Attempts at Poetry

Is there anything more idyllic
to a writer, or reader, than the
sound two words make when
they merge and entwine as if
they were crafted specifically
with the purpose of finding the
other in the assemblage of millions
in a leather-bound collection that
is the totality of this language?

The words I speak of were promised
by their mothers and fathers that
on the fateful day of their union
the realm will celebrate with wonder
and joy and bemused laughter, and in
that moment, everything shall feel fallen
into place. There might even be revelations
in the shower, and a benevolent smile
might wrinkle someone’s face.

The words I speak of flow
with effortlessness not in their
singularity
but only when contiguous to one
another. Words like 'broken egg' or
'prima donna', the impersonal 'cellar door',
and the most personal “Chaloge? Haan.”*

This is how poetry is born.
When everything falls into place
or falls apart
if a part of the set is missing,
or worse, has been usurped.

This poem began as a homage to
the beauty of poetry, and of words,
whereas truth be told, it is really
about the time I waited in a lashing
downpour for a rickshaw for more
than twenty minutes, and
when I finally heard one of them say
“haan” to my “chaloge?”
I composed an ode in part angst-ridden
for all those who turned me down,
and in part a thank you note.

*Chaloge? - Will you take me there?
*Haan - Yes.

This poem first appeared in eFiction India.

Across the azurite sea where ships occasionally sailed,
lay Point Barrow, a city marked down by shadowy trails.

The town had long been separated in two equal halves,
the reason, unbeknownst to many, was one yellow dwarf.

The geniuses worshipped him, as did the go-getters,
the same was true for doer folks as well as trendsetters.

So devoted that they rose early and sat in wait
for a glimpse of the beaming imp and his jovial gait.

They declined to see the light of day until they heard
the Somerset call of their oddball pal whose r’s were slurred.

Then there were the idle-boners with spirits Laodicean,
the futile no-gooders with no purpose and no meridian.

There also were the discontent, disappointed disregards,
low-spirited lonely lads who likened life to listless lards.

They hated the old-timer’s guts with a passion blistering,
condemning him a sinner worthy of inferno’s Outer Ring.

Just the dwarf’s existence in their lives was an encumbrance
disrupting their lucid dreams-turned-into-a-dreadful-penance.

Sick of confronting their own liabilities and worthlessness,
the individuals banded and confessed to how they were a mess.

Post a particularly rough night of sobbing to slumber,
they decided to “take care” of this unwelcome piece of scumber.

Ernesto, who did not know, the last time he was on payroll,
recommended the recruitment of Barrow’s pride and joy; Skoll.

“The saber wolf will swallow the scoundrel sparing flesh nor bone!”
“Too cumbersome!” Ellipse objected, “Skoll is old as Motherlode Home.”

“I say we sacrifice the humbugger to dear old Ji-Gi-Nak,
tie his limbs to heavy boulders and topple him off the ark.”

All abominators nodded and designated the tasks
and confidently sauntered home with a resolve that rarely lasts.

The yellow dwarf rolled up a little later than six-thirty-three,
they dragged his rear-end to the port, their faces contorted with glee.

As planned, the liquidators tied his arms and legs to rocks,
high-fiving and fist-pumping as they preoccupied the dock.

Just when Ellipse was about to drop him off the edge,
they heard the yellow dwarf speak up two feet above the ledge.

Looking down, they saw him half-expecting him to cry,
“Please, dear sirs, I’d like to speak some words before I die.”

You see, I understand too well why I have met this fate,
I’m conscious of my faults and accept that I’ve made mistakes.

Having said that, I’m not the only one at fault here,
had each of you served your purpose my death would not be near.

You stay confined and wallow in the misery of your lives,
you hate my job, then when I’m gone, complain of cloudy skies.

If only you could see the persons you could truly be,
you wouldn’t want to throw me out this kingdom by the sea.

However, if you still can’t wrap your mind 'round my appeal,
I’d like to propose a compromise and offer you a deal.

Detach these rocks, untie these ropes, and let me leave here free,
But once a month, I’ll show my face, that’s my promise to thee.

Take some time and give it thought, but really, there’s no choice,
the other half of Point Barrow can’t live without my voice.

Eagerly waiting for their oldest friend at same-old stations,
if I don’t show, they’ll surely launch a strict investigation.”

By the end, their flippant laughs turned into contemplation,
they wondered if his words were true with serious consternation.

A deal was struck, two hands were shook, and ropes soon came undone,
they parted ways no longer the worst enemies under the sun.

“One last thing before I go, I have some fearful friends,
you might run into one or few while you run your errands.”

Ever since the yellow dwarf turned azurite to anthracite,
brightly-colored giants transform into walrus skulls every night.

When asked what they come here seeking, who is it they really need,
they state their plan to take the dwarf to a better land, free of greed.

what to say when you
express desolation in
the vaguest of terms.

I’m a woman of details.

You tell me to wait, and
ask me not to look away
as the night disrobes your
skin. I wouldn’t look away.

Even if I could. I want to
see you in your barest,
rawest form. My heart
swells with pride on being

the sole spectator to your
sorrow. Isn’t it sick? And
yet, here I am, standing in
an empty auditorium with

my hands propped up on
the stage, clutching front
row tickets to the gutting
of a deer. To say that I

can’t imagine anyone else
paying full price to watch
this would be a gross insult
to the gralloched creature,

who was praised his whole
life for being as beautiful
on the inside as it is out.
The inside is on full display

now, but there’s no one else
here. The beauty is splattered
all over the dais.
Some is clinging to my face.

I don’t wipe it off. Every shred
counts when it comes time to
glue you back together. And if
I can’t? I promised to dispose

of you properly when you are
empty. I am happy to see you
die as yourself than live raided
by usurpers.

he reassured me as he attempted to make a U-turn from
a dead end on a one-way road. We were on our way to
Kaziranga, a sanctuary I had admittedly been to more times
than I could count on four limbs and was revisiting years
later. Suddenly, the labyrinthine pathways became a maze.
Left. No, no. Right! It was left. "I'm sorry, I am such an idiot."

We forgave each other for missing the first sign.

What? Hey. I love you,

He promised when we awoke in the dead middle of a cold
February night, with eyes groggy and the bed sheets soggy;
not for the first time. Next day, the doctor coolly pronounced
the words "nocturnal enuresis" to his fretful face, my horrified
eyes, and our palms crushed together. Sighing, we accepted it
was far from the last. "I'm sorry," I said tearlessly. "I'm so sorry."

Shame became my second permanent bedmate that day.

What? Hey. I love you,

He recited like a destitute prayer after he heard me scream
as I gawked at the mirror; at the bright pink rouge on my white,
flawed cheeks that could be mistaken for a bad flare-up of an
allergic reaction; at the red lipstick-stained corners of a mouth
I couldn't quite recognize as my own. "What happened?" he asked.
"I don't remember," I wept. "I'm so sorry, I am not the person you
fell in love with."

It was one of the final moments of self-awareness.

What? Hey. I love you,

He confessed for the very first time, after biting his tongue
and droning on and on about the state of the world, for hours.
He sat two feet away, gazing at me with benighted eyes that
reflected a flaming pyre of all the things he had lost. I wish I knew
the history of that funeral I was an unwitting spectator to. I wish I
knew the stories his eyes cradled and accidentally dropped down
his cheeks. I wish I knew who he was and why he thought he loved me.