Another Day with You

I have fallen for you, fallen completely, irrevocably.
I want to hold you close to my bosom for there is a
bubble there which cavitates every time you smile
and fall asleep while gently sweating under the sweltering madras moon,
while listening to your breath upon my lips,
while my nose presses against your cheeks,
while I look at your eyelids as they languorously shut and open
While we speak of nothing and everything, of your dreams, and of mine
of your mornings and evenings, and of your afternoon battles against chilly friends
of your gajja gajja and tan tan, while I karkara your chunchuru, or while we read a book together
and hope with the salty monsoon breeze that is our love,
for another day with you

When I refused to look away

An involuntary shiver convulsed my body

My body felt violated, my mind felt violated

I could still feel the fingers latching on to my skin

I could feel the pain pulsing down my back

where the lathis had broken skin crimson and blue

For I had dared to stand up, and hold my head up

For I had spoken words that the Emperor disdained

they were true, they were powerful, they were free

The soldiers ran their cold hands along my skin

I felt every touch in every pore, my hair stood on end

They gagged my mouth and shone searing light at me

They laughed at my thoughts, they were strange to them

They called me names that were reserved for the poorest

Names that were for the landless, the homeless, the outcastes

Names for ones who had lost their lives while still alive

Names for ones whose dignity had been solicited away

I look back into their narrowed eyes, I am hit and hit again

I look back into their furrowed brows with sweat dripping off
And I see just another human, anxious to please their master
I see just another human, bigoted and tribalistic, but a mother
or a father, or a friend or a lover, just another human

The Black Hole

Where is the bottom in this hole black?

Do we plumb its depth before we fill it with chaff?

Do we climb laboriously down while furiously fighting against gravity?

Do we pour our grief into it and flood away the stench with our tears?

I am kicking and scratching as I am led to its precipice, everyday

I hear the cries of the millions inside, some piteous, others angry

I see the young men above shove lead and strangle the angry ones

with muscles of aspiration and veins popping with patriotism

I see the older men above spit promises into the pit, a few throw down opiates

The pit lies like a blister within the airconditioned plastic garden

With plastic azaleas blooming upon wax branches and neon lights

that simulate the sun that lies occluded behind mushrooms of cloudy dust