LONE SPIRIT

Upper eyelid is obstinate

It doesn’t come down

Lower eyelid is stationary

It remains where it is

Unlike the jaw

Where the lower jaw is moving

Upper one always remaining idle and stubborn

I was traveling

A motorcade ahead

The driver busy with his drinks

And keen on the signboards of shops passing by.

My township is a place of sacrifice

Town standing for the head

Ship standing for the place of occurrence

A driver was killed in cold blood

While he was taking children in his cab

He had some politics


He had seen a sickle and a hammer

Harvesting and shaping

Above them was a star

Symbolic of his inclination to rise

He was a killer, say his killers.

Who is not a killer

In the reign of those

Who are inclined to kill?

Who is not a chiller

In the rains of the winter?

I had a woman

She had two lips

And she had two breasts

I sucked the lips

And drank the breasts

Mother is never tired of her children

Still I went on a circus


Of sucking the lips

And drinking the breasts

The clowns stood behind me

An array of unemotional backhoes

Lips are in Geneva

Where the court of international justice prevails

Breasts in Amsterdam

Where the land stands in the seas

On pillars of wisdom

My place is a city

Where unburnt lust predominates

Man standing an ethereal renown

Woman pervading her lips

And the poet is alone

In the corridor of despair

With wide open eyes

And a bosom to receive life

As it is, of now and ever