A Dream

They were wandering, holding each other’s hand on the University campus.

 

They went to the parking to find a personal space, and like any young couple they were enjoying snuggling and cuddling.

 

He remembered he was gazing at her lips while she was telling him that she likes reading poetry, and is working on a Samuel Huntington’s poem (yes the man from clash of civilization), so he went to Chawri Bazaar to get some books for her. There he saw his father- a teacher who taught him about South Asia- and his dead uncle, talking to each other. Surprisingly they didn’t notice him.

 

Again they are together, wandering on that road that leads to the boy’s hostel from the University’s Post office. Many gossips echoed from somewhere in his mind about her multiple affairs and past lovers. He only remembers there were multiple voices and he didn’t pay much heed to them.

 

Suddenly, a contingent of soldiers appeared marching on the same road. One of the soldiers shot them with his gun. The bullets hit them but there were no wounds, or feeling of death. Instead of blood there was a profusion of perfume from their bodies and a mystical fragrance all around.

 

A woman with too much makeup appeared from behind that soldier’s contingent. She offered them dinner in exchange for the trouble they had been through. She said “it’s a Valentine’s Day party” and they must come. They realized their bodies still had the smell of the fragrance that had emanated from the hit of bullets.

 

She asked the woman, “What cake is going to be served at the party?”

 

The woman asked her if she had a suggestion, and she offered a most beautiful name- but suddenly the boy woke from his dream and that name drifted beyond the reach of his memory….

(Photo credit: Stella De Genova)12662553_962802470471530_225040070066017816_n

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Prayer

I am here again after a long time
My instinct brought me to you.
Give me a sign, when these demons will turn into angels?
I feel too tired and old now.
I wish for a day without pain:
When I will wake up with enthusiasm
and sleep satisfied.
I don’t want to be afraid of people’s questions,
their critical analysis on what is I am doing to my life.
I want to praise beautiful things
and be honest in whatever I write.
I want to be a courageous lover,
who loves passionately the woman he likes.
There are so many things I wish to do,
but I am stuck in this darkness
and unable to get out of it.
Why don’t you take care of me God?
Am I not your favorite child?

– 10th Sept 2015

Note- Lately, while going back home, the sound of Azaan moved me and I found myself inside the mosque reading namaaz. This is an edited version of dua part.

Ghetto of poor

yellow street light
not so bright
living human
smells like dead
filthy and narrow streets
I  walk
I live
I born
in poor ghetto

most of the shop
sell cheap
less commodity
medical store  sell
tablet  of relieving pain
a park with statue of
dalit  leader
with some lights
to highlight
his name

coming back from work
labour with tiffins
empty now

My eyes paining
because of over sleep
but their because of lack of it
and my mom hates me
as I’m not getting successful
because of it