THE FRIENDS

THE FRIENDS

“Come, roam over my dolphin-cold body”,
I spoke to the Wave and her sisters, the Wavelets,
“Pour salt seas through the orifices of my pleasure;
Drain me.”
Then, laughing fish leapt out of my hot nostrils,
Ears and mouth, singing:
“We drown you and spit you out onto shore,
Flap awhile and be still, forevermore.”

“Come, caress my wild comet-haired body,”
I spoke to the Star and her sisters, the Black Holes:
“Penetrate with light the orifices of my pleasure,
Enflame me.”
Then, coal-scarred asteroids pummeled my chest,
Arms and thighs, singing:
“We set you adrift as pinpricks of fire in space,
Twinkle awhile and die with the night.”

“Come, pierce with sharp nicks my ripple-fed body,”
I spoke to the Wind and her sisters, the Breezes,
“Waft and warp the pores that bleed and weep,
Choke me.”
Then, butterfly-teeth tore into bits my soft sinews,
Stomach and loins, singing:
“We cast you afloat on the leylines of memories,
Remember and be tormented.”

“Come, tempt with fragrance my destitute body,”
I spoke to the Flower and her sisters, the Petals,
“Stab me, scrape away the skin that envelopes,
Wither me.”
Then, thorn-fingers put out my dark-lashed eyes,
Tongue and navel, singing:
“We steal from you all you are and ever will be,
We leave you forever empty.”

THE MEETING PLACE

the meeting place

so we meet again, under purple,
two shadows, not yet blackened.
inevitably, again reversal meets,
under purple, not yet black-end.

why do we meet? who are we? two
or many? multiply legion to soften
one another, insatiate eyes remain,
tolling, blanket of purple, a soft-end.

where did we meet? to what end?
end to end on end, head to feet,
toes to nose, navel to navel, even
the purple unfolds, uneven deaf-end.

and we are those that meet under
purple to sink into black, to shake
hands with eyes and eat bread in
secret, to flow satiate to dead-end.

ELF_ASURA

samia's original version of the poem animated

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8gZhyV1wWs

influenced by beckett.

They come,
Different and the same.
With each the insanity is different,
With each the shape of lust is the same.
Shameless.

Darkness over the face of the deep
Earth, shapeliness forming out of
Waste,
Void.
Nothing.

Empty.
With each the lack of love is palpable.
With each the relief they get after they fall or fail lifts and buoys them up.

Different and similar?
Different in the end
Though the same.
I remain or have ended up sane.
Behind the seemingly shapely-shapeless shamelessness of my lust.

They still come.
But.
Love is Elsewhere.
Yet.

my take on samia's poem

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJhDjQIp7Tc

OPEN, EYE

A bunch of pale-yellow, wrinkled Indian

Women wrapped in grey, cotton coverings

Chant-faded, wind-blown granny slokas

Worm-holing, eddying, meaning less and less;

Oyster-shell mouths, closing, opening

To drone a requiem for dull-clad Indian

Women dyed in yellow, orderly saris

pleating a culture of blind humming,

drumming up the ancient, spent, ashen,

sperm of routine, illusions and emptiness,

Voices drowning, bowed down Indian

Women lie down, thighs pried apart

by lusty, wheat-eyed industrial men

Carving up, fragmenting Sita’s purity,

burning, pock-marking, disemboweling

This bunch of cow-ish, cowed down Indian

Women bent down, beat low, eating dust,

Offering cold-spread buttocks to fascists;

Pink-soft vaginas speared by black lingams;

See now, watch how, the Third Eye opens.

krittika sharma's new poem -edited by a.v.koshy

Pink.

But how could she tell her mother
The room she saw a week ago
Had pink walls, pink toys,
A pink tape-recorder,
The volume peaked to drown her shock,
Give her a new notion of the colour?

Always think of pearl,
The beads that fell yesterday.

Always think of pretty flowers
Like the aging bougainvillea.
Always think of lace,
Grandmother's kerchiefs.

Always think of lip gloss,
My lips when you smile
And for summer days,
Think of candy floss.

samia's new poem

remind me
how i was
remind me
who i was

so self-assured


remind me
of my posture
remind me
of my voice
that mesmerised you


remind me
of the gentle words
that made you agree
to dance with me


remind me
of how i talked
of beauty
of music
of the lyrical
and of art


remind me
of myself
so ready
to embark

the journey
to discover further


remind me
how i needed you
even then

that's where my


downfall


did begin...


how i let myself slip
from my hands into yours


how i let my mind
waste
wither
rot
stupefy
slowly
kill me,
my serenity
calm water
birds in the sky
my joys

only one
that was left
you
and through you all


and i know
it's all my fault

and now i tread
the longer road
towards the road
i walked before
on my own
SAMIA SINGH

Des Profundis

past nightfall and midnight
i cast my hook, my BAIT
no phantom mouth comes to
eat my worm and die
i wait
LATE IS THE TIME
i sit, i'm lost,

sleep overtakes me and i keel over, mate
with its tentacles, foamy scaly blanks
in the depths of hell glows a were-light
each night, each sight
by weeds of indulgence
or forced abstinence it blights
waters plights
its troth with my words and fires
unwont-
i do not know where the path lies
i tire
till morn comes and i do wake and bathe
emerge finally at least not wan not pale
wake wretch each morn
the dawn does harbinger
some new thing good or ill for all the world
where nothing's certain there is hope of good
i understand why, now, He first made light.

another one by krittika and koshy

1. Sand - man2. Coal - hole3. Dust - viper4. Gurgle - gushes5. Granular - stone6. Echo - Floyd7. Cobble - Dick Whittington 8. Rare -entry9. Organic -structure10. Skin - trim11. Nature - human12. Water -piss13. Grain -paint14. Bare - breast
15. Nocturnal - bat16. Iridescent - light17. I -why?18. Greed -lust19. Asymmetry - power
Thank you so much!You're welcome
Krittika/Koshy

Aditi and.... alliteration

Alliteration – combined poem written by four people, namely Aditi, I , Allwyn and Solomon

artless airs
buried byres
catchy calls
darting deeps


uneasy understandings


eon eaters
yeah
yeah
now you're rolling
rolling
failed fixes
game goners

hushed hopes

invited insiders

gurgling gushes

jailed jams
keyed kellings
sorry keeled keenings
or keeled kennings

kissed keyholes

larders laid
yeah hehe
that's very poetic
married misunderstandings

haha

natty newts

mysterious muse

operatic o.p.d.s
yeah
I'm going through the entire alphabet
paid purses

optimistic opium


wow
cool
queer quims
lol
raided radios

queer qualms


hehe
screwed sails


racy requests

trading troubadours
underpants underfurnished
no
undefined undergrowth


lol

unsaid understanding

that's deep
but common
i want frivolous, frivolous is fun
not common but more like cliché
true
frivolous fun

frivolous fallacies

veering verisign
yeah
veritable vacuum

warped whims
that's better than verisign though verisign is weird hence interesting
warped whims is good

aditi lost the internet connection :(
xylophone xenophobia (allwyn)
yolk years
zen zenith (solomon)
full stop

Aashim - coming of age and comeuppance

You and me

A beginning
fast,
and unknown.

My eyes
shaded
I loathe
this
magical tree.

This spectacle
in
arid skies.

I lost
You.
I lost
You and me.

Hovering,
this craft
waits;
for glimpses
of hope.

Time perfects
this wander
Around you.
With you.
You drift,
I wallow.
Eyes prying.
you hide
while
i fly.
But still
I miss.
You and me.

just Us.

Fumbling and faltering
I reach
for that shade
I first fell under.

time to remember tagore's gitanjali

Where The Mind is Without Fear

WHERE the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Rabindranath Tagore

mumbai

thinking about my homeland that i still love, india , mumbai
Share
Today at 2:44am Edit Note Delete
Every revelation is a revolution
no time to lose , no time to be personal[ edit delete ]posted 11/27/08
when significant things happen one has to set aside one's owm pettiness
history has escalated into moments that change things
the world was changed by 9/11
india has been changed by gandhi's death, the babri masjid demolition and now this mumbai attack
india is either going to be destabilised and broken up or it will go the hidutva way now unless we can raise enough voices to counter the change - sane voices that speak sense and hope for the future
i am proud to be an indian though i am no longer in india
i grieve for today's dead and for the injured and their loved ones
they are my brothers and sisters
i am proud to assert again that there are many in india in all its religions who are not fanatic or fundamentalist or violent and with these i take my stand
with the many here who honourjesus, buddha, gandhi, martin luther king jr and the other pacifists who made a difference to the world
i do not see any other way forward
violence is no answer except for self defence
justice is the answer, not death sentences
we will fight
we won't give up our hopes and love for our land,
every inch of which we treasure
may a new dawn break over the india i dreamed of as the india of the future
may tagore's poem still come true
long live india
victory to india

Shyamli - Prudence/nice cadence

Dear little Prudence,
run far and widefrom the entangling vines.
My arms,
They call to you in temptation.
Reaching towards and snapping at your
Dancing feet.

Dance your way out,
Oh prudence from the south,
Swing away from the beguiling smiles of men who pat beside them, the ivory sheets.
Beckoning for you to sit beside them, although these sixteen years of yours in this moralistic world would've,
Probably, taught you otherwise.

Oh dear prudent one,
How times have changed you, and carved into your frail translucent palms,
The name of the one who holds your heart, tight
The same callous hands that tug at your veins.
Mere strings tied to your limp, tired arms.

Ah, prudence,
With your lovely ballerina slippers,
Mace and satin - twirling and nodding,
Gracefully, smile heartlessly and unfeelingly still, in the cold while spotlight.
Twirl - nod – smile,at the empty rows of seats.
This echoing colleseum of unwatching eyes.
Unpresent.

At present, prudence, you are alone.
Possibly the only one, in this wayward town who still believes,
In everything you're told is right and
Even the rigidity of those rights and wrongs.

So sway to the words of a jilted Madonna.
Dance little lady dance.
Sway, sway away from all dem bad things.
Sway, sway away from all dem bad things

Arpita - 2

A legend passed me by
A stolid color
It seemed strangly appeasing and quick to pass
I seemed to leave the found
Sooner than I had picked it up
Let it be
The younger
Still waiting
For the two of us
I turned the corner
And emerged
the white countenance from the greyness around
the younger sat
behind his vocal set of two
and warmed me
With his accepting being
he questioned my calling
and showed me
two foreign lands mix
with my heritage
the objectivity broke
and clear reasons abridged
he cares for his art
and for survival
a condition of balance
with clear perspectives
the reason remains unanswered
it's still unfinished
with the first nail out
and the whole coffin to go.

Arpita Rawat - new poem, in progress

I met with time late that morning
Couldn’t tell my day’s running
And when I did step out
That’s when the wind turned
Murmuring the calling
With a feather in its cap

The crossroads is where it stood at
Unfailing and rich
The compromise was on its landing
Its space
Its sanctity
Its religion
I felt the sweep again
Further I went to the force
It paved itself for me
With waste from a gypsy land
With stolen smells from the past
With a touch of interspersed life
With style
And so I stood before it
Feeling the gnaw I knew not of
Feeling, and yet not knowing

Uncertainty strengthened my steps
While keeping in sync
With the rhythm alongside of me
She breathed her calmness
Relieving me of trepidation
And giving me focus
(To cross over and not to fall)
To my calling
To our calling
It had arrived
I felt no thunder
No revelation
There it stood
In the clothes of the ordinary
No light no thunder
It wasn’t a revelation
My calling seemed…
Ordinary?
Mundane
And
Unworthy
Of the day long siege
For the glory I hoped to find
I sought my lens
And saw through it
So opened the demon-like mouth
With blood stains and the darkness of a forest
But
Then came the words
The melodiousness of which
I describe with tapping fingers
With harmony in them
With innocent pride
In the words of a shishya
An artist
A performer
A dancer
He sang high to the tunes
Of what was
Of his asset that is movement
Of his deep lineage

Happy with the nonconformity
Of thoughts and flexibility
Of ideas
I redirected myself to
The younger, with deeper faith and knowledge

The path seemed smaller
Yet the magnitude of the realm
Increased beyond the highest.

mandira sharma edited - i don't get it but it's a good poem - maybe about mother or place or city or nation or lover?

When the days are about her
'She' is in all her form,
When the rose is her
And so is the thorn.

I lie there under her Blue,
I am surrounded with freedom,
Now true, I am now grounded,
I know my elements,
I don't belong to the fragile supplements,
I am part of her, I was 'Born'.

With her it's easy,
To think of the 'Infinite',
Rhyme becomes breezy,
Close my eyes, I just might.

But it's never a complete darkness with the sun,
And it's never a complete daylight when it's all done.

I toss between 'Life' and 'Me',
They are not the same, I am sure,
'She' can be with me and I with she,
But life knows how to lure.
It drags me to the edge
And then releases !
But she is the pitching wedge,
A lofting stroke, yes, please.
The game begins again and I run,
Wire, maze, player, all that's done.
But will I return, oh yes, I will !
Will I return, oh yes, I have to !
Game of ladder and bill,
Somethings I can never do.

Clock strikes mid-night,
They run inside the caves,
For it's the time of monsters, silly plight,
For if you open your eyes in the days,
Their silhouettes are visible in broad light.
The night is scarred for ever,
But it belongs to her,
And she is so soft, oh yes, sir !
Then why all that terror ?
The match sticks strike,
There is light,
Darkness and her now alike,
There is still freedom if I might.
Rhyme has a different meaning now,
Life is not the 'Belligerent',
Me not 'Neutral', that I vow,
For now I am as indifferent
To her, as life to 'me' and 'how'.

Prerna

is working on a film on Indian gypsies.Interesting.

Samia's new blog

samiasingh.wordpress.com