Menagerie of Contrasts

I can't see birds flying
but cats with light captured in their eyes stare at me from dustbin piles at night.
Constructed green trees 'implanted' across
the 'coast' that seems like a crystal ball, with sparkling souqs and dazzling malls;
pot-holed streets and bylanes failing to deter
noisy racing bikes from moving only on rear wheels.
The deprived, hot exteriors pitted against
the luxurious, cold insides
Posh, marbled mansions alongside
dusty matchbox cement-rises;
A thousand flashy cars whizzing past
goggle-eyed pedestrians( teeming crowds of foreigners
beaming with the feel of glittering notes with prying eagles);
flowing fuel and trickling water...
Doha hurls delightful contrasts at me.

Discernible discreet Doha

For years,
I was brought up on a staple diet of boredom and routine.
I fled the deserts of time and am at the spiritual oasis-Doha.
I see things in perspective. I eat a wholesome mindful of rich experience
and stretch my cranial muscles, now.
I oil the rusted cogs of my cerebral machine; I put them to good use, now.
My mind, obese with years of subcutaneous nothings, goes for a jog, now.
The desert sands of Doha have done me great good-
Washed away dunes of baneful monotony deposited on me.
I feel fulfilled, I talk to myself,My loneliness educates me, keeps me going

THE NEW TERRORIST

The tectonic rage struck on prostitute resorts
and rose and outstretched greedily
to engulf a hundred thousand lilliputs
and steal news space from bearded tourists
who made smuggled taped-threats
for broadcast-hungry T.V. viewers to gobble.

NASA and INSATs sat and gaped
at the sudden devour that exposed their infertility.
Faithful fishermen were fished instead
and air-conditioned officials surveyed aerially
and dropped ‘relief’ on the shaken millions.

Photos were clicked and ‘stories’ prepared
of fat-pocketed scoundrels announcing tax-exempted donations,
money that slipped into unknown pockets, missing the deserving.
Mercedes Benzes came and went and with them
the flashbulbers, cops and sanity;
left behind was only chaotic numbness.

The Tsunami is only the new TV drama we eat
for breakfast and dinner,
but it has brought out the best and worst in us.

Deepesh

LONG LIVE TIRUVALLUVAR

Even birds dropped sitting on the
Tolerant shoulders of these bronzes
Who once voted them to power.
The five-year wait will end in
A renovation and more intense
Blood-curdling sermons and arousals
About his literary-political importance
And then after a while, yet another wait.

C.DEEPESH


WOUNDED INDIA

India is bleeding, yes, with the blood of the youth,
Who fall like pawns in the cruel chess game.
They boil, they burn, they exude dangerous passion
And fight for what the players stand for.
The players calculate, coldly, with arithmetic accuracy
And on the field, the game unfolds, move by move.
There is no checkmate here, there’re no loopholes.
Brothers send their kin to the Gestapo
And forget their dim identities.
They fall into the moulds prepared for them.
The players sit with square faces across
Round tables and they don’t even mourn.
India burns because of these foolish youth.

C.DEEPESH

DOUBLE GAME

In this game of ping pong,
We play to seek enjoyment
In the vacuous display of
Dislike and defence.
Why is it that we need to defend?
Why, when the game has no end?
We put up bold faces and
Emphasize on symbolic gestures.
Why do we not act, but just pretend?
Why get victimized by
Wicked political games?
Why do flowers look thorny
And thorns sweet?
Why can’t we resign from
This end game?
Cunning and deceit win you the game
And the deserving always lose.
As Darwin said,
The fittest survive and not the best.
Can’t we let go the yearning to hurt?
Can’t we suppress the desire to cheat?


C.DEEPESH

ADMINISTRATORS

They smile when you perform,
With well-worn smiles,
They pat your backs with rehearsed sincerity.
They seem to be thankful.

But when it’s time to be fair,
They hide behind thick-screened silences,
They conveniently forget,
They fear being tagged ‘partial’.

In the planet of cutthroat wolves,
The lambs are taught not to slog.
Those with clout are rewarded,
Deceit and cunning, their qualifiers.

If you play fair, you are down and out,
Rewards are selective punishments
Incentives, instruments of oppression,
Only false pretences win you the day.

C.DEEPESH


STAFF ROOM

Every morning we meet
With smiles and beaming faces
And then begin to gossip,
Entwining ourselves in the rich gossamer
Of irrelevant chatter.
We make loud noises,
Shuffle feet and beat on tables.
We roar, we bleat, we laugh,
We hurl rough words about each other.
Our hearts bleed, we suffer.
We leave with a heaving sigh of relief.
And return yet again with beaming smiles.

C.DEEPESH

Knotty, natty netas

It is election time again.
They serenade well-versed songs
In well-rehearsed tunes,
With voices that seem as exotic
As those of the gypsies who sing
For us in railway compartments.
They blow discarded conches,
Beat mildew-leathered drums,
And rake up fires from wounded embers.
They tear our flesh with gnarled claws
And now look for the poor man’s lost face
In the muddled kaleidoscope,
‘Where has he gone, my golden goose?’
And, ah! The pity is, we do away
With our votes, like we part
With some change, when
Filled with a sense of pity
For the singing minstrels in trains.

C.DEEPESH

From inside the train

Another lazy afternoon whizzed past me.
As I move, something misses out.
I feel as though moving into darkness.
Soon night will come. I can see
The sun on my left, its aura
Through the corner of my eye,
Struggling to stay longer. I know
It won’t, it can’t. There are no
Crowds anymore. People are
Done with their ablutions.
I can smell rain in the cool
Breeze splashing against my face.
I know it won’t rain, it can’t.
I can feel the speed- of my movement.
What will come at the end of my journey?
Most people with me seem to be doubtful.
But I know. I will reach another of my
Worlds. It is only a movement, from one
Familiarity to another.
The faces change and so do the relations.
But I know one thing for sure- I can be myself.
Well, almost!

C.DEEPESH