The Bad Bitch Bodega Cat

 

Have you ever thought of being a bodega cat?

A bad bitch bodega cat?

Lurking around the corner shops,

Waiting for a piece of meat to be thrown away.

Yes, that’s the one –

She bleeds boxer Ali through her chest,

While her brain reeks of Bobby Fischer,

This bad bitch is wearing my hijab

And scaring a many tom cats in her daily wars –

I want to be like her,

Just a bad bitch bodega cat,

Strutting through these boroughs

As a hooded figure, I meekly pass –

But the bodega cat isn’t one like me,

She hisses, and purrs,

And fiercely coughs up a hairball

Swearing and threatening the other cats,

Not just toms but bitches too –

No one dares to challenge her,

She beats the hell out of those oglers

Those who grope daughters –

Like cowards in crowded streets,

The bodega cat sharpens her claws with abuses,

With humiliation and lewd comments,

And blood.

She ushers me to wear my hijab,

A hijab of bad bitch

And walk on stilts, tall and brave –

Giving no two,

To the ones who are trampled below.

I am here, to tell a story...

I am here,

To tell a story.

No, it is not about princesses,

Nor about slaying dragons.

It is a story about a writer,

A moronic writer!

This writer stays put and writes,

Steals words and puts them differently,

What is so new about this writer?

Well, this writer thinks!

The end!

Around the Pond

They had all gathered

Around the pond,

A body from where they called upon the spirits -

Spirits of the vanquisher.

Split hymens now sung the hymns,

Swelling and rotten breasts were the master orators

Bruised hands bore pieces of parchment

And an attempt was made to create bonfire

In water.

The parchments were swung into the pond,

And the names of the rapists charred down,

A rare sight -

It was snow born from fire.

two? or more?

I first set my heart for Karna,
whose soulful yet melancholic eyes
spoke to me a million words,
but I was caught in the hands of destiny
and Arjuna took my hands in marriage -
now, I am drawn between two worlds,
and with each I see myself differently,
one longing to act impulsively
and another to simply act!
In all this life's humour,
my love,
Krishna,
is watching me, and
having a good laugh!

tears for cheeks!

why do those precious pearls roll down?

tears are now dry,

but those stained cheeks know a lot!

they have witnessed happy tears,

sadly, sad tears too,

of meeting an old friend,

of parting from the beloved,

of death and mourning,

of uncontrollable laughter,

those cheeks have seen them all!

that time, when i held a book!

and i closed the book,

the characters were calling for help

i knew nothing of the plot

the debts seemed to never cease

i was much beholden to those words

that time, when i held a book!

(Now read bottoms-up.)

An Oddity of Words

Tuk tuk.. tik tik..

Screams the old machine,

Every letter craving to join another

In a rhythm chaotically sensible

To make thoughts expressible

Which the tongue holds back

But the ink flows into cash.

Viscious Cycle is this Learning

Viscious cycle is this learning,

Swimming in this pool -

Surrounded by charlatans,

It's difficult to differentiate -

From good and bad waters.

I want to come out of these waters

But strangely my mind is pulled back

I want to stay here and fight -

Battle between real and unreal,

Wait...

Am I real or unreal?

Flesh and blood in reality?

Or a figment of someone's imagination?

Alone again... naturally...

I rise anew from these ashes

After I feel terribly low in spirits -

It is difficult to digest

When they categorize me…

Why then, must I succumb to people’s labels?

Loneliness and solitude are two different things

Because whenever I introspect, I always think

Am I alone?

(Now read bottoms up!)

A Fallacy of Trusting

The moment has finally arrived

Where I reflect on the mundane

In how I treat the dead -

A tear is swallowed in disgust,

Once an angel, now an imp,

Memories of regret strike sharp -

No less than the mind of a devil,

This was an angel with even filthier soul.

Bard, Lunatic and Lover

I tell a tale,

of a bard, a lunatic and a lover...

They were good friends -

spent their evenings in laughter,

shared the ale to keep their sanity in line,

cried in another's shoes,

made merry in singing their woes -

until one day, that day of epiphany.

The world labelled them all the same -

'mumbling and rambling imbeciles' were they named

and it is why we have the three friends become one,

a bard, a lunatic and a lover are the same,

and this was a tale I had to tell,

my tale...

Tonight I can write...

Tonight I can write...

the unleaving of the days was must

that left severe bitter tastes as such

for the mind knew no word

nor the heart knew any -

but, time's play

the disgust blighted forth

in nature's way

making the tongue turn for new words

and...

tonight...

I can write...

The Bards, their Worlds and their Words

Recollect thoughts in tranquility, the bard said -

While I attempted the act, I was taken to a new world

A chaotic grassland set beside a peaceful wasteland

Million words have been used to describe this new world -

This world, a world of both hope and despair.

Unheard melodies are sweeter, another poet cried -

I listened to those melodies and I learned real music

The sweet sounds made my eardrums shatter,

While the noisy sounds kept my heart calm -

This music magic, a magic of both illusion and reality.

A heap of broken images, shrieked a lunatic -

I began collecting the shattered pieces of the mirror

This mirror held not just my reflections but my memories

Million pieces I gathered and tried repairing them -

This new mirror, a mirror of both honesty and deception.

I loved nature more, sang a lover -

My feet took me on adventures which I had never dreamt of

The rivers and the country sides, the birches and the village wine,

What lusty life of peace, and what intoxicating taste of simpleness -

This space, a space of both freedom and captivity.

O Solitude

O Solitude! Where to find thee?

In the quirky sounds of chipmunks

To the crushing of the autumn leaves

The gentle rain drops on the tender flowers

Or in the chatter of the silence?

Words Undone

The ink blots on the parchment

As I ponder in bewilderment

What life bestows onto my mind

Words get undone and I write as a blind.

that evening

that evening was different,

i was in his arms metaphorically

and literally!

our relationship cannot be tainted

with romance...

we simply were there -

enjoying each other's words...

the sad story hit us too,

all good things must come to an end -

yet, he didn't stop

without reading meanings to his final gesture

a rose was bought

and i bear the rose now and forever

though it wilts away literally,

the rose shall forever remain lively

in the bell jar of my memory!

Just another day, just another thought!

Zesty thoughts preventing me from

Yolking away in actions leading to

Xerotic bloodshot eyes that are

Wanting to blink in the wilderness with

Vaulting piles of emotions as just cerebral and

Untying the metaphorical bonds and

Trying to liberate the heart from

Shackles of the thoughts,

Rambling collisions of thoughts and

Questions that remain unanswered for the

Philosopher is dead!

Opus history of mankind is reduced to dust

Nullifying the creativity and developments of

Man in history, of

Learning and

Knowing!

Juxtaposed remains man's aspirations and

Inspirations, for

He struggles to learn the

Gift to mankind, a gift that initially set him

Free, now

Envelopes his mind, making him a

Diligent slave to the

Catastrophe in disguise, to the

Blasphemy in shades, and to the

Altruistic who is unreal!

to be continued...

as i was walking through the dead stones

i stumbled upon a thought

an urge to read all the epitaphs

these gravestones were reasonably old

and many simply had their dates established

but strange were those two gravestones

which caught me by chance

a pair of gravestones, of couples

sleeping peacefully inside the warm earth

holding hands in their graves

the inscription read thus,

"to be continued"

though creepy as it may seem

the words had an essence of union

a blissful communion

that marked mortal death's failure

and immortal love's triumph

they were resting in the earth's bed

and for they could feel was the cold stones

but in each other's company, they felt the warmth

perhaps the couple lived happily in their mortal realm

or perhaps not -

perhaps they were united in matrimony

or perhaps not -

perhaps they loved each other

or perhaps not -

perhaps i connected the dots right

or perhaps not -

well, they were 'only friends'

and that their relationship was terribly misinterpreted

the story indeed remained incomplete

and thus the words,

"to be continued"

Plurality???

Alas! There is the birth of a mixed breed

A mix of coloniality and the orient

A far cry from singularity

A life of plurality yet deceiving

A life that longs for ghetto incline

A million miles distances the self from the self

A mixture of heterogeneous in a hybrid culture

A matter of time is but an irony

A masquerade of multiple identities parade

A bowl of refugees

A spoon of expatriates

A plate of migrants

A bottle of slaves

A planet of loss and displacement

A poesy too honest and dry

An attempt to save the last bit of sanity.

By the Power of Words and Imagination

To imaginary words

I pray before thee

With a sincerity and discipline

As a Muse would expect -

A sense of respect

And a sense of hope

Where to world's description is done

With words of mighty stature.

I ask thee a query -

A hopeless journey

To search something in vain

Yet, does it befit my stand?

And take me miles away

That imagination could go beyond

Make me well grounded to the brown soil

For this is my home, a place from where I come

A piece of land to which I was born

And now remain but a speck in the multitude of soils.

To those imaginary lands of the mind

I pray before thee

With a sense of helplessness

I bow in respect to the utmost struggle

The struggle against forgetting -

To perceive the unknown

And to know the nothingness of the known

I melt and tremble down

By the power of words and imagination.