you were the strong one
though i may have been fiercer

you
were the quiet, compassionate one

and before i fly off to nor'western skies
know that i needed your forgiveness
as much as you deserved mine

know,
that you have been forgiven
a thousand times over.

bless you, poor heart
don't you ever think twice, it's alright.

A bronze incarnation
of the likes of him
whom I always thought
was too beautiful to
waste affections on

But what do I do
when your beauty
surpasses all reason
your laugh
drives all pain away
and yet leaves me
with this weird ache
this knotted longing that I haven't felt
since I walked with the other one in the stone garden

So let wise men be damned
let me abandon all will
for the sake of this
strange,
aching,
headlong love

But fearless though I am
I find you
Disturbing
Disconcerting
Distracting
Disruptive..

And while you echo my laughs,
And send those sidelong glances my way,
you seem to think nothing of them
..the laughs I mean.

You laugh so easily
too easily
it scares me.

I'd rather you
were the gently brooding kind
on whom I could lavish uninhibited
elaborate kindnesses
And whose lack of grace
I could make up
a million excuses for

But no,
your smooth
rogue-ish grin
is sure to mock my clumsy leaps
into this new age
hoopla
of silk tongued courtship
of which you are lord and master.

This little girl's too old fashioned for you
Your waters too clear to dip her
weary feet in,
too strong to rescue
too brave to protect

you are perfect.
and she's too old to love you

Read More 4 comments | Posted by Peer Gynt

you think you saw me first, but i did.
lazy cigarette dangling from ironic lips
and i fell as hard as your ashes fell soft

while you
oblivious you
slid casually from F to an unknown key.

my surrender was complete
but was it sexy?
but never mind about that now.

i remember when your gaze followed mine
and traced my form on the ceiling
and your wild stories gave me empty/fitful/love-/heart-aches
and i couldn't tell day from night

forgive me.
but i had to write this my dear.
because i am drunk my sweet darling.
no i'm not being sarcastic.
i had to write this because by next year,
i would have forgotten

the smell of your sweat
or your morning breath
or how you'd instinctively hug me if i snuggled close to you,
even in your sleep.

because bawihte, i'm writing to forget.
so let me soil it little by little
until there's nothing pure left.

come to think of it,
i've already forgotten
the rough feel of your tongue on mine.

this time, i found -

her warm, cold, bearable, lovely, lonely, beautiful, concrete.

friends in her old gents and ladies.

that the fact that she doesn't have daylight saving time makes her feel other-worldly, and that that is alright by me.

that she can make you feel heavy, light-headed, lost, loved, awkward, protected, oppressed, a stranger, at home - all in just one evening.

that she can wreak havoc with your soul.

that she still carries hope of 'home' for some, someday..

i peer
at the crooked little teeth
behind the big ones
between wrinkles and weird maps
On your dark fair blue red skin
and i sleep so well.

I who have no god
am warmed
by the soft glow of your faith.

my father brother lover tormentor
my sin my fever my death my delight.
my shoelaces.

But
for you, a show
a hymn, a dress
cleansed of my blood.
for them, my bloodless virtue.

I shall dance to their song
I shall play the part.
I shall dance till my laces break.

Read More 17 comments | Posted by Peer Gynt

He’s different, this one is. not the usual welcome gust of fresh air. though he does act fresh with you. 'fact, it would be safe to say that fresh is his middle name.

We’re all familiar with him. ask any skirt-clad school girl (current and ex)...or, if you ever get so lucky, marilyn’s ghost. she should know - he was her greatest asset. he's hardly ever ignored and is most widely met with exclamations of embarassment, indignation, (pleasure?), very often followed by peals of laughter and a flush of blush that stays on for a good bit.

ol' TH loves skirting up hillsides, through lonely, random stretches if the faintest possibility of catching a whiff of perfume, or even tanakha presents itself. he likes to flirt with the hem of a nun's habit, and has made many a pious monk lose his cool and his colour. i'm told the pundits in haridwar and banaras appeal to him daily, with flattering chants like "O Great TH, the ever-Humbling and Ever-powerful! Accept our humble offerings and leave our chaste dhotis alone (and unexposed) and O, p.s. have mercy especially at pujo and aarti..we are yours to do with as you please after (go bother our Naga brothers till then, surely they shouldn't mind?)" or some such incantation. and woe befall the monk who ignores this ritual. a tango with the great TH ensures that he doles out a lot more than just the desi ghee, if you get my *drift.

I have no idea how he does it, but his timing is always perfect. and don't get me started on his sense of humour. muahaah. he’s our one connection and don't you deny it. he's the tie that binds us all. my friends swear by him. his is the one mizo name they call out with unmatched relish, and at any random hour of the day.

He loves the beach, the pier, waterskiing, skydiving?, skating...well basically just about everything that you or i could do. he just does it better. and with oodles of oomph. a nice thing about him is that he don’t discriminate. not the great TH. he ain’t daunted by the young, the old, the devout or the sacrilegious. cos he bin ‘round for a long, long, long time. and if you're feelin lonely, he’ll be gracious enough to frequent your grave and blow over your pyre.

He’s worthy of a poem or two, and he's sho to inspire a few pretty soon, as the monsoon gives this country a last wild *blast.

Oh and don't ever forget that above all, he’s a Murakami zephyr.

(hopefully he’ll take this as a tribute and leave the nice people in pariong well alone. i know you’re watching you wicked old devil you).


note: the Mizo thli hur may be euphemistically translated to wind in heat. and yes, its a certified honest-to-goodness Mizo phrase :}

Read More 15 comments | Posted by Peer Gynt

you’re the colour of the two-headed dragon
the colour of lemma’s horns
of death
addiction
of frightening little pills
of a warholized world

the colour of love
unrequited and quitted
the colour of my mother’s thumb
sewed with the needle of a sewing machine
of the little bald patch on her scalp

what would you say if I told you
you make me want to go colour blind.