Poets

The nocturnal porcupine reclines here Like an alluring grey bouquet Wearing the syphilitic sores of centuries Pushing the calendar away

Approaching the Organised Harem of the Octopus We are approaching the organised harem of the octopus I am the seal bearing the image of the bull dated March '65 My properties are Mohenjodaro I am the one who drew the head on the lion pillar My ornamental daily weather Radiates from the feet From hand-to-hand I release my catacombs Go scatter curds milk butter in the courtyard Organised harems of the octopus are approaching us Frightening grotesque people eating Starvation underlined in decimals In the womb of 1970 Menstruating broad The capable hand in bed holds a partisan inferno Bhang in the intestines Those who are wearing gum-boots may raise their hands Organised harems of the octopus are approaching us After she conceives the female eats up the male 1234567890 are all numbers on the trees We have to absorb the slowness of a day in our own momentum Place a weathered face in the flesh market Pluck it out of the flesh market There is a four and a zero before us The zero can generate four scattering away in four dimensions If a zero is placed after four it becomes forty If a zero is placed under four it gets a strong foundation Four-zero accompany us when we say ‘Inquilaab Zindabaad!' We plant ‘the Banner of Blood' Those who were gloomy while frisking four and zero Remained forever the slaves of slaves After she conceives the female eats up the male Go scatter curds milk butter in the courtyard Organised harems of the octopus are approaching us.

The nocturnal porcupine reclines here Like an alluring grey bouquet Wearing the syphilitic sores of centuries Pushing the calendar away Forever lost in its own dreams Man's lost his speech His god's a shitting skeleton Will this void ever find a voice, become a voice? If you wish, keep an iron eye on it to watch If there's a tear in it, freeze it and save it too Just looking at its alluring form, one goes berserk The porcupine wakes up with a start Attacks you with its sharp aroused bristles Wounds you all over, through and through As the night gets ready for its bridegroom, wounds begin to blossom Unending oceans of flowers roll out Peacocks continually dance and mate This is hell This is a swirling vortex This is an ugly agony This is pain wearing a dancer's anklets Shed your skin, shed your skin from its very roots Skin yourself Let these poisoned everlasting wombs become disembodied. Let not this numbed ball of flesh sprout limbs Taste this Potassium cyanide! As you die at the infinitesimal fraction of a second, Write down the small ‘s' that's being forever lowered. Here queue up they who want to taste Poison's sweet or salt flavour Death gathers here, as do words, In just a minute, it will start pouring here. O Kamatipura, Tucking all seasons under your armpit You squat in the mud here I go beyond all the pleasures and pains of whoring and wait For your lotus to bloom. — A lotus in the mud.