songs and dances

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music
*
she gave up dancing for the mirror and
for me and began dancing for the trees
she has stopped groping around for the music
she says the music touches her now

her eyes bleed now, once a month
and her gaze feeds on the songbirds’ silence
she says she only began to see when she went blind
*

i wish i could see you dance again
but time has been grains of sand that run through
dead fingers into the breezes of forget
i want to hear the ghungroo again, love
… i think
*

his skin is alabaster
and his shirt always smells of cigarettes
but his voice is a haze
it has been filtered through packets and
packets and packets of four squares
and by time and the smoke screams
its own epitaph
knowledge is a deadly friend
if no one sets the rules
*

a bulging beating miasma pulses
is that all i can call this beating heart?
love, all i had for you were stories
plucked from the fungus in my head

all i had for you were stories
my fingers gambolled with pens and keyboards
and my silence screamed its lungs out
and touched a music that was always around
all i had for you were stories
but the stories were never for you
*

i saw shiva drowning in a sea of milk
the ganga sprang from his hair
the ganapati idols burped and trumpeted
that freedom is a deluge
and that i walk on sea-foam and polythene bags
i ran after lalbaugcharaja
the madman tried to drown himself in the sea
the madman tried to drown himself in the sea
ganapatibappa morya
pudchavarshi laukarya
i was only trying to breathe freedom, amma
*

in my nightmares i touch you again
and your fingers are warmer than mine
your eyes shine more than mine
and the music is not an echo but a
torrent
but this cascading waterfall is not
my cascading waterfall
*

Fragments, consider revising

Listening to a robot japanese voice mechanically translate random shit you wrote up while all this time annie lennox was singing about how the ships have come to carry the dead and the dying to the west to valinor where the music is in the trees in the rivers in the stars and manwe smiles and winks and wags his fingers and maybe on the way tulkas will belch out a little something something he ate a millenium ago when he was awake and all this time little bilbo baggins and frodo nine-fingered a broken heart and a breaking heart will in their heads slowly try to forget that this is how you win an oscar
Listening to a robot japanese voice mechanically translate random shit you wrote up while all this time annie lennox was singing about how the ships have come to carry the dead and the dying to the west to valinor where the music is in the trees in the rivers in the stars and manwe smiles and winks and wags his fingers and maybe on the way tulkas will belch out a little something something he ate a millenium ago when he was awake and all this time little bilbo baggins and frodo nine-fingered a broken heart and a breaking heart will in their heads slowly try to forget that this is how you win an oscar

Manikaran

burning bridges in billowing towers
fire and rain kissed in the ecstasy of
destruction as you killed god
with that deathray in your head

there is no calm before the storm
eternity is that single moment in the eye
shiva is dancing on the mountain top
and his feet crush his temples

and the mountain dances to parvati’s
song – all mountains do not have festering lava
but all mountains want to burst
everybody wants to burst

into stardust, and golden music
that coagulates on their skin like oil
that hisses itself onto a single matchstick
that hovers, waltzing on parvati’s gossamer
silk threads before
sinking

here ice is water and water
steam – the river, too bursts
with warmth as it trickles down
nataraj’s fiery forehead
the rice feeds hungrily on her
as her trembling fingers float over
the golden energy
and the dal blooms when she touches
its soul

wahe guruji di khalsa
here, sipping on eternitea
god wakes from his dreams
and breathes sunshine on the dying embers
of everything

Manikaran is a temple town. It has a Shiva temple and a Gurudwara where any are welcome at any time for as much food as they want.
And tea. For eternitea.

Love Story

like a wave of electricity through your innards
like a pigeon and another pigeon in the bed of the sky
like stolen kisses worth one kind word each
like a second that just wasted away

like the great scars you show off
tattoos that prove you lived
like the boy in second grade
you always blushed when you thought about

like bread bought long ago
gone stale with age and time
like memorials built with love and music
broken pieces of rubble and concrete

like reams of paper I threw away
with cupcake wrappers and vegetable peels
like the sun that set yesterday and
decided to retire

Satan’s Nightmares

the grass is a little greener and diamonds
are made not of coal but a fabric the earth
mother sews up as the stars burn into a little
pinch of ash that rains upon the thirsty One
* * *
hell is a temple to happiness
* * *
all existence is delirium
the cows are mad and the horses are mad
the mad books written by the maddest of
souls speak of a corner tucked in the brain
that is utterly, totally, magnificently mad
the songs are mad the government is mad
the mad farmer sows his mad seed before
he joins the circle of mad people in the madhouse
as they ponder over the difference between a raven
and a writing desk forevermore and the mad monk
sways under the storm screaming asteroids into himself
his body is made of the moon
* * *
the sky is whispering to a rapturous bird
there is a secret hidden among the leaves of all stories
it bursts into rain with the need to be told
the secret is in the flight of the butterfly
in bubbles blown out of soap
in the immortal sun that all stories revolve around
and the secret is to listen, to listen
to listen

Vampire

by day the vampire is a normal person
by night the vampire is a normal person
all normality is vampirism
all existence is vampirism
consuming life to live life
like the serpent we breathe fog and death
on our own tale

how sharp are your teeth, grandma!
how red your eyes!
the bells are ringing, Sinatra is singing
your voice is eating me, man
that saxophone is killing me, man
the song just reared its ugly head
the guitar just devoured itself
the strings are now a hangman’s noose
the song bleeds gold dust into
the gaping maw

the song is over
suppose it thought it had more to say
but this vampire is probably health conscious
and needs to go the gym
or maybe it’s the vampire’s bathtub
and it wanted to go gardening or something

Mirror

mirror
i tire of your face
it is not me
it is an endless abyss
a vortex of assumptions
suddenly the weight of my beard
bears heavy on me – the hair is tentacles
coiling around me
every dust particle on my face is a disco light
man, I really need to take a shower

why am i dressed in the clothes of a prisoner?
why do i need another me into a world that
can barely handle me in the first place?

mirror
i tire of your face
it is not me
yet why do its grappling fingers
on my throat stink of the same flesh?
the reaper is behind me
i can see the shadow of the baton
of the social police

wait, that was just the selfie stick.