you know how the left part feels ??

To dress it up

But only the dress just have to suggest,

And they 'make-up' you, while the face only keeps staring

Looking so dull like your own old dream

Have you ever acted dummy to be a dummy ??

If i would stop walking by side

If i would stop applauding

I i would stop standing at places

If i would stop struggling.

If i could get tired for forever

If i could stop dreaming tomorrow again.

It is easy to pour a drop of glycerin

Because they know your story.

If you stay silent for a while

They'll understand you are crying.

To show that it is sad

That had to show his father has died,

Inside de-focused corners of long and wide lenses

Standing over marks that had no back-light

Do you know how hard i cried ??

Vendor and Nobody and Joy and Nothing

Peddler and Crowd and Pain and Etcetera,

I am so many, lot of time passed by

And you still call me 'junior'.

I don't care,

I'll be a junior when i die

And you don't care where i go after i pass by.

and a poetry??

Empty glass

Still life

And a poetry.

Pages

A paragraph

Or just a line.

Life is then not still.

It can never be,

And thousand more glass will be emptied.

It flows

Trying to reflect an example from 'rangeet'.

It moves on

Making its curves like a dusty, rough road.

It keeps flying

Like crows who never come and sit over his punctured roof.

Glass is again no more empty.

Same as life inside his poetry

No more still life.

It costs only ten rupees for a bottle.

Cost of life

You can never calculate its value in dollars

He never tried to do it.

Heart is always thirsty

Feelings are always suffocated,

For last forty six defamed years

They always wanted to break free.

And another ten rupees

Cost of thirst.

Black,burnt woods

Edited pieces of trees

A river bank.

(For the pieces those never got edited

For the thirst that could never get quenched over paper

For the stomach that many times bounced hungry.)

They watch below from the road

And life sleeps still.

Has life stopped flowing????

But the 'rangeet' is still singing.

Has life stopped moving??

But a child tries to run away

Freeing his hand from his father's grip

To chase a away a resting bird....

And a living house

A lonely corner

A thirsty table

Empty glass

Still life

And a poetry???

teasing

Kisses.

Why can't i talk about it?

Touches.

Why can't i say how it feels?

Love.

Why don't you accept that it is love?

Him.

Why am i addicted to feel him?

Deep inside me.

Her hairs are illusive

They are long dark and so many

They smell oils of betrayal.

Her lips are dirty

They are so artificial

They kiss so many.

Her curves are ugly

It drags all of them like old torn sag over a muddy dirty ground.

Her fertility stinks

They move around it like houseflies on a summer day around a rotten onion.

Her softness are puker wet

They fight over it like mad dogs dropping their wet saliva.

She is untouchable!

But I love me.

But I hate she.

She is mother,sister,grandma,sheila,lusie,chandramaya,history mam,kangana ranawat,dhanmati,shanti,parlour's aunty.

She is mom who never loved me.

She is

whore,slave,nude,man's toy,body-seller,penetrated,anonymously pregnant,gang raped,dirty,scratched.

She is me which i could not be.

Teasing.

I shall tease you even in a crowd

And they won't be able to see us.

sharing.....

I can not see you

You burn inside my deep blue eyes!!

The brush sleeps.

Colours freeze into meltless ice.

When he paints you,

You bring drought to the canvas

You bring famine to his fantasy.

But, in a cold cold day

In the dark, dense fog

With juvenile droplets hitting his forehead,eyebrows and nose!!

Hair softly drenched,

With wet wet hands,

Oh! when he paints me...

I can bring flood in his canvas

I can break his easel into pieces!

I can turn Pink into Blue

I can make all deep,deep Red.

I can make him perspire in rain,

I can make him paint again and again.

If you have diamonds,

I have my curves.

If you have your fabrics,

I have my exhibiting sizes.

If you have your status,

I have my softness.

If you live your privileges

With high head in a broad daylight,

I have my prided appetite for the night.

If you have a very huge castle,

I have my very colourful brothel.

If your skin smell flowers,

My orgasm has fragrances.

I can not see you

You burn inside my deep red eyes,

You pain in my love-hungry breasts.

home...

She stands alone..
Only as a structure.
Pronouncing shapes like my shadow,
In this dark, lonely night..

As an abstract of a lazy,losing painter..
Weeping the tears of solitude.
Failing to smile,
For every time she tries
She fails to see my mother smiling.

She stands alone,
Just as a monument of silence.
Missing the songs of my sleep,
In this hostile, separated night.

When they came with their guns,
I know she did not panic.
When they broke off her doors and windows,
With the butts of their tyranny
I know she never pleded.
When they danced and joyed...
Kicking and throwing,
Breaking and burning,
Scattering her heart all around,
Raping her with their gun-guarded impotence..
I know,
She looked right into their eyes
And uttered with pride..
"I give roof to rebels,
I am their home,
I can not cry.."

She stands alone...
Empty without the echoes of slogans,
Torn apart by the rebellion.
Searching for the cigrettes of my father everywhere,
Longing for the lories of my mother again.

red. . . .reality!!

My head high

My chin up

My chest broad with pride.

My fearless voice

My chain-free will

My emancipation and everlasting

smile!!

My pen

My purse

My canvas of isms and poetry of

romance!!

My vote

My right

My liberty and my aspirational

heights.

Oh!!

Don't promise me freedom please,

I am hungry...

I am hungry

I am not your comrade.

If i had a piece of your

red cloth,

i'd make few things out of it-

Half-paint for my son!

Blouse for my daughter!

Petticoat for my wife!

Or,stomach for myself!

Or,slippers for my old mother!

Or,handkerchief for my forehead!

Or,tin for my roof!

Or,paddy for my fields!

Or,school for my son!

Or,a handsome groom for my

daughter!

A park for my tired breathe!

A song for my heart!

Or,gun for my rights!

Or,bloods for my rebellion!

Fire in my eyes!!

My stories of sacrifice.

My bravery,My glory

My red soil and my sufferings.

Oh!!

Don't romanticise me please,

I am hungry.

Walk a mile,

sit beside me.

Sweat like me

Breathe like me.

I'll give you a piece of red cloth,

And say "i am hungry".