ODE TO FORGOTTEN MELODIES

They have a way

of come-and-go,

without invitation

with no warning,

those tunes

made of place and encounter

and a long time ago;

but they go

and as they go

they trip and smirk

and rush to destinations

we are not supposed to know,

but I’ve heard that they hide

in this hide-and-seek

climb and slide world of

Ludo

and Snakes and Ladders

lurk in other people’s minds

or tiptoe around

the cacophony of the latest hits. 

So fickle,

these ditties of a long ago;

so unworthy to be theme-song

of a love gone waste

or a history squandered

and yet so adept

at trumping mortality. 

[from the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']

LEAVE A COMMENT

Mumia Abu Jamal*

Yo Mumia,

give us news:

type it all out

on your dread-lock type-writer heart

pin it on the memory of a radio show

fold it in a jailor’s guilt

sail it on the waves of complicity

tell me how long 30 years is like

my brother Political Prisoner,

unravel the meaning

of justice, decency and civilization

those easy alibis for invasion and massacre

the age old guns-in-booty-out of empire;

whistle your story if your fingers are tired of twiddling

in unison with the waiting-for-you

of friend and detractor;

write to us again

the love story of your democracy

your citizenship

and your freedom

that is envied so much

by so many.

*Mumia Abu Jamal, wrongfully convicted of murder, completed 30 years in prison on December 9, 2011.  His sentence was commuted to ‘life’ from execution by lethal injection on December 8, 2011.

LEAVE A COMMENT

STOLEN MOMENTS

Piece of land that jumped over

the Waste Lands Act

arrested by a mendicant from Europe

to piddle on his hasty little-mindedness;

piece of cloth

embroidered with valour-thread

and discontent

splashed with the orphan blood

of the vanquished,

handkerchief gathering melancholia

frayed edges of history

and history’s footnotes

time’s irrelevanced archive:

yes, it was in this soil

was it not,

was it not here

that the lost melodies

of stolen moments

were finally pieced together

and laid to rest

wrapped in that dust-made banner,

never to rest in peace,

ever?

[from the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']

LEAVE A COMMENT

KISSES

In an impossible city

on a street lined with rare emotions

on forgotten clotheslines and heart-sleeves

hang incandescent smiles,

I am told;

not for all eyes, no

but those that are lipped

and are themselves lost

in oblivion. 

[From the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']

LEAVE A COMMENT

PAVEMENT STONES

Some newly laid

so newly laid you want to step around them,

and some wearied of feet

chewing gum, spit

and conversation remnant;

pavement stones know stories

know kicked-in-the-gut

insult;

are made of morning, noon and night

witness to all prosecution

innocent to the end

of a rope and sword-swing.

Yes, pavement stones

are drops of poetry

waiting to be flung at the oppressor,

didn’t you know?

[From the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']

LEAVE A COMMENT

A NEW NOTE TO ABIDIN

(AFTER NAZIM HIKMET)

Come Abidin,

let us to the Pearl of the Indian Ocean

the tear of all tears

blood soaked and benign.

There, I have heard

lives a painter*

who turns apple into orange

draws it out of table, table-cloth and frame

to feed revolution;

who disguises scream as laughter

anguish as resolve

and tickles himself to death

so he can live forever.

*reference to Gamini Haththotuwegama.

[from the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']

LEAVE A COMMENT 

Some texts are made of leaves*

They are flipped with the fingers of the eye

unwet and wet

read with care by those conversant

with the language

of colour, texture and passing

and passed over too

for there are preferred texts

and ones tossed aside

for later and never;

but leaves

come from dust and to dust they go

without complaint

through gaze and ignoring;

they conspire with sun, shade and wind

wear the garments of the day’s seasonality

without shout, let us repeat

but whisper

the eternal verities: ‘birth, decay, death’

all laid out in leaf-texts

that need no words,

not even these.

*Inspired by the photography of Hiranya Malwatta and published in the 'Eye' section of 'The Nation', December 4, 2011.

LEAVE A COMMENT