Thursday, May 24, 2007

Not a night for love.

One and a half years. I had the most beautiful time in my life. Now it's no more. This is not a night for love.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Miguel Street

Please close your eyes and let me lead you
To Miguel Street.
Ah, what a place!
Ah, how the heart aches to see something as beautiful.
Close your eyes and walk with me
Through Miguel street.

This huge mansion here, do you see it?
Here lives Mr. Auburgne
He has a grand car, a grand life
You know the usual grandstand.
His wife doesn’t live here anymore,
He killed her because she kissed another man.
Then, he planted an orange tree in his yard
Which would take her place in his life forever.
Now Mr. Auburgne is dying,
The orange tree
Looks worn and tired
And droops its head in pain.

Now watch the birds fly,
Like oscillating pendulums
They travel to this part of the country
And away again.
They are like nature’s grandfather clock,
Measuring time by the season.

Now look at the pavement,
There dwells Gruff the surrealist.
He paints moustaches with hair cream
And stones with water,
Time with air,
And Love with pine leaves.

Oh there’s little Jeremy,
He walks on the stony cobbled street all day
Prodding his little stick at every secret corner
That waits between two shrubs.
Jeremy likes to search for treasures, he do.
Jeremy, Jeremy,
The treasure’s in your head my little man.

Oh, hello!
That’s the widow
Look at how her eyes shine with lust
As she waits on her doorstep
For another of that who left her a long time ago.
Dark and scary,
The wind was airy
And her hair floated in it.
Rosemary, Rosemary,
How she dances
To the tune of the storm,
How she laughs
And how she beckons!
Her smile is devilishly seductive.
Do you want to be her husband for tonight my love?
I’ll wait here then and practice
My frighteningly maniacal laughter.

That is he, yes
Those beautiful eyes
Cannot be anyone else but him.
Meet Joanne the baker,
He makes the best chocolate
On this side of the tumbling whirlpool.
Joanne, you are a man
Or are you?
You weren’t one when we made love
By the river.
But times change, and so do people.
Oh he is fashionably lean,
But he wears loose clothes.
Joanne, lose your moustache baby
And lets go to the river.

Goodbye my love
This is where I take my leave.
I hope you had a nice time,
Do come back to visit again.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Please believe me
The river told me
Very softly
Want you to hold me, ooo
Free fall flow, river flow
On and on it goes
Breathe under water 'till the end
Free fall flow, river flow
On and on it goes
Breathe under water 'till the end
Yes, the river knows
Please believe me
If you don't need me
I'm going, but I need a little time
I promised I would drown myself in mysticated wine
Please believe me
The river told me
Very softly
Want you to hold me, ooo
I'm going, but I need a little time
I promised I would drown myself in mysticated wine
Free fall flow, river flow
On and on it goes
Breathe under water 'till the end
Free fall flow, river flow
On and on it goes
Breathe under water 'till the end

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Monday, April 23, 2007

Mr. Dutta's wonderful scooter

Goodmorning Mr. Dutta
I love the way you ride your scooter sir.
Oh that's a wonderful machine, his scooter
See through, baby-blue.

Like a crow he flies, through the deserted streets of Maniktola
On his little scooter.
Time was liquid, and the light a calmer shade of yellow
As Mr. Dutta flew in his scooter.

Oh, the wheels barely touched the ground;
As Mr. Dutta, searching for a love lost
Flew past in his scooter.

She had touched his face and kissed his lips gently
As he slept in a night so dark, that the stars shone like diamonds.
Her chiffon veil had caressed his face for the last time
As she turned her face away.
Her hair had floated in the wind as if they were unwilling to leave.
But leave did she,
While Mr. Dutta lay in a star-washed slumber.

Wake up Mr. Dutta, your love flees
The summer flowers will never feel as fragrant against your skin
Wake up Mr. Dutta, your love escapes
Ride your flying scooter, oh Zeus born in a mistaken time.

Mr. Dutta, Mr. Dutta
How fast he flies
On his wonderful scooter,
See through baby-blue.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

I miss home

Makes me want to cry

Free again

I took seventeen colours from the ocean
and mixed them in my diamond eyes
swirling, twirling, my peacock paradise.


I was there the day Bop grew wings,
He flew like a rocket, floated like a feather
Tiddly pom, diddly thether.


Wednesday, March 28, 2007 of now

I woke up,
I opened my eyes
Layers upon layers of dreams
Faded in the pitch black of my mind.
My father, I saw him,
Smiling down at my reclined body,
“Wake up son, its morning already”.
I felt the cold touch of his gun on my temple,
“As the sun rises, my son
cleansing the spirit of this world
So must I, cleanse yours.
My son, be reborn.”

I half heard the friction of metal with metal,
And in my eyes a black sun growing smaller
I felt a moment of indecision,
A moment of confusion
Where I was going, what was to become of me
I had no idea, and I was afraid.

I saw around me a group of people
Stomping their feet, grinning devilish grins
Pointing at me, touching me in places they ought not to.
They screamed my name, over and over again,
And with time their dance grew faster
And their chanting louder,
“What Goddess, what goddess?”,
They laughed like huge gongs on the top of a mountain.
“Let us rip the horse’s eyes!”.

The trumpets blew, and the drums beat
All the circus animals marched
And slid and slipped on a crescent moon.
Flying banners, wobbly tents, happy music
I saw and heard.

Then I saw my best friend of eighteen years,
It’s a pity I didn’t know his name
He nodded and laughed at me,
He held my hands, and we danced in circles
Around a great sparkling fire
“This is she” we chanted and exhaled,
Chanted and exhaled…
“This is she!”
“This is she?”
We sang happy songs, and floated around
On lonely beaches.
We had no wisdom, only words
We couldn’t predict the future
But we could translate the past.

“Children are insane”, my friend said,
“Decidedly, they are”, I replied
“Let us be children then, my love”.
I laughed a maniacal laughter and
Clawed at his breast.
He laughed back, his hair floating in the wind
Like a ship’s sail on a breezy night.
“My friend, will you hold my hand again when I am sixty three?”
He asked,
“Probably. If I live that long”
And we burst into laughter.

We smeared ourselves with colours
That we borrowed from the starry night sky
And we played among the trees.
With our eyes we painted a huge blue-black ocean
And a brown ship.

“We’ve built a ship,
Rum pum pum.
A lovely brown ship,
Rum pum pum.
It’s a bit watery, but hey!
Rum pum pum,
We’ve built a ship
Rum pum pum.”, we sang out loud.

We touched the tips of our little straw hats,
We skipped a skip and
Danced a dance in the water
Around our lovely brown ship.

“Let us find some oysters,
And we can play in the mud later
And get our pants dirty”, I said.
“Yes let us!” my friend said.
We smiled that devilish grin
And our eyes twinkled that bright colour
That propriety did not allow.

“Let there not be a single person in this world
Who can tell us not to look out of windows
Let there be no one who can tell us
That we are not Pirates or Indians,
Or anything else interesting.
Let no one say that hidden treasures do not exist
Or that we should not dream about starry nights.”

“Yes let us cease worrying about grammar
And other inconsequential things
Like names and dates and time.
Let us call anything by anything we like,
And let us measure time by the frequency of our tears”, I said.
“Then my friend, not a day shall pass”, he laughed.