(Un)Swerve

(un)swervestuff i wrote just after the BJP led NDA was voted out of government in the summer of 2004


Sunday silent not yet hot afternoon, the shining drug of near-affluence you want to think
Ripening, juices running down dripping fingers wrist forearm elbow,
Longitudinal curiosity laying bare new districts at every turn,
Banishing the nights of sloth, stirring daylight alive, riding February she comes
Stirrings in the warming deep waters, it is time, it is time,
The primal calling serpents maize jackdaws jasmine,
In the yard, the whiteness, a million turning fans, rock throwing powdered sun
Into air, somewhere someone plays or (likely) listens to stride.

Fathers cross and uncross (exceedingly) media mannered, legs and numbers,
Keep the heat away, proclaim selfless servitude, and then some
The river broadens and dries to a halt, no longer coursing through its veins
Fish seeking higher ground, things shall be stilled for some time, for some time to come,
Ferocious nights under moonlit skies, ferocious, the contrapuntal battle
Of the master and his discovery remains consigned to memory, wait,
The searing winds, like a curse seeking its victim, must first flood
Our unwillingness with longing and our indifference with thirst.

Sound of children in playful war, the mothers sit at the back of the lot,
Their whisperings like the sloshing of water tankers taking a tight turn,
One must strain, or know their lives well, to know if it is their lives
Or those of soap opera families that they slice up, taste and screw their faces at,
Behind the bushes, the horrors carried over into the future,
Under the gleaming serene clean green the corpselike cracked earth,
The clouds gather, wash our sins away, wash our sins away,
Wash our sins away, wash our sins away.

The people have spoken, it is time, it is time, the people have.
That done with, it is time for fete and fair and food and wine, come
Stuff your pockets, stuff your mouths, think winter, the people have.
But now it is time. The people can wait, we were away too long…
Like a cold dog, the earth turns, where did we go wrong, (just) where did we
Shed it all? Are we the people? Are we the right? Or left? Or middle, safe and warm?
Oh come, don’t fret, our superheros are at work, the kids all right, now it is time
To fat our calves, sun our backs, and to hell with if the world is mine.

1 comment:

  1. Atlast, I leave my foot print here...as the violins tug my emotions bare...the death of a jew on snow...stark images flash by laced with soul stirring music...In this world wrought with hate and selfishness...true love....lost and found...many a times slipping between my fingers like a kite that flew too high...but as i held on to the glasscoated twine...i bled...but im glad now the kite is flying high and that i fly with it too...loads and loads of love...tipu

    ReplyDelete

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