Pulling down the sky

I’ll pull down the sky

for you, as if it’s a dusty blue curtain

with wasps and moths stuck like stars

and other unknown  shiny objects.

 

I’ll sell that delusional honesty that my father told me to keep

and buy those islands that looks like ants

on the maps, disappearing and reappearing, for you.

 

When I am done with motormouthing shadows,

I’ll buy all those sad big cars for all those

illiterate refugee drivers from a malnutrition-ed country

..yes they will take you anywhere you don’t want

 

I’ll steal from

Robbers and cons and cheats and frauds and meeks

I’ll steal the strength from strong men

and the courage of the adventurers

I’ll have to steal

I’ll have to steal the un-steal-able for you.

 

You lack-of-imagination.

 

Signed

A (dot)

The man who fell in love with a Bus-stand

Part 1 – The Realization

Let me tell you a story about a boy

who fell in love with a BUS-STAND

All his life, it was in front of his eyes

But he couldn’t see the LOVE

..Until that day..

when he was standing there

waiting for that gloomy bus

which would take him to the mortuary

where he toiled like a dog locked in some ceiling-less building

where he worked with the dead

where his sweat got mixed with the blood

..

blood of the unknown

blood of the rotten life-less-ness

that red blood which smelled like stale mustard sauce

and which turned blue on his white shirt

with blood blotches and blood stains

with livers, kidneys and intestines in his hands

with ashen eyes and dry mouth

he worked

..

..BUS-STAND,

never changed,

always stayed

the same

but still

LOVE had to happen

..

he remembered the first time

when he felt LOVE

..

he was in school

and waiting for the morning bus

to come and pick him up

and suddenly it had started to rain

..

he was wearing the white shirt..

all his life he worn white shirts

he never wore any other color

just those plain white shirts

he didn’t want the rain drops to spoil his spotless white shirt

he took shelter

BUS-STAND gave him the shelter

he stood there

waiting

for that early morning bus to come and pick him up

..

he waited and waited and waited

and it rained and rained and rained

..

he was the only one standing there

in the shed of the BUS-STAND

he smiled with the sky

the sky cried with the rain

that day was the day when he realized

that something out of ordinary had happened..

..

Part 2 – The END

That night

people saw someone

a naked man with blood blotches and bruises all over

some said he had a lot of white shirts in his hands

he was shouting something, almost screaming

some said he was crying and laughing at the same time

some said he had chopped all his fingers and

shaved all his hair from his body

someone saw him hanging his white shirts on the bus stand

he covered the bus stand from his shirts

he kept on wrapping it

till the time it became a big white thing

some said he stood on the roof of the bus stand and slept for sometime

someone saw him spilling petrol on the bus stand

some said he took out a matchbox

and lit it on fire

some said the sight was horrible to look at

a naked man jumping on the roof of a big white thing

in the milky moon light

white cloth started shining when the flames came out of white shirts

soon fire caught the naked man

some said by the morning

there were just ashes of

the white shirts

the bus stand

and

the naked man

some said he burned his love

to live again.

Signed

A (dot)

Artist-Spectator..a love story

 

Artist –

Forget curtains

watch me

how fluid I am

in whatever I do

I am shamelessly smart

so you smell the stench

of my fart

of a performance

without further ado

 

Spectator –

My eyes & ears are open

my mental cunt is closed

you don’t titilate me enough

I cant sit here with your foes

like a body, decomposed..

YOU fracture art

then you call it an ‘arty fart’

you philosophise amatuer-ish-ness

you need more sand on your stage

rub it in your eyes

if you want to be a sage

 

Artist – 

You fool, you are a mere spectator

what do you know about art?

‘Traitor’ you will be called

if you don’t witness the end, from the start..

I see you are blessed with big mouth

and a sentimental brash tongue

first count the rashes on your skin

and then tell me about Gaugin

You are just another jerk-off

from the debris of mediocrity

we, artists, are unlucky

that you praise us, only after calamities

I question your audicity

coz’ in my eyes

you are born out of paucity

Sit down and praise me now

or that’ll be considered a ‘foul’

 

Spectator –

oh, Great Artist! you are good

you can surely amuse me

but I am not here to laugh on your face

Everyone is an artist

while standing at your place

but me..

I praise when its worth it

I can patronize you

I can see that you are in dearth of it

Don’t misunderstand me

coz’ I am standing on my own feet

unlike you,

you stoop so low

to hear the broken mistaken sound of claps, and its beat

I am just here to heal you

not to suppress your urge to perform

coz’ I know

suppression leads to aggresion

and aggression melts the form

you carry on with your digression

let me take care of my digestion

 

Artist – 

From now on, you will be called a

‘Nincompoop’

coz’ you are neolithic and you belong to poop

I suffer for art, I loose my appetite

you should be dragged out of premises

you are uptight and not bright

you have a spine made of snakes, you have glass eyes

confusion reigns your words, ‘liquid’ your conscience

I should freeze you and break you like ice

and would suffice

 

Spectator –

fuck off, I am done with this shit

 

…..and you’ll have to clean

piles of shit before you sleep

piles of shit before you sleep..

 

–a/an/the end

 

 

– A (dot)

The longest pee I ever had

It was somewhere in the middle of some month…when I started peeing…

I remember I was standing in front of this very cute wall…that wall was very yellow…the kind of yellow which kind of blends in with the color of your own pee…yes…I know its kind of disgusting in a pervert-ish way but let me tell you it is NOT…..that wall had some patterns, I can’t remember them exactly but it seemed as if someone had hand-painted them.

I remember, I was looking up at the sky..it was also a little bit yellow but in a melancholic way…as if the sky wanted to say something to me…something very funny…something which had the schoolboy humor in it…I could see or sense the schoolboy grin on the face of the yellowish sky..the sky had all the sad stars on it..as if all the stars wanted to fall…they were just dangling there…let me tell you that ‘dangling’ is not a very nice thing to do…but all those stars, they kept on doing it..they dangled as if they were on some kind of punishment..

I kept on looking at the sky while listening to the sound of the pee-stream…I know its disgusting but somehow it sounded really beautiful…after all it was my own pee-sound…it sounded like mozart to me…or some other classical music…like thousand violins, played on thousand small pebbles…at some moment I thought I was listening to Ella Fitzerald’s Summertime…but it was just my own pee-sound..and the sight of the dangling stars on the yellowish sky…it was sheer beauty…I must be fairly drunk (of course), that’s the reason I kept on peeing..I could hear all those pebble-stones who were taking a shower-bath in my pee, it felt as if they were cheering and they all seemed like they were all enjoying it..I could see the sparkling floor, I forgot where I was..I started thinking about my life…My life which kind of flowed in the same manner as my pee-stream flowed…with no direction…with no aim…with no interception…I could not control it..I kept on thinking about all the lovers which I ever had…they all claimed something or the other…they all tried to show me some other world…but all those worlds were the same…I stayed the same…they all stayed the same…they all melted and crumbled in the same way…when they dismantled they all looked the same to me…they never had faith in themselves…I never had faith in me…I never had faith in anything except my natural acts..If I could get my routine sleep or my routine yawns or my routine appetite, I felt as if I was the happiest man alive..

I told all those girls who rejected me, I told them that they will regret one day..and when I was peeing I thought this was the day I warned them about. I could not stop peeing…I kept on peeing..I realized that I was standing on some kind of very cheap very small wooden boat..I looked around and there was noone else except me…I kept on peeing..

All I could see was a yellow ocean..I was in the middle of this stinky ocean..I was looking up at the stars..all the stars looked so tragic…they all looked unwanted..they all had something to say but they were not getting their chance…I looked at them in a way which was kind of ‘condescending’ but one star asked me the meaning of that word and I just shook my head and shrugged my shoulders..I forgot the meaning of the word…I forgot the meaning of the meaning-ness..I forgot that I was still peeing…what was happening to me?…it was a very natural thing to do..but somehow it disgusted me…somehow the thought of me peeing in this yellowish ocean under the yellowish sky disgusted me..I had to close my eyes because the yellowish ocean started emitting a golden kind of light…it felt as if the whole ocean had started glowing…and I could feel the shivers in my spine..my boat on which I was standing and peeing, started shivering…I could see ripples growing in the ocean..ripples turned into waves and waves started shaking the boat. I kept on peeing..I could see a very strong glowing yellowish wave approaching..I turned my whole body towards it and took a long deep breath…I pee-ed with full force on that huge wave…at the end I had to close my eyes and that wave gulped me and my boat..I stopped peeing…when I opened my eyes, I saw the world glowing as if everything had been made of gold..there were golden trees and golden birds and golden mountains..I could see a golden river, flowing far far away…a golden train was approaching at some golden station..a golden world full of golden hopes and golden rejections.

 

Signed

A(dot)