First sentence of my Debut Untitled Novel

The cheap brothels, the rich rag-pickers, the intellectual lunatics, the clean-nosed bankers, the poison-spewing journalists, the intrusive housewives, the headless kings of third grade casinos, the skinny spine-less musicians, the weird beard artists, the innocent tit-suckers, the stubborn insurance executives, the wasted junkies of kashmere gate, the dismantled car-mechanics of old-delhi, the money-minded illiterate school teachers, the over-zealous con-men, the cute-faced scamsters, the off-springs of ambitious politicians, the fake historians of non-existing destroyed history, the evil NGO workers, the teenage nymphets of khan market, the mad readers of trash literature, the soggy newspaper columnists, the grounded acrobats, the enthusiasts of love, the naive fitness instructors, the juicy models from fashion streets, the psychopath poets, the uninhabited security guards… I wanted to kill them all.

 

Signed.

A(dot) 

She sniffed my collar bones/Upon further investigation

(Disclaimer: Two poets..over a cup of coffee..threw words at each other..some squinting it took..result..Two freshly baked poems)
(Words given to make a poem:
Cake, brown, clink, bloat, pounding, parade, investigation, bloody, nipple, itch, social, carpet, hugs, cheeky, fog, albumin, hood)

 

—–Upon further investigation—–

There was a clue found

hidden deep within

the smudgy gooey brown cake

recently devoured at a social gathering

where hugs and wine flowed in rivers of giggles

until a cheeky man revealed

from under his fashion street hood

a horrendous sight

an albuminy

bloaty, itchy

ghastly

nipple

pounding with pulses of pleasure

after which the revelers disappeared in to the fog

the kind that descends like a cloak of embarrassment

the rest, was brushed under the carpet

of course it was a great success.

Signed.

Textbubble

 

 

—–She sniffed my collar bones—–

and investigated my flimsy hug
she sensed an itch stitched on my albumin-chest
and our jaws clinked when she tried to
brush the dust off my nose

I swallowed a breath and puked
some dozens of fog-webs

she offered me a piece of
her nipple-shaped cake

she was nice enough to pound
for me
on her brown carpet
but I would have preferred a parapet

A social gesture that was
made her carpet bloat a little
and a parade of red ants
got dismantled & disheartened

my cheeky faith
lost its faith in womanhood that night

 

Signed

A (dot)

Pontificated Babbling

random babbling about the origins of cravings of the sins related to that One who would never reply you back who would never listen to every word you tried to say or meant to say because all those words carried water and water flows like fire burning that hill of the catharsis like her nape of her neck and she was walking through the blizzard and breathing like ranting that you will never know that that was all just a pack of plastic lies of the majestic and it was carved methodically on her greasy palms by someone who pinched your eyeballs and scratched them and left them to leak blood of cicadas of different colors that reddened and then darkened the path where you perambulated all your life and drank borrowed wine from the broken cups of retarded cheaters and their swines who traded their time to stave off the legal confrontations with the questions of their existence and you thought that they will teach you how to sip all the melancholy from that empty cup of sadness that she broke when she puked her limbs on your shoulders and your shoulders stank of her sweet phlegm which you wished to gulp before it got washed down by the rain of cackles spent by the dealers of smiles and similes involving your nails and their rotten teeth that have bitten every single leaf of serenity in their eyes from where it all started and from there you learned to snort the irregularities of the occurrences of your inner demons who told you to burn all the mannequins down and throw them in the gutter where darkness flowed in harmony of inconsequential quench which you never understood and you never wanted anyone to understand as it creates the hollow complex walls of molten wax which is constantly dribbling but there is no gravity to pull it down so it is dribbling upwards and making a staircase which could have taken you and her in the basement of that haunting castle of your conscience that always pricked your ears to take that you-turn and fall in the swarm of intoxicated spiders who gave up flying because their wings were too heavy but their eyes were also on their wings so now they all are blind and intoxicated and carrying you on their bent backs with circular spinal chords with hairline fractures and their punctured faces reminded you of those raindrops who all looked the same when they fell on her face under that ugly moonlight on which you almost choked yourself to death but you didn’t die as it was not cold enough to glaciate your touch but it left smudges on those sunken cheeks that had barbed wire bruises that looked like wrinkles formed out of hazy dew whose moisture made more sense than any other sensible thing ever walked or crawled in your room of deep green walls with big white flakes and peelings of yellow snakes scattered all over the floor with etchings of her foot marks on which you slept after digesting every skeleton which you defeated with bare hands and scared will that was made of shattered glasses and the echo of empty chambers of corrupt magistrates with dusted files filled with all the obscenities written down neatly with one line spacing and jittered handwriting of the toothless clerk who died virgin but raised four parent less kids with torn history books in their newly bought bags with their obscure curiosity and registered mediocrities embossed on their upper lips and that is where the emotional turbulence of the dejected like yours took its rest and you dreamt of climbing those murky hills of her distraught dreams and that tread uptill her throat was nothing

 

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)