I am an ordinary tree.
So plain, birds find me profane.
Simple leaves, neither large, nor small.
Ants, termites and spiders find me a bore.
...
My mind is full of horses, running blind.
Each one of them young, mad and wild.
All black stallions, elegant and galloping,
Each one of them a poet in the making.
...
Talk talk talk and more talk.
The be and all of our flock.
Our largest organ is the tounge,
We don't have brains as our hearts are numbed.
...
I am blessed with a uncle.
His name is Madhukar.
Born in the same hamlet
Where I breathed my first.
...
I still loose my poems.
I shiver to write them down.
When will you kiss me?
Such that I can tear my heart out?
...
The henna on your hands,
Or was your hand in henna?
It was growing and glowing.
Your hand, you or henna?
...
My mother was born ila.
What a lovely name.
Earthy.
From the soil.
...
I am black.
I did not choose to be crack.
Some ducklings are ugly.
Why are they so bugging and sucky?
...
When I left you alone
On that afternoon bus
What did you carry?
My eternal lust?
...