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Saturday, 19 September 2020

A BILLBOARD IN ATHENS

As mesmerized
By the black screens today,
People go on
Engrossed in the things people do,
While a voice calls unto them -
Calls for the Truth.
It is a pity,
the wisest man in Athens
Has to beg for it,
Search rigorously for the interlocutors.

The enemy of the Truth
Is not falsehood
But the glamour of it.
The appearances:
To seem speaking the truth,
To appear to be revolutionary -
The same formula,
The same equation everywhere;
The truth should be quotable,
The quotation has to be beautiful.
The face should make a good wallpaper,
The martyr has to be adorable.

While this lustrous flaunt goes by,
Truth appears
Beneath the largest democracy
As Kashmir,
As the face of Socrates,
Ugly and warted.

Wednesday, 16 September 2020

CIRCUMVENT

You run your fingers
Through my hair,
Like fatal thought 
Combing a suicidal mind.
One day I kissed you frantically
Raising a tooth-memorial
Over a blushing, soggy landscape.
The inevitability of music
When the bow touches the string:
A frisson running through the body,
Your touch,
Rain and blizzard hitting together
The glass of my being.
My poem, hanging hopefully
By the eave of your bosom
Over the peg of your heart.

Have I not lost everything?
I am balding and
Missing major molars.
The body slipping into mountains
Spreading silently,
Firm as a tree -
Ever increasing girth.
I have lost everything.
Everything you ever touched.
Except this poetry!

Maybe, I lost you
The day you were found.
And these have all been the attempts
To regain you, recover you
Line by line
Word by word.

Friday, 28 August 2020

CHLADNI FIGURES

Everything is in motion.
The heavens, the mountains,
The atoms.
Everything.
Beating to its own rhythm.
The emptiness, the sadness,
The pain,
Inside you
Beating faster than your heart,
Echoing excruciatingly.

Outside, 
The world appears calm, so serene -
You smile, greet people,
Listen to them,
Display the chladni figures
Of your face,
Pass the beating as sound,
As music,
As art.

Wednesday, 26 August 2020

SLAPSTICK LIFE

School, University, Airport, Bank and Prison - 
A same beam runs through the ceiling . . .

One day you stand in a long queue
To deposit the university fee
In a bank
An airplane takes off  beyond your control
One day you work through life
The penal labour 
To pay the bank
Before you are admitted to the hospital
(This all happens easily
As easily as a School or a University
Is converted into a Hospital or a Prison 
During a pandemic).

You are the patient, the student,
The passenger, the defaulter, the criminal -
Helpless!
A dot entagngled within
The colossal rib cage of iron and emptiness.

Just look inside those eyes -
Those Buster Keaton eyes
Hiding the pain
Under the sheen of vaudeville stunts.

Saturday, 22 August 2020

KISS

I taste your lips 
On my tongue
Like dentist's tools
Long after the tooth has been
Extracted -
The throbbing
The wound
The blood
The steel

Saturday, 15 August 2020

INDEPENDENCE DAY

The waste should go
Into the dustbin
Lying across the street
Sitting within its own rancidity.

Add a barbed wire.
A brave army person.
A poet carrying trash:
A heated argument.

The army moves
With rifles and batons
About to hit the poet;

Everybody knows
Where the plot of such situation goes.

But, in that frozen hanging moment
The poet IS the trash.
One angry syllable 
And he will go dead down
Into the trashcan of a rotting nation.

Monday, 3 August 2020

THE PLACE BENEATH

Beneath the scatological architecture
There's no breathing
The windpipe shoved down the mouth
Is the rectal passage where
The shit of politicians and 
Piss of leaders is cunningly whisked
With the blood of martyrs 

Beneath this shitty metaphor
There's no smelling also
You can pass
The putrid smell as fragrance
Make the roses blush -
Kiss the windpipe clean
And call it all a holy structure

Beneath this beneath
People live
And survive 

Friday, 10 July 2020

HOME

Home is rooted deep
And one has to go 
Through immense parenthood
To reach the depth, the base.
At the same time,
The carpernter knows
How high to climb
To give this home 
The roof it needs.
In between all this - 
We laugh, fight, celebrate, sleep, die
We invite strangers, friends, workmen
We share jokes, teas and lineage.

Home does not plunge
From height into depth,
It does not leap from below,
It moves in every direction.

Home is always a border:
Somewhere between haven and haunting,
Between insider and outsider - 
A family yet to come. 

Thursday, 14 May 2020

The Dog's Way of Life

Alama Kamal ud Din Al-Damiri in his book Hayat ul Haiwaan elucidates numerous qualities of Dog. That Dogs are hardworking, loyal, protect the master and his house. That Dogs stand vigil most of the night and even if asleep are alerted by master's slight gesture. That Dogs have the potential of taking instructions etc etc. What interests me is one specific quality: that one of the qualities of Dog is that he can distinguish between a dead person and alive. Dimiri relates the practice to Romans that they never buried their dead unless and until Dog authenticated it.
In his lectures, The Courage of Truth, Foucault connects Greek Cynics with Dogs. For him the Cynic's way of life is a dog's life. Foucault insists also in Fearless Speech that the word Cynic has canine origins: kunikos meaning dog like. For Foucault Cynics and Dogs share many qualities: Dogs scandalize and do in public what people do in private, in the same way Cynics scandalize hypocrites. Dogs live in poverty and are exposed without protection, in the same way Cynics possess nothing and are always exposed to the scorn of society. Dogs bite and bark, in the same way Cynics bite and bark institutions and ill social practices.
These qualities give Cynics the courage to speak the truth - parrhesia.
Damiri narrates a hadith through Umrao bin Shuaib as recorded by Muhammad bin Khalf Marzabaan in his book in which Prophet (SAW) praised the Dog over a man who was disobedient and violated the sacred custody of his brother.
The Dog's way of life is the best way to be radical in the society. Spiritually if dog can distinguish between dead and alive, this quality is enough to tell you whether you are spiritually dead or alive. Baba Bulleh Shah beautifully sums it all up: 

rati jaage te shaikh sadawen par raat nu jagan kutte tain thi uthe
rati ponknu bus na karde fir ja raran vich sutte tain thi uthe
yaar da buha mool na chad'de pawen maro so so jutte tain thi uthe
bulleh shah uth yaar manale nai te baazi le gaye kutte tain thi uthe
They keep awake at night and they serve;
The Dog's are better than you!
They do not fail their duty of barking;
They they got and sleep on a rubbish-heap.
The dogs are better than you!
They do not leave the door of their master,
Even if they get a shoe-beating from him.
The dogs are better than you!
O Bullah, but some wares for your journey,
Or else the dogs will win the game.
The dogs are better than you!
Then it connects to the dog of Ashab e kahf and to The dogs of Faiz ... And the connections go on and on!
PS: Please keep the dog in you alive 😊

Saturday, 2 May 2020

FOR DADI

My grandmother spoke three languages
And in three languages
Could she pray for me

I have chosen this language
A language she couldn't understand
To express my love for her

In the end
It all comes down to this:
The enormity of love
The deformity of language
And the ultimate intimacy between the two