“Thank you for saving my life, miss.”
The hundredth hug. The hundredth smile.
I can hold my back straight for hours
and not feel tired. Atlas would be put to shame!
Holding onto a smile, now that,
takes more than superpowers.
As the human girl is gurnied away, her smile
floats up, up and away to light the clouds,
show night its way. I follow.
When I was younger, the thrill of flight
was almost addictive. I couldn’t stay put on earth.
Up here, in the stratosphere, I remain awhile.
Not as silent as space, but it will suffice.
The arc of a life held together by one crisis,
then another, gets to one after a while.
Not one notch remains on me to mark
what passed below. It has always been so.
How nice Manhattan seems from this angle!
Pinks and grays have smudged away the recent melee.
But, duty cannot wait.
To the watchtower next, patrolling the stars,
pacing the tower’s steely halls,
eyes glued to the fractal dance of the
LED-panel, each flare a call for help,
which I promptly dispatch.
“Ever here, ever vigilant,” has become my motto.
“She was always there when needed,
star-spangled tights and all. What a woman!”
The papers drool over my latest “heroic encounter.”
Great Hera!...A person couldn’t care less
about the semantic niceties of
Immortal and Indestructible,
when only an empty house marks
the end to every day.
So, instead, at shift-end I head
to Christmas Isle to catch the sun’s first ray.
Red claws scuttle over shell hash on a beach
where men may have played at being fauna.
But, no witch’s spell here for me
to compel a scratch from a shell-shard
to ripen, bloom and not wither
to a rusty shield.
The wound always closes
by the time I finish making it.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Sunday, October 7, 2007
The Story of Milk
Late again for prayers today.
The cause for delay?
We’ll get to it by and by.
In the west, night and day
are lost in a purple sky.
Were it not for the stink,
I’d think it was my milky eye
Playing a trick.
China burnt a pot again last night.
(Is it so hard to boil milk?)
That bride of yours can’t do anything right
since you went away.
As if a new pot can be plucked from the trees!
(And, what a name she’s
got! In my day, girls could cook
and were named from the Holy Book,
not after countries.)
Yes, I’ve told her many a time how one boils milk.
But all I get is an arched brow!
(No one ever bothered to tell me how.)
I stand at the stove and stir.
She sits in the corner and twists her hair.
(What violated Draupadi is she
letting her hair run so free?
Can a wife of two days dare
fret more than a Mother?)
I stir and stir.
My feet have scarred the kitchen floor
as the heat has scarred my hands.
My once milk-smooth hands
never lifted a ladle until I walked through the door
of this house, followed by a menagerie.
(Did she even bring a transistor
radio as dowry? Not her.)
I headed for the kitchen.
(Oh, how bright my eyes were then!)
But enough of this reverie.
Look! I almost burnt the milk!
. . .
Frogs have begun to sing in
the pale light that sits in her corner.
I only sent her to fetch water.
I wait and wait.
She is late
again. First, the muezzin
and now her.
She’s never been this late.
Neither has he, for that matter.
Is this how wars begin?
I better go look for her.
The cause for delay?
We’ll get to it by and by.
In the west, night and day
are lost in a purple sky.
Were it not for the stink,
I’d think it was my milky eye
Playing a trick.
China burnt a pot again last night.
(Is it so hard to boil milk?)
That bride of yours can’t do anything right
since you went away.
As if a new pot can be plucked from the trees!
(And, what a name she’s
got! In my day, girls could cook
and were named from the Holy Book,
not after countries.)
Yes, I’ve told her many a time how one boils milk.
But all I get is an arched brow!
(No one ever bothered to tell me how.)
I stand at the stove and stir.
She sits in the corner and twists her hair.
(What violated Draupadi is she
letting her hair run so free?
Can a wife of two days dare
fret more than a Mother?)
I stir and stir.
My feet have scarred the kitchen floor
as the heat has scarred my hands.
My once milk-smooth hands
never lifted a ladle until I walked through the door
of this house, followed by a menagerie.
(Did she even bring a transistor
radio as dowry? Not her.)
I headed for the kitchen.
(Oh, how bright my eyes were then!)
But enough of this reverie.
Look! I almost burnt the milk!
. . .
Frogs have begun to sing in
the pale light that sits in her corner.
I only sent her to fetch water.
I wait and wait.
She is late
again. First, the muezzin
and now her.
She’s never been this late.
Neither has he, for that matter.
Is this how wars begin?
I better go look for her.
A Conversation Overheard At The Partner’s Water Cooler
Anna can’t draft a motion.
Is she trying to get fired!
Taking lunches without sanction,
why the frack Jim, was she hired?
I need worker bees, yes, slaving
on my matters all the time.
No rest, no sleep, and yes, starving!
Bill the clients and work each dime!
Can you believe, what she was
doing last night right in front
of my eyes? She didn’t even pause
when she saw me. Arrogant
frack! Her nose was in a paper,
full of news, not legal news,
just news, about Iraq. Terror,
war are very bad excuse
for not doing her work. Partial
though I am to anti-war views,
protests suit those who are able
to have all the time to lose.
Leaving early is a habit
I cannot let fester deep
in her. I’m her mentor dammit!
She has gotta learn to sleep
less! Do you think I made partner
Tucking my kids in at night,
Every night? If she wants dinner,
first, she needs to fix this cite.
This brief can’t wait for Princess,
Harvard Law’s Best. We shall see
about that! In Law’s grave biz’ness
nobody can take breaks. Agree?
Shush! Here she comes up the hallway,
Gleaming hair, new suit, but soon
we’ll put her in her place some day.
Now, it’s still the honeymoon.
I was like her when I started.
Leaving here was always on
my mind. I was not so jaded.
I wrote poems! Seems very long
Ago. I was into cooking,
tennis, how I miss those days!
Anyway, she seems to be looking
around, always in a daze.
Hi there, Anna my dear, looking
for me? I was working all
morning. Memos needed proofing.
Now, let us prep for this call.
Is she trying to get fired!
Taking lunches without sanction,
why the frack Jim, was she hired?
I need worker bees, yes, slaving
on my matters all the time.
No rest, no sleep, and yes, starving!
Bill the clients and work each dime!
Can you believe, what she was
doing last night right in front
of my eyes? She didn’t even pause
when she saw me. Arrogant
frack! Her nose was in a paper,
full of news, not legal news,
just news, about Iraq. Terror,
war are very bad excuse
for not doing her work. Partial
though I am to anti-war views,
protests suit those who are able
to have all the time to lose.
Leaving early is a habit
I cannot let fester deep
in her. I’m her mentor dammit!
She has gotta learn to sleep
less! Do you think I made partner
Tucking my kids in at night,
Every night? If she wants dinner,
first, she needs to fix this cite.
This brief can’t wait for Princess,
Harvard Law’s Best. We shall see
about that! In Law’s grave biz’ness
nobody can take breaks. Agree?
Shush! Here she comes up the hallway,
Gleaming hair, new suit, but soon
we’ll put her in her place some day.
Now, it’s still the honeymoon.
I was like her when I started.
Leaving here was always on
my mind. I was not so jaded.
I wrote poems! Seems very long
Ago. I was into cooking,
tennis, how I miss those days!
Anyway, she seems to be looking
around, always in a daze.
Hi there, Anna my dear, looking
for me? I was working all
morning. Memos needed proofing.
Now, let us prep for this call.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
A Halloween Friendship: The New Adventures of Bol and Bel on the Ship of Monkeys
Bol and Bel are urban (and sometimes, urbane) creatures who live on a planet called SOM (short for the "Ship of Monkeys") populated by four distinct species -- Monkeys, Doggies, AEs (short for the "Arch Enemies") and Rwaonds (short for the "rest who are of non-doggie species). Bol is a beautiful, headstrong, worldly, unpredictable (of the "Captain Jack Sparrow" ilk, for "Pirates" fans), somewhat irresponsible, adult Doggie. Bel is a somewhat cloyingly sweet, overly curious, naive, gangly teen Doggie, who appears attractive in a certain light. Bel and Bol were both lovingly adopted and live with Ma Monkey and Pa Monkey who bestow all kinds of affection on Bel and Bol and as such, are sadly, the unwitting slaves of these two Doggies. These are their conversations....
Evening pink has just started to crowd out the shades of blue in a deepening sky over SOM at the end of another gorgeous day. Pa Monkey is on his daily evening walk with Bel and Bol in tow. While Pa Monkey stops to discuss something important (no doubt) with a Neighbor Monkey, Bel and Bol are left to their own devices, albeit securely tethered to Pa Monkey on a long leash. Bol’s keen eyes spot an AE sprawled on the steps of one of the nearby houses on the tree-lined street. The AE spots Bol; their eyes lock. But, surprisingly, the AE does not budge from the reclining position favored by Greco-Roman Epicureans. Bol, unable to believe his eyes (and his luck), ambles over and Bel dutifully trots along with him.
Bol: (makes a snapping motion right at the AEs face)
The AE: (yawning and scratching it’s tummy says brightly) Hi there!
Bol: How dare you address me? More importantly, why haven’t you run up a tree yet? You all are good at that particular escape route.
The AE: (stretching into and out of various yogic postures) Why should I run? This is my house. And, I must say, you’re not very nice. (spotting Bel) Hi there! Aren’t you a cutie!
Bel: (shyly, and completely forgetting the Bol-imposed rule of not talking to AEs) Hi, what’s your name?
The AE: (much less shyly, in fact, not shyly at all) Pumpkin!
Bol: (unable to contain himself and thus, losing all sense of composure starts sniffing Pumpkin’s tummy) Sniff, sniff!
Pumpkin: (coyly) Hey, aren’t you the forward one!
Bol: (surprised at how good Pumpkin smelled unbeknownst to himself starts wagging his tail) Aren’t you at all afraid of me?
Pumpkin: Why should I be afraid? You two look perfectly harmless and rather cute at that!
Bel: (uncharacteristically speechless and feeling a twinge of jealously at Bol’s fascination with Pumpkin)
Bel: (cautiously nipping Pumpkin’s left ear and surprised at the affection he feels wellingg up inside for an AE) You’re not at all what I imagined AEs would be like.
Pumpkin: Is that so? But, how would you know if you’ve never stopped to talk to one and all you’ve ever done is chase them? (a trifle sharply) Now answer me that, genius!
This happy bucolic scene is brought to an abrupt end as Ma Monkey tears down the street toward them.
Ma Monkey: Pa, watch out! Bol’s going to make short work of that cat!
Pa Monkey immediately jerks Bol’s and Bel’s leashes and takes them to a safe distance away from Pumpkin.
Ma Monkey: Poor kitty! Did bad Bol scare you?
Bol: (sputtering his indignant protest) But, But…
Pumpkin: (purring and generally trying her best to look cute) Purrrrr…
Ma Monkey: Bad Bol! Pa, you better continue on your walk.
Pa Monkey walks off with an understanding smile and a wink at Bel and Bol. Bol gives the unjust world and its tyrant, Ma Monkey, a sulky look. Bel is happy to have Bol back all to herself again, which accounts for the spring in her gait. Pumkin sidles off into a nearby bush. Ma Monkey walks back home shaking her head at Bol’s audacity and general naughtiness.
THE END
Evening pink has just started to crowd out the shades of blue in a deepening sky over SOM at the end of another gorgeous day. Pa Monkey is on his daily evening walk with Bel and Bol in tow. While Pa Monkey stops to discuss something important (no doubt) with a Neighbor Monkey, Bel and Bol are left to their own devices, albeit securely tethered to Pa Monkey on a long leash. Bol’s keen eyes spot an AE sprawled on the steps of one of the nearby houses on the tree-lined street. The AE spots Bol; their eyes lock. But, surprisingly, the AE does not budge from the reclining position favored by Greco-Roman Epicureans. Bol, unable to believe his eyes (and his luck), ambles over and Bel dutifully trots along with him.
Bol: (makes a snapping motion right at the AEs face)
The AE: (yawning and scratching it’s tummy says brightly) Hi there!
Bol: How dare you address me? More importantly, why haven’t you run up a tree yet? You all are good at that particular escape route.
The AE: (stretching into and out of various yogic postures) Why should I run? This is my house. And, I must say, you’re not very nice. (spotting Bel) Hi there! Aren’t you a cutie!
Bel: (shyly, and completely forgetting the Bol-imposed rule of not talking to AEs) Hi, what’s your name?
The AE: (much less shyly, in fact, not shyly at all) Pumpkin!
Bol: (unable to contain himself and thus, losing all sense of composure starts sniffing Pumpkin’s tummy) Sniff, sniff!
Pumpkin: (coyly) Hey, aren’t you the forward one!
Bol: (surprised at how good Pumpkin smelled unbeknownst to himself starts wagging his tail) Aren’t you at all afraid of me?
Pumpkin: Why should I be afraid? You two look perfectly harmless and rather cute at that!
Bel: (uncharacteristically speechless and feeling a twinge of jealously at Bol’s fascination with Pumpkin)
Bel: (cautiously nipping Pumpkin’s left ear and surprised at the affection he feels wellingg up inside for an AE) You’re not at all what I imagined AEs would be like.
Pumpkin: Is that so? But, how would you know if you’ve never stopped to talk to one and all you’ve ever done is chase them? (a trifle sharply) Now answer me that, genius!
This happy bucolic scene is brought to an abrupt end as Ma Monkey tears down the street toward them.
Ma Monkey: Pa, watch out! Bol’s going to make short work of that cat!
Pa Monkey immediately jerks Bol’s and Bel’s leashes and takes them to a safe distance away from Pumpkin.
Ma Monkey: Poor kitty! Did bad Bol scare you?
Bol: (sputtering his indignant protest) But, But…
Pumpkin: (purring and generally trying her best to look cute) Purrrrr…
Ma Monkey: Bad Bol! Pa, you better continue on your walk.
Pa Monkey walks off with an understanding smile and a wink at Bel and Bol. Bol gives the unjust world and its tyrant, Ma Monkey, a sulky look. Bel is happy to have Bol back all to herself again, which accounts for the spring in her gait. Pumkin sidles off into a nearby bush. Ma Monkey walks back home shaking her head at Bol’s audacity and general naughtiness.
THE END
An Unschooled Imagination: The New Adventures of Bol and Bel on the Ship of Monkeys
Bol and Bel are urban (and sometimes, urbane) creatures who live on a planet called SOM (short for the "Ship of Monkeys") populated by four distinct species -- Monkeys, Doggies, AEs (short for the "Arch Enemies") and Rwaonds (short for the "rest who are of non-doggie species). Bol is a beautiful, headstrong, worldly, unpredictable (of the "Captain Jack Sparrow" ilk, for "Pirates" fans), somewhat irresponsible, adult Doggie. Bel is a somewhat cloyingly sweet, overly curious, naive, gangly teen Doggie, who appears attractive in a certain light. Bel and Bol were both lovingly adopted and live with Ma Monkey and Pa Monkey who bestow all kinds of affection on Bel and Bol and as such, are sadly, the unwitting slaves of these two Doggies. These are their conversations....
It was another apple-crisp fall day in SOM. Cloud ballerinas pirouetted and frolicked in an azure sky. The sun’s warmth rounded out the edges of a cool breeze. The world felt new and full of promises for our two young protagonists. Bel and Bol were exploring the tiny garden at the back of the house, as was their wont on lazy, weekend afternoons. The garden was lovingly, if somewhat carelessly, tended by Ma Monkey (who invariably remembered to water the plants while in the midst of other, more important tasks). The garden’s flowers, herbs, fruits and vegetables attracted a number of Lepidoptera, which were a source of endless fascination for Bel. Bol, a consummate, cynic plagued by ennui, couldn’t be less interested…
Bel: (skipping merrily) Bol! Look!
Bol: (yawns lazily)
Bel: (leaping over some potted mint) Whee! Look at me! I’m flying!
Bol: (mutters under his breath) Yeah, right. (Loudly) Why my little Bel is quite the Icarus! Bravo!
Bel: (stops short and then, haltingly) Who’s Ica… Ikeh…rus?
Bol: (afraid of opening a can of worms, starts furiously concentrating on a live worm instead) Never you mind.
Bel: (cheerily) Okey-dokey! (returns to her flying acrobatic antics)
Bol: (in the meantime, flops down in a sunny spot for a snooze)
Bel: (stops jumping and starts sniffing one of the flower beds intently) Bol, do you smell something?
Bol: (opening an eye) Well, your pee-smell in that corner is rather overpowering, ne c’est pas? Other smells don’t stand a chance! (Satisfied with this latest barb at Bel’s puerile habit of peeing in the garden, Bol goes back to daydreaming of catching AEs.)
Bel: (to herself) Fine, I won’t share what I find with you then. So, there! The smell is somewhat like the yellowish, paper-wrapped food that Ma and Pa Monkey get from the big food place. I love that stuff! Or, I “think” I would love it just from the delicious smell that wafts from the paper cover… I’ve never actually eaten the yellowish, waxy-looking brick inside… I don’t even know what it’s called! I bet Bol would know, but I’m not going to tell him. This smell and what lies at the end of this scent trail will be my very own secret. (Roots around in the dirt and viola, finds a piece of cheese and promptly eats it!)
Bol: (sensing food-related activity perks up) Bel, what are you munching on?
Bel: (in muffled tones, due a full mouth) Nuff-ing.
Bol: (in a threatening tone) ‘Fess up, Bel!
Bel: Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. You know that yellowish brick thing that Ma Monkey loves to eat?
Bol: What? You mean – cheese?
Bel: (as usual, losing her train of thought) So that’s what it’s called. I always wondered, you know!
Bol: (growls impatiently) Grrrowl!
Bel; (taking her cue) Right, where was I? Cheese (saying the unfamiliar word carefully). Yes, there is a Cheese Tree in this garden and since I discovered it, its mine.
Bol: (managing a sound between a laugh and a cough) Hrrumph! Really now?
Bel: (courage getting fainter by the nanosecond) I guess it wouldn’t hurt to share with you and of course, with (her true love) Ma Monkey and (her other true love) Pa Monkey.
Bol: (amused at Bel’s phantasmagoria of a cheese tree, but for once taking pity at Bel’s vivid, unschooled imagination) Whatever you say, Bel. What-ever you say.
Bel goes back to rooting around at the base of the plant she has renamed The Cheese Tree. Finding nothing after a few minutes of a thorough search and sniff, she bounds off inside the house to deliver telepathic hints to Ma Monkey in order to make her water the plants so that more cheese could be enjoyed by all!
Bol, still in the garden, goes back to a semi-doze state, mesmerized by the beauty of a floating mite in a shimmery tube of light.
THE END
It was another apple-crisp fall day in SOM. Cloud ballerinas pirouetted and frolicked in an azure sky. The sun’s warmth rounded out the edges of a cool breeze. The world felt new and full of promises for our two young protagonists. Bel and Bol were exploring the tiny garden at the back of the house, as was their wont on lazy, weekend afternoons. The garden was lovingly, if somewhat carelessly, tended by Ma Monkey (who invariably remembered to water the plants while in the midst of other, more important tasks). The garden’s flowers, herbs, fruits and vegetables attracted a number of Lepidoptera, which were a source of endless fascination for Bel. Bol, a consummate, cynic plagued by ennui, couldn’t be less interested…
Bel: (skipping merrily) Bol! Look!
Bol: (yawns lazily)
Bel: (leaping over some potted mint) Whee! Look at me! I’m flying!
Bol: (mutters under his breath) Yeah, right. (Loudly) Why my little Bel is quite the Icarus! Bravo!
Bel: (stops short and then, haltingly) Who’s Ica… Ikeh…rus?
Bol: (afraid of opening a can of worms, starts furiously concentrating on a live worm instead) Never you mind.
Bel: (cheerily) Okey-dokey! (returns to her flying acrobatic antics)
Bol: (in the meantime, flops down in a sunny spot for a snooze)
Bel: (stops jumping and starts sniffing one of the flower beds intently) Bol, do you smell something?
Bol: (opening an eye) Well, your pee-smell in that corner is rather overpowering, ne c’est pas? Other smells don’t stand a chance! (Satisfied with this latest barb at Bel’s puerile habit of peeing in the garden, Bol goes back to daydreaming of catching AEs.)
Bel: (to herself) Fine, I won’t share what I find with you then. So, there! The smell is somewhat like the yellowish, paper-wrapped food that Ma and Pa Monkey get from the big food place. I love that stuff! Or, I “think” I would love it just from the delicious smell that wafts from the paper cover… I’ve never actually eaten the yellowish, waxy-looking brick inside… I don’t even know what it’s called! I bet Bol would know, but I’m not going to tell him. This smell and what lies at the end of this scent trail will be my very own secret. (Roots around in the dirt and viola, finds a piece of cheese and promptly eats it!)
Bol: (sensing food-related activity perks up) Bel, what are you munching on?
Bel: (in muffled tones, due a full mouth) Nuff-ing.
Bol: (in a threatening tone) ‘Fess up, Bel!
Bel: Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. You know that yellowish brick thing that Ma Monkey loves to eat?
Bol: What? You mean – cheese?
Bel: (as usual, losing her train of thought) So that’s what it’s called. I always wondered, you know!
Bol: (growls impatiently) Grrrowl!
Bel; (taking her cue) Right, where was I? Cheese (saying the unfamiliar word carefully). Yes, there is a Cheese Tree in this garden and since I discovered it, its mine.
Bol: (managing a sound between a laugh and a cough) Hrrumph! Really now?
Bel: (courage getting fainter by the nanosecond) I guess it wouldn’t hurt to share with you and of course, with (her true love) Ma Monkey and (her other true love) Pa Monkey.
Bol: (amused at Bel’s phantasmagoria of a cheese tree, but for once taking pity at Bel’s vivid, unschooled imagination) Whatever you say, Bel. What-ever you say.
Bel goes back to rooting around at the base of the plant she has renamed The Cheese Tree. Finding nothing after a few minutes of a thorough search and sniff, she bounds off inside the house to deliver telepathic hints to Ma Monkey in order to make her water the plants so that more cheese could be enjoyed by all!
Bol, still in the garden, goes back to a semi-doze state, mesmerized by the beauty of a floating mite in a shimmery tube of light.
THE END
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Because I Stopped For Death
Today I spied
an old woman walking on the street.
It took me a minute to realize
that the picture was not quite right.
She was walking in the middle of a busy lane
with her back facing traffic.
Her progress was slow—
one foot carefully placed after the other.
She was dressed impeccably;
her eyes had a far-away look.
"Madam," I said a few times,
before she turned around.
Hazel eyes focused on me,
then unfocused and slipped away.
"Don't you think it's dangerous
to walk thus, in the middle of a busy street?"
She shrugged imperceptibly
and walked off the street and onto the sidewalk.
I continued on my own walk,
only to miss being hit by
a careless driver, cradling a phone
with barely an eye on the road.
I saved Death from itself that day
and the favor was returned.
I was left wondering,
"What in the world would cause Death
to seek an end."
an old woman walking on the street.
It took me a minute to realize
that the picture was not quite right.
She was walking in the middle of a busy lane
with her back facing traffic.
Her progress was slow—
one foot carefully placed after the other.
She was dressed impeccably;
her eyes had a far-away look.
"Madam," I said a few times,
before she turned around.
Hazel eyes focused on me,
then unfocused and slipped away.
"Don't you think it's dangerous
to walk thus, in the middle of a busy street?"
She shrugged imperceptibly
and walked off the street and onto the sidewalk.
I continued on my own walk,
only to miss being hit by
a careless driver, cradling a phone
with barely an eye on the road.
I saved Death from itself that day
and the favor was returned.
I was left wondering,
"What in the world would cause Death
to seek an end."
Friday, August 17, 2007
The Darkening
Is the news ever good?
else why should
a grim voice on the radio
talk of hundreds dead in Pisco,
while ships race with scant fanfair
to plant a flag at Ursa Major's lair,
and retired birds of prey
spread moth-eaten wings and fly up and away.
Elsewhere, the Duero grapes reluctantly greet
the march of inexorable rodent feet.
In Sirajganj, the waters recede
to reveal the sick, the dead, the wearied.
If these be plagues arisen
who, prithee, are the chosen?
else why should
a grim voice on the radio
talk of hundreds dead in Pisco,
while ships race with scant fanfair
to plant a flag at Ursa Major's lair,
and retired birds of prey
spread moth-eaten wings and fly up and away.
Elsewhere, the Duero grapes reluctantly greet
the march of inexorable rodent feet.
In Sirajganj, the waters recede
to reveal the sick, the dead, the wearied.
If these be plagues arisen
who, prithee, are the chosen?
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