Port of Call Redux aka Pretentious-ness-ness

Port of Call Redux aka Pretentious-ness-ness …

sailing between
sprinkled kisses

sipped
savoured

under swaying moonlight

bathed by whispering palms
on that talcum beach

that talcum-powder beach forever drenched by the rivers of my dreams

and

the open seas of parched memories
famished souls
soiled by desperation
hearing nothing

nothing at all
but the vultures ravenous call …

… so come on, dear friend, take my hand in yours ( metaphorically speaking if nothing else ) and let’s walk back to that talcum caressed beach of dreams

because
with you it is all

and without you

still
and
always
and
perhaps forever more
in some quiet corner

deep within the core of your heart

shall always be
deeply anchored
my very all

my final port of call

_________________

Port of Call
http://tinyurl.com/ochvfq9

craptalkin’

do you remember

me?

scribbling verses on your bare back?

in some alleyway of memory

lost between some fragrant detour

though i bloody well think im bloody well sure

that that meant bloody well something to you too

or else im truly lost

alone
lonely

a sad story almost
too good to be bloody true

I am

just when you think you’ve broken me

i will not cower

your manliness does not frighten me

your mouth will not silence me

I am I
I am me

I am

and you are not

why

why do you scribble, they ask

why do you ask, i scribble

history …

misty tears fall on splintered parchment

history simmers

the shackles of centuries cast off

the chains of oppression shattered

embracing new horizons

dawning
&
trusting once again
in that unfinished dream

of less famished tomorrows

blah-blah-blah

letting go
breaking it all

stripped bare
fractured
lost in the fog

of whispered lies

drenched
drowned

spent
chewed up and spat out
into the sewers

just another of your litter
another puppy dog

and all in all

when curtains fall

i remain

just another
essential cog

half truths & lies

left broken
adrift

anchorless on oceans
of twisted words

numb
in a maelstrom of half truths & lies

abandoned underneath shared skies …

… and now that the years have fled

and tears have been bled

and all that i have left
are my eyes

straining to see

you

fading slightly
yet still

the only constant

the only thing
i know to be true

nostalgia tugs

nostalgia tugs
seductively

subtly

whisking the mind away

away
to
those
custard-apple evenings

of
monsoon drenched rain

whistling between trees of rhyme

peacock feathers
lying listless

as
beaten as these lines

and still beyond it all
past rainbows fractured

the sun still shines

mending soggy feathers

aflutter
alone

always alone
on cardamom clouds

leading me here

to now.

this moment
trapped
vacuum sealed
anaesthetised

through
countless
incense-smoked paths

crumbling

on
ever on

with
many
dreams strewn asunder

as heartless time
tireless time

rages on

shedding fatigued smiles

over the countless

numberless
exhausted
miles

revolution denied

revolution denied

free
free at last

to bury the past

deep
very deep

losing little sleep
over a revolution denied

and all the lies lied

while the many remain hungry

the few plunder till they are stuffed

sleeping on silken silks
their frills neatly buffed

and should the impertinent many demand their rightful dignity

oh why well then
the many must

oh they absolutely must

be hushed

or forever shushed

losing my innocence

i lost some of my innocence that day

an odd day all those years ago

when papa asked me to take some tourists to a few sights around town

so i did

we went there
and here
and back

and then something inexplicable occurred

inexplicable to me at least

( naive teenager that i was )

when finally reaching the lotus temple

the four men refused to join me as i led them to this scintillating jewel of architecture right in the middle of my beloved delhi

i couldn’t understand why you see

till we dropped the tourists off at their swanky hotel

and later i told papa what had happened at the lotus temple

and

he said

‘they must have been the religious kind’

which in itself meant nothing to me

and he elaborated

and another petal of innocence fell to the winter floor

why him, they ask her

why, they ask her,
why him?

she always says the same

that
day
when we met

and spoke
and laughed

she felt i felt
all i needed to be me
was me

read at your peril!

am i that weary traveler

parched and thirsty
alone

lonely
in the
desert
of tattered hearts

who finally
sees it
feels it
tastes it
&
breathes it

the mirage
of
love

or is it lust

hmm get back to you on that i must

i am unable

i am unable

to give up on you

you
who have etched your soul

chiselled deep onto the walls of my vagabond heart

you
whose smile is carved

along the alleyways of time

so wherever i may be
it shall always
be that smile
of yours
that i
see

i refuse …

i refuse …

to bow
scraping for scraps in the dirt

i refuse

to kneel
cowering before the altar

i refuse

to lose
hope for a better tomorrow

i refuse

to stop believing
that love will gently prevail

where mirth peace respect may again walk tall

in the very places

where once roamed nothing but sorrow

Rains over Jozi

Rains over Jozi

The parched African earth soaks up the liquid offering from the heavens,

birds sing,

ululating,

a chorus of relieved catharsis flows through my barren heart,

the steady rain continues,

elevating just another day,

transforming a dry insipid moment,

into a cacophony of jubilant life,

life!

life flowing,

streaming down the desolate avenues,

dripping like perennial teardrops,

down the cheeks of this crazy,

maddening city of gold,

moments of undistilled supreme mirth,

heralds the arrival of a new season,

a triumphant rebirth,

jubilant,
relieved,
ecstatic,

as the Gods of Africa,

and the spirits of the Ancestors,

smile down,

on us,

we of flesh,

and of blood,

and of muscle,

and of bone,

soaking hardened hearts,
dead as cold stone,

infusing new life,

amidst the fragrant scent of rain on dry soil,

while the bronze sun retreats,

seeking respite behind the dark, hopeful clouds of charcoal grey,

while the rains shower their blessings,

banishing the winter chills,

and graciously beckoning spring to stay.

The rains over Jo’Burg caress the leaves on the trees,

cleansing the accumulated baggage that only yesterday so listlessly hung,

over the dryness in my soul,

scorched by a merciless  winters’ sun,

Ah! But today,

today,

there are songs to be sung!

today,

I feel complete,

I am with the heavens,

no longer splintered,
into a thousand and three fragmented pieces,

at last I am whole,

at last,

I am one…

forgotten decades

yesterday reaches
straining to hear

cries of decades lost

half-forgotten
inaudible

ancient history

now
barely a strand

and that too
adrift

alone

but

but

still
etched

if
for an instant

across endless nights
yet to dawn

neither here nor there

as i walk along
trampling memories

away
afar

trying
seeking always

always
to moult this skin

this sorry skin of words
wrapped around me  tight

staggering
scurrying

fleeing

into the arms

of
desolate
welcoming night

as still as innocence

when im broken
torn

with
all my conceit

neatly
shorn

perhaps
then he’ll know

the hopes stifled
muted

hushed shushed

though still
as still as innocence

reborn

A Slice of the Pie

A Slice of the Pie

“this earth was made a common treasury for all”*

but

as the tickers rise and fall

the suits spew silky soundbites about getting a slice of the pie

while the 99% are consoled

placated
numbed

by promises of glorious hereafters

because

“you’ll get pie in the sky when you die”**

* – thanks to Billy Bragg
** – thanks to Joe Hill’s song ‘The Tramp’

farcical verse redux

crushed
beneath

wounded
memories

flooding back

of a half-whispered kiss
lost forever on the breeze

smitten by time
if not by rhyme

for rust & marty

for rust & marty

you see there may come a time when all of what we yearn and ache and pine and lie and cheat and kill and maim and hurt to attain may turn out to be as worthless as the lives we hurt and took and raped and pillaged and tortured and slapped and abused and molested and plundered and then we shall be seen for that what we all essentially are: scented meat

alone. at last.

cast away,
lost,

like
strewn flotsam,

on an empty shore.

alone.

at last.

with apologies to WH Auden

With apologies to W.H. Auden

(for W.H. Auden)

tomorrow for the grueling work to begin, the rebuilding of trust, the sweat and the toil

tomorrow for reflection, the search for a new beginning, the hard tasks that lie in wait

tomorrow for the farmers to till the land, for the teachers to share free knowledge to all

tomorrow for the effort, to strive to build a new nation, to shake off the weight and the burdens of the past

tomorrow for all of that…

but today

today, the gleeful, joyous, teary-eyed celebration of freedom…

business as usual?

business as usual?

the word itself reeks

“business”

it reeks of sweat

blood
tears
misery

“business”

haggling over souls

bargaining over consciences

selling buying

anything
anyone

“business”

the fangs of empire gnaw

the talons of capital lash

perennially

for that four-letter word

“cash”