The Broken Boy

September 28, 2011  :: 0 comments

Tonight I will spread the anxious flowers on the summer bed, expecting smiles rooting out in the pale morning.
This bed specially made from the trees of Nagarkot
Promises a good night rest (mommy told to never trust strangers),
I check the wardrobe to fetch fertilizers and seeds
Hurriedly, happily believing the angels protest in heavens
To ascend and sleep on this magnificent bed,
The bed turns to the guest and whispers,
‘You’re to sleep with me tonight’
The guest jumps like a happy calf
Thinking of the ascending angels,
Past 12 the bed is full of guests
With whom is the bed mingling?

The angels claim the bed to be theirs
The guest proves mathematically that everything is his: one plus one equals to one,
The bugs, cloths, coverings deny the claim

Around 3 a.m.
The bed transforms into a small boy with three candies between his innocent fingers
Runs toward the mommy forever
Forever he runs (mommy told to never trust strangers)
And that’s what he’s been doing

The Avenger

featured in the poetry forum September 28, 2011  :: 0 comments

The charmer stands outside the door, thorn-hearted, shimmering in wolf’s skin.
Cupboards bear artificial children
I am the grandfather of wastes
Dump the rotten history on me
The door is hell-mouthed
Bringing in Lucifer’s legions
There’s a sound of hell
There’s a sound that pursues like hell
There’s a sound that kills you like hell

Empty is the room
Empty is the mechanical mind
Black towel hangs on the door, wardrobes stand tall shamelessly,
Black wardrobe exposes its viciousness, bed sleeps succinctly,
The uncouth carpet appears mild,
The furrowed blinds dangle showing the muddy diamonds,

The charmer sits inside the room, rose-hearted, shimmering in sheep’s skin.

Eight-eyed, eight-legged, eight-mouthed
Eight the number of hell
Slashes the petal eight times
Eight o’clock hell spreads cancer-like
I decay, decay, decay
Save me with your radioactive love.

editors note:

I’m going to hold my plutonium lover tightly while I spray a can of aracnicide to keep that sheep/wolf at bay. Then I’m going to redecorate. – mh

The Face Keeper

featured in the poetry forum August 15, 2011  :: 0 comments

I’ve kept your face intact, spotless, polishing it for 25 years.
I’ve kept it in the hour hand, in the monotonous creaks,
Under the dismembered shelf, on the scratched table,
Through the eye of a sewing sanguine needle
The face travels, swims, walks, flies,
The face acts like a face
The face is not a face,
Oh, yes, I’ve kept your face intact.

I’ve kept your face hidden, imprisoned, amputated it for 25 years.
I’ve kept it in the butcher’s knife, inside the mystified slaughterhouse,
Between the pig’s jaws, tinkling from the cowbell,
The sewing machine cutting and stitching the face,
Royal apparel, purple is the colour best,
I’ve used clothing chemicals, detergents, washing powders,
The face remains intact,
The face is a brutal history,
Oh, yes, I’ve kept your face intact.

I’ve nine fingers, one is an abomination,
I’ve drawn your face with that finger,
Drawn on the slopes of Himalayas, in the trails of Annapurna,
Blew it off in the dusts of Mustang,
Floated it on Koshi River,
The face is the number one stalker,
The face boasts for being evergreen, perpetual, inexhaustible,
The face is a history gone wrong,
Oh, yes, I’ve kept your face intact.

I’ve kept your face intact
And have smeared mine.

Lake Love

featured in the poetry forum June 29, 2011  :: 0 comments

On the rhythmic chest

a whisper rolls

quiet, untraceable.

Is it me or the wind
making an illegal love?

The Mad Lover’s Song

featured in the poetry forum May 7, 2011  :: 0 comments

I’m no ordinary drunkard:
I get drunk without drinking.

Your love is like
A Chinese toy—
graceful, harmless

I bought it without buying
You said it was for free
I was startled yet excited

I took the toy to my home
And locked it in the heart’s closet

I woke up this morn
And found myself dysfunctional.

A lovelorn Lilliput
Sketched his indifferent lover

He amputated her soul
And planted in the soil

It grew in splendor—
his blood poisoned its flavor

I had checked the label of
The toy that you gave me

That plant was its fragrance

This evening
A fire burns within me
I deny to be a hedonist

This toy in my heart’s closet
Is no ordinary:
It makes me to love without loving

Ode to Footsteps

featured in the poetry forum March 17, 2011  :: 0 comments

Of day’s slumber the thud of discordant footsteps
Scream like your cold embrace I loathed always
The shadow of night tearing apart the unguarded heart
The scattered yellowish leaves finally smirk for not being lonely
The cold winds twitch the bones of love
Jeering louder than sounds from brokenhearted homes

Take a knife and cut the nerves of entanglement
Nerves of this bonded love
A tree in ripening winter with naked branches
Cut it and blood rushes out without a scream

We wear our masks and pretend to love each other
While we are busy cutting our branches
Bleeding without screams

In the distance I hear the footsteps moaning, choking
Longing for love that didn’t grow
Wasn’t it you that cut the branches of love?


January 25, 2011  :: 0 comments

Coffee is black, Night tastes bitter
The sounds that howl in the ashamed streets
Cry out their parched hearts bitterly
Coffee is black, Moon shines bitterly
The ageing leaves rustle in the museum of pain
Cold visitors greet them every morning, Sun laughs bitterly
Their snowy hairs begging for that distant bitter love
Fades away in the blinding chapters of destructive century
Coffee is black, so are we.

Coffee is black, Death is colourless
Love sours–when did it have an expiry date?
In the playground metallic hands wrestle with iron legs
By afternoon the world is filled with mechanical collisions
And children ask daddy and mummy if it’s a comedy show
daddy and mummy sigh silently and say it’s so
The children grow up with that comedy show in their hearts and minds
And perform it bitterly exactly smoothly
while their children ask strangers as to what daddy and mummy are doing
Coffee is black, so are we.

Coffee is black, Progress isn’t
Progress is blue like a deep sea
Fishes consume each other men eat each other
It’s no more natural to be natural
Ideas from the caves smear truth and tie a heavy stone to it
Throwing it away into the ocean of massacre
Truth is wiped out and ideas flourish like weed
Intoxicating fragile minds that cannot reason
A group of AI rules the Kingdom and the history is lost
And no one will know because it’s black.
Coffee is black, so are we.

Coffee is black, Words are darker
Town cities nations people wear black dress
speak black language eat black food
they do everything in black
the hard-beaten stones are shovelled and misplaced
amputating the tree of faith changing the course of rivers
drinking from the well of despair
Singing harshest songs ever. No one will understand.
It’s black. No one will understand these lines.
Coffee is black, so am I.

Coffee is black, Life is darkest
People walk however they want
And claim for that blemished freedom and rights
I met a man in the Tower and asked him if he was happy
He asked me if I really did exist I said yes he said you’re black
Children in my lover’s womb question daddy are you for real
daddy is it you who did this horrible thing to us by injecting life
daddy you’re black why did you do this? you’re black
I went to the horizon of sadness and questioned the waves
Then a lost voice roared black is black and so are you
Locking the doors of humanity I believed I was black
And pretended to be black with the rest of remaining.
Coffee is black, so are you.

Your Face is the Shadow

featured in the poetry forum January 25, 2011  :: 0 comments

Your face is the shadow
That blends with mine
I would give up all I have
To get rid of it
Your face is the shadow

Your face the tracks
That balance the screaming trains
Uttering icy words: freezing the sinews
Of love. Heartbeats shudder like a dying
Fish, the fresh air killing it passionately
Your face these monstrous trains

Your face this thorny air
Dissecting the faces of brute
Spraying acid on their nerves
Now acidic men walk on the streets
I smell nothing but acidic men.

Your face is made up of stars
Uncountable, distant
Now I slumber like these acidic men
Shadows cast over the sky
Crying for futile attention and vain love.

A Cold Encounter

featured in the poetry forum November 23, 2010  :: 0 comments

I was talking with tired winds
(they said they have become too old to howl)
When you were melting my frozen bandages
then before I could pour my wasted years in the hollow cup
You came before my vegetarian eyes as a shallow bride
And made me suck your laughing blood and smoky eyes
While I was calming my silver wounds
(they said they have become too old to howl)
You were leaving with vigilant winds

one, two
one, two

they broke ceaselessly

A Complaint Against My Lover

featured in the poetry forum September 22, 2010  :: 0 comments

I can’t handle your love anymore
I cannot

Capsized in your laughter
The narcissist slept in its
Mephitic grave

On Friday the 13th
The bonybabes
Mesmerized it to be their

I can’t handle your love anymore
I cannot

Last Halloween
The masochist revealed that
He had discovered ambrosia

“I shall make love with bonybabes
Ad infinitum
For they are meretricious”

I can’t handle your love anymore
I cannot

Last Christmas
The masochist
Turned victorious and revealed that
He was a sadist
No one got the jargon, his catharsis

I can’t handle your love anymore
I cannot

I’m jejune

I cannot handle your love anymore
I cannot
I only crave for more