Swamidhason Francis

An angel came out of a split atom as the trumpet sounded
A grand throne came down from Heaven for him to be mounted;
Air was sucked out of me; my senses lost contact with me
My eyes closed and like lightening, light was taken off me;
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Like roadside call girls bewitching wretched male humans,
The spring flowers beckoned me, creating in my heart demons
Of romance, which leaped like possessed belly dancers of Arabia.
My mind couldn’t halt my impulsive heart that raced as a horse of Arabia,
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A HEAD ON THE HIGHWAY

Two wheeled commuters with heads booted with helmets, dotted the highway;
The four wheeled rich hooted at pedestrians daring to cross their path,
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The work of the day was over
And the yearning to be home clutched her like a hang-over;
Her friend’s warning halted her a little but her yearning toppled it over
As the gloomy path across the silent park seemed a quick bridge-over;
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Climbing out of my Audi car I had to cross the downtown street
Acquiring the dirt and dust thrown off the autos of the street,
And stepped on the glazing floors of the restaurant with stars five;
But the impeccable flooring exposed the dirt of my shoes uneasily live.
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The pro designer thumbed up;
The digital camera was ready to capture;
And the TV anchor appeared in lively rapture
With rehearsed lines that mocked in poise rhymed poems written in prose.
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I met her in the Book-Fair, three days the fair lasted
And she was spotted on all days, browsing and buying my books
Eyeing me without talking; I could read her mind in her looks
As the tip of her lip touched my book cover image. The posted
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A human leg it is! With senses numbed the village stood around the dump;
It’s a curse! Righteous path we diverted, in shiver, the devotees driveled;
A dog might have dragged it, in what’s app, the android fingered techie drooled;
Consult the occultist, shouted the stout village chief and all became dumb.
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I’ve stopped teaching, the professor said and sat down, serious and silent
As the rows and rows of us wondered in what way we offended his person;
Time rolled fast as if to mock the slow roll of our eyeballs with its own version;
Then our patience vanished like seconds, swinging our mood and came alive in violent
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Looking silly with attires of cheap jeans and not even beans for our belly, like satires
Of creation, we move north, gazing at Europe and brazing the dazzling Sahara Sun;
The militias gave us Guns to fight and shells to shoot, killing our sons just for fun.
Their angst shriveled our future and we moved in droves with dreams like Martyrs
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O, ululating woman, listen, stop shedding tears like an April cloud a tad too often;
Remember the wise saying of Solomon; ‘this will pass away’ like ancient empires
And be happy, the sage counseled. But he was disdained as if he were one of the vampires.
And the wailing and crying continued for ages, despite her change in fashion too often;
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Chirping in glee like flapping birds the cherubs played on the deserted road,
Like a field to play the road lay vacant with its steep slope giving a rolling new
To their birdie ball game; nobody noticed the Road Roller parked in haste off their view.
And it started gliding down the slope to the waiting valley below with rocks broad,
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When birds wake up the sun with melodies, mom is up singing David’s psalms;
When workers troop out drooling, mom packs us to school with books and food;
When gates of schools close for the day, mom opens the door to our evening mood;
When sleep shuts our eyes with her nightly kiss, mom has chores still at her palms;
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Like dotted foreheads of women, our land was dotted with swallows;
They had rap dances on the farmers’ ploughs and bulls’ yokes in the field
With feathery steps to the toilers’ footsteps till the land was filled with yield.
The harvest saw them fluttering about in mirth, mating and birthing new fellows.
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“All are dead! ” shouted the old man tout and tall;
“Oh My God! ” they heard him murmur ere his fainted fall
On the steps of the station, in Balvano at the edge of Southern Italy;
Already defeated by Allies, Benito Mussolini’s fascists were booted-out
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Warriors and lovers are one; both are in hot pursuit
Of their targets; that’s why all is fair in war and in love.
Distance makes them fall in and nearness makes them love;
And sobering live-ins make their home just business suit.
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MY FATHER IS A VETERAN

My father was not a war veteran if you say life is not a battle;
But war was it he fought after being conferred kingship too early,
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The Blind Image

Once a beggar was sitting at the edge of the thoroughfare
And many put their soul’s guilt as coins in his bowl,
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The Peak is Really Lonely

When my mind I unlocked inside to go to places unknown
On the wings of poesy, when my quill hungered for more
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Ode to Ustad the Celebrity Tiger


Is it true Ustad, you’ve divided humans?
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