Tuesday, October 30, 2007

"the torture never stops" - frank zappa

Three new poems by Pratapaditya with a little help from his friend


The silence is oppressive-

An ominous presence.

The alarm clock in my head

Warns- time to ring…

The massive machinery

Lifts an enormous piston

And slowly kicks itself to life-







The ringing is comforting-

A primordial distraction,

Keeping me from finding


The Savage Associates:

As the clouds part momentarily,

A glimpse of the ancient woods

Where those great old men

Keep watch.

Majestic old men,

With long smooth gray beards,

Majestic noses,

Chins held humbly low.

Winded wizened skin, wrinkled

By their perpetual frown/s.


Creeping old age?

Or something you know

And I don’t, yet?

Are you a savage,

Like me, or

Have you evolved?

Are you trapped

In your coarse wizened skin

Or your igneous mind,

Like I am in mine?

Do you exist outside my mind,

And I, outside yours?

Or have we created each other

In our mutual error of association -

That spark of imagination called life?

Dusk in God’s Hand

Vehicles on a far away road,

Winding and whining, their sound

Filtered through

Swirling wisps of smoke/

My y)ears.

Another day,

Alive only for a day,

Changing seamlessly to night,

My temporary co-passenger

Who leaves before me.

It's God’s hand -

This beautiful landscape,

This imaginary fore-/background,

That exists in my head.

Piquant children,

Singing evening songs, their voices

seemingly (e)merging.

A distant bird,

Its name escapes me, a clutter

Of names, calling out simultaneously,

And it's difficult to say which one’s right.

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