Random Acts Poem by O Sudhir Janardhanan

The only woman
he betrayed
with another woman
was the only one
who loved him always,
unconditionally.
Was that a crime?


Kissing hard,
sticking a finger up
underpants.
Seeking lips
ask to let go
holding on tight
hands in now wet underpants.

Showered, cleansed
she lay down to die.
Every night he killed her
with his oversight.
Locks dipped under
pray to set free bound souls.
Running tears
hide in stagnant pools?

Groping hands,
sketch face with caress,
wander to rest,
laze on unknown breast.
Deep urges roam,
to stuff and around moan.
Stay on now known breast.


The only man
he knew who died,
killed himself
with a note
in his mouth saying,
he did it for love.
It was then not a crime?