If I were you
I’d drive a bull-dozer
Or be an atom bomb
Better still.
Then I would make
colonnades fall
With one swish of my imaginary sword.
The world shall collapse too
With its old habits and rituals,
Aged concepts and biased notions.
The noise! The noise,
I want more of it;
The noise of an approaching end.
I hear the footsteps.
Everything…fall, break, die!
But not lives!
Not a stain of blood!
I’m a bloody massacre
But the blood is only mine.

And she knew she shall rise
Above the squalor
And the humdrum of a thing called life.
She shall walk past
Tedious rows of strange shops
Lining the busy road,
Constituted by her and the likes of her…
And never look back.
Not even to say 'goodbye’.
Dark reflections
On pools of stagnant water
Shall haunt her no more.
Like an old abandoned garment
Or a childhood bad habit,
These too shall fall
These too shall pass.
In solitude and darkness,
The hard buds under her skin
Below the shoulder blades
Are growing silently.
Soon, she knew, she would sprout wings.

Playthings

Gods are playthings
Of helpless women
And powerful men.
Pretty little dolls
Fed, dressed and put to sleep
And prodded awake
In the middle of the night
For money,fame and name.
Some chide, some fear
Some claim they love
And kill brothers with hands
Joined moments ago in prayer.
Gods here are
excuses to kill.
Dumb idols stare on
As red stains paint them black.

Five Minutes of Random Thoughts

This one time I have tagged myself because I simply couldn’t but submit to the temptation of prattling freely and without any responsibility whatsoever on my blog. Anyone who comes across this blog is free to consider herself/himself tagged.
So here follows my post on five minutes of random thoughts.

The first thing that strikes me is the incompleteness of the name of the tag as a signifier. Am I then supposed to compartmentalise and then take out a chunk of my thoughts (conceived and conjured in five whole minutes) from the continuum of my thoughts? The problem intensifies with the fact that I consider my thoughts to be fluid in nature…sometimes they are threads also…myriad threads exhibiting a plethora of colours, entangled and creating a complex web of their own in which many a times I myself get ensnared and suffocated. How does one break a fluid up? Now that makes me want to return to my fundamental physics lessons. Day after tomorrow I have an exam on British Romantic Women Poets…I am under prepared…nay, ‘not prepared at all’ is the right phrase to use. I wonder if my five minutes are over! I suppose not. Only yesterday I was reading a travelogue by D.H.Lawrence…and his staunch refusal to economise with words and the vivid descriptions resulting from overabundance of adjectives re-created before my eyes the breathtakingly beautiful church premises of San Tomasso. Strangely, after a while I found myself conjuring up my own phrases to describe the beauty of the few days and nights that I spent in Sikkim. Very soon I’ll be writing all about it. But how can words do justice to the sentiments those heavenly surroundings aroused in me? How can I even dare to venture to reproduce the image of a snow-capped peak deluged in moonlight or the sound of the hilly river that flowed below a suspension bridge or the thrill of trekking on a narrow jungle path ,narrow enough to make you walk sideways lest you fall into the deep dark gorge running parallel to it on its one side? I who am always full of bizarre and outlandish thoughts am drawing a blank now. I can’t think of anything more to write. It’s 2:32 in the morning and the mosquitoes are buzzing around my head singing some awful dirge! The mosquito repellants don’t seem to work anymore. Oh well! They are now immune to these coils and sprays and stuff and are perhaps gloating over the fact that it has taken about a million (they don’t keep a tab of course) malaria-struck and now a few (not so few really) thousand chikungunya-affected human beings to realize that the old-world charms are inefficacious. And finally before concluding my five minutes of random thoughts, well before anybody else can venture forth to ask me if I am pursuing an academic career in Biology, I’d like to politely and in an unwavering voice declare…No I love bio but I am in love with English literature and that’s what I am studying at present. After examining my thoughts on an open platter, I now rest ascertained that my pseudonym suits me fine and does me justice.

By
The only one who flunked BRWP

P.S- Please be kind enough to pardon the liberty I have taken with numbers and statistics.