Four Dirty Poems

Bored one night, when Zoo had this idea about writing limericks. So we juggled lines. My favourite parts are all his (sigh), but I'm gonna steal all the credit by posting them here first.
                 

                   (I)
I went down the road for a smoke,
Some Kaapi Nirvana and Coke.
I pulled out my gun
Coz (behold the fun)
My wallet was gone! I was broke!


                    (II)
(At this point, ladies - take your leave, lest you be offended by the appearance of impropriety. In my defence, Zoo is the perv. What to do.)


When a man and a woman have sex,

It pains so they need Iodex.

He rubs it on her,

She says, 'Dearest Sir,

Those two are my breasts, not my legs.'

                   (III)
Not to save water do dear Jack 'n Jill
Use condoms instead of the pill,
Instead, condoms omnipresent
Make Jack's rod un-crescent,
Jill needn't turn elsewhere for her fill.


                   (IV)
She took off her clothes one by one
After a long sweaty run in the sun,
To get rid of the stench
She rubbed 'gainst a bench.
Pigeon shit now laced her left bun.


<snicker>

Note

I think I repulse you. Didn't intend to, and sure as hell don't want to. But if I do, I'm not going to apologize. Live with it. And if you can't, then good riddance.
If it's any consolation, I will miss you. I promise.

.

Home Sweet Home

You can't see stars in the night sky of Calcutta.

It's not a happy sky. Doesn't give you a rush. Doesn't make you dizzy or hearty, as happy skies should. It's not an orgiastic sky either. Doesn't lech or sweat, and warms no loins. It's not an intelligent sky. Doesn't tighten nuts in rickety heads. Doesn't rattle you with chemical equations or black holes. It's not even a sad sky. Doesn't inspire ballads or bard-like visions. No silent nights with lanterns wobbling to the background music of cricket chirps.

It is a sky that is as bland and unremarkable as a Monday morning, because you can't see stars in the night sky of Calcutta. But sometimes, an adventurous star pokes its head through the smoky neon orange. Intruding in your insomnia. And then you realize that Calcutta is a poem.

All In a Day's Work

   
She saw you
Beaming, teasing, pleasing,
And crooned and swooned with 'charming sway

She smelt you
Oozing, touching, heaving,
And longed each day to be this way

And she came
Laughing, giddy-kiss-blowing
With a heart so thrown in disarray

But she lay
Writhing, weeping, hurting
As you spat at her and walked away.

अलबेला

काँधे पर क्यों दुनिया का दुख मूढ़ भला तूने पाला?
मिल जाएगा तुझे अभागा अन्य इसे ढोने वाला
अलबेले, मिसरी के प्याले में माया घोल पिलाऊँगा
देख उद्घाटित की है मैंने तेरे लिए यह मधुशाला!

Deliverance

For R, S, V, and for P, beloved-est letter of all.

Remember R,
how we danced 

in the first rain of July Monsoon

beside the lone Gulmohur, 

that swayed to the melody of your copper anklets,

Conjuring a thunderstorm of vermilion,

like abir in Holi.

And as you spun in a web of dizzying rhythm,

I plucked a rainbow from the sky

and laid it in a pool

of July Monsoon

that had seeped into cupped palms

from the lone Gulmohur's leaves.

You shone like morning glory.

Remember S, the darkness

that hung above your eyes

when you strayed into my dreams, in

the witching-hours of those summer nights

of calabash water-pipes 

and cannabis. 

With bleeding lip and smouldering heart

you burnt a kiss

on my pulsating neck.

You reeked of magic...

Afterwards, I awoke

in the lingering fragrance

of bitter incense, wine-red blood,

relentless fury

and opium poppy.

Remember V, the petals at dusk,

I scooped them up

and blew them in your face, gently,

but they clung to your raven hair

still wet from the Ganga,

her maudlin waves waltzed away by the wind

as we gazed at her spangled blackness

one last time.

They bid us farewell.

I borrowed some stars from the night

in return for some kohl 

from your eyes,

and strung them into a garland for you.

You smiled,

but I wept.

Remember P, how I hated you

for your indifference,

and longed to be freed,

to plunge to Ganga's delivering depths, 

or drown in July's Monsoon,

to shred my veins with fatal steel

and drown,

in my anguished blood instead!

But weak and alone in all the world

I resigned myself 

to the whims of your companionship...

I look back and smile,

For now,

now that I have accepted you,

You have learnt to love me.

Overture

On dewy grass I tossed and turned,

Ripped some, tore some, let some burn,

Blew some rings of pale moonlight

In inky darkness of the night.

Above me loomed a pockmarked sky

With buxom clouds whose heaves and sighs

Pierced me with a longing crisp

To write of then and days gone by.

I wrote with flaming heart and quill

Till th' silent breath of night stood still,

But alas, the ink too mocked my plight

And left my thoughts, to join the night.