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My friend, he was my friend,
They burnt him, right there, alive,
His child, they burnt him too,
And joked, “Roasted lamb for dinner!”
His wife, I had eyed her once,
They raped her and I stood,
I stood on my side of the line,
The line, we had not created,
I hadn’t seen this line earlier,
Had it always existed between us?
Had I failed to see it until today?

My child, hung in my arm,
The line was keeping him safe,
My wife, peeping through the door,
Was thanking her God for the line,
I stood, watching the play,
Foul or fair, I had no complaints,
The line of smoke and smell,
Pungent but real, the line was there,
Drawn with blood, sneering at me,
Had it always existed between us?
Had I failed to see it until today?

My friend, a pious man,
Had prayed everyday until today,
Unanswered prayers of protection,
His fault, his God was wrong,
I had prayed not, any day,
I had feasted at his behest,
A hundred times at his table,
Filth fills my stomach as I wonder,
Staring at the line dancing with hunger,
Had it always existed between us?
Had I failed to see it until today?

Chants and hymns, growing louder,
Gnawing at my friend and his child,
A thirst rising in my throat,
A little longer I want to share,
With my new found friends and family,
The desire to be the slayer,
To rule from the other side of the line,
Line is bold and I am getting bolder,
I knew he didn’t belong and I let him,
It had always existed between us,
The line that I see and recognize today!

THE BURNING

Statuary warning: Cigarette smoking is injurious to health.

One puff and the answers to life’s toughest questions seem to get lost in the smoke. The questions lose their substance and all that confronts the eye and the mind is a vagueness that even blurs out the need to find answers.

Me, I see as the burning cigarette. Thousand nights I have burnt to hear the sound of my burning heart, I glow with the touch of your lips. Who is the goblet; whose lips are burning with desire; who satiates the quench? Questions that go hazy with the smoke that leaves thy lungs. My existence I see diminishing the more you desire and the more eager I get to serve you. I am your slave, dancing between your fingers to entertain; I am the purchased body that ignites your passion and burns in its heat. I cry my tears of gold. You, the alchemist, strangle me for crying away the gold, I am your lover till I live; I am the dead you trample under your feet once your thirst is over or once my strength to be your servant gives away.

the first visit

I was revisited today....

Somebody knocked on my door and set me free again,

A long gone fire flared inside of me and I glowed again,

Rusted thoughts came out lustrous with unbound desires,

To be heard again and to hear its own sound again,

But then came a shattering sound and a broken reverie,

The gold in my eyes melted to nothingness again,

I heard not music but screams of my own,

The flames had risen high to burn me down again,

Unlatched door had seen a tear glistened with rays,

I shut the door again to hide the tear once again.