i can hear them on the
other side of the door
laughing and shouting about our blind, deaf, dumb dog
and the blasting tv
and the open window letting in the rain
and the food still clinging to the "clean" plates
i think it's beautiful
i think maybe there's a spot on that couch where i can pet that
blind, deaf, dumb dog
and maybe i can get away with yelling about stuff too but not doing it
i think maybe they're already happy
i think maybe one more person is just a crowd
i think maybe i'll just shut my door all the way and count the bumps
in my popcorn ceiling
If you had a good night’s sleep,
There is nothing welcomer
Than the break of the dawn.
To lie on bed, watching
Eyes half-open, at the darkness
Paling, leaves of the Jack
And further away the Mango
Filtering just enough light
So that your eyes do not hurt.
There are always the birds.
Sweet tweet of the Robin
Sunbirds chirping, peering at flowers
Cuckoos always so flustered,
Plaintive, like mothers in kitchen
Scurrying about in the morning
And the omnipresent caws
There is kindness in the air today.
Sunlight bright, yet soft;
Wind strong, yet breezy;
Earth alive, yet sleepy.
There is grace in the air today.
In the shade and light
Trees sparkle and dance
Crows muse, sitting on the posts.
There is music in the air today.
The chorus of the leaves
As the wind blows through them
In rhythmic waves of love.
Through the window, across the trees
Over the high rise, the sky is blue
In unseen strings suspended,
Kites hover; swift fly past Swifts.
At the busy junction near my house
I espy the bitch – that mutt
Who used to be the clandestine lover
Of my Tommy, gone, two years hence.
She was never a pretty dog, black and mangy
Her swollen teats sweeping the street
Her rough coat coated with dirt –
Yet - she was my Tommy’s lover.
The dog has turned quite old –
She limps and is skinny
Her face has turned grey
And fur fallen off in patches.
I wonder if anybody would miss her
When she dies, sick, starved or a roadkill.
It is midday; I wipe my bald head
I limp; my knees hurt lately
In the night, listening to the sounds
Of rain drumming on the tin roof,
To the crashing cymbals
Of dried branches of the Mango tree falling,
To the shattering boom of coconut
Dropping like a cannon ball -
And the wail of the wind
And the croak of the frogs –
The patter of rain on the cemented courtyard
And to the sour, sullen silences of the night -
Looking, mind empty of thoughts, looking
At the seeping water dripping
Through the cracked tiles on the roof
And running down the wall -
At the puddle growing, moving
Slowly like a serpent across the floor -
The time is nearing to leave.
File – save as – give a name
And it becomes a part
Of my documents
Hidden behind a password
Which I only know.
In the recesses of my hard disks
C:\ My documents\ Kottayam, or-
Some other name that I decline
To tell you.
Later, in a lonely night
I will access the file
And glance through it
At random.
This flower, that face
This light that flicker in the darkness
To look into your eyes,
Feel your hand in mine,
To see you laugh,
See you smile,
To hold you tightly,
Hear you breathe,
Rub your back,
Watch you sleep,
To buy you gifts,
Take you out,
Write you poems,
Joke around,
To wash the dishes,
Cook and clean,
Talk to you after work,
Do the laundry,
I play with you,
I stay with you,
I would do anything for you.
You are my master,
You and your family,
You treat me like one of your children.
Because I am.
But when times get rough and scary,
I act a little wack,
But I know you always love me,
Even when I attack.
I am your best friend,
And you are mine,
A bond stronger than all others,
I am,
Your dog.
I
Being invited to the lady's large bed
delighted!, and overcome by possibilities
Was not unlike stumbling through the Gobi Desert,
under an orange moon
And then entering some ancient city,
not understanding a word
II
Puking over her feet, I complain
she's "cold". it is not
an idyllic scene. I say I feel
too old, to do any better,
and that this is, in fact, pretty good.
III
The galaxies receding make a sound:
Patter of dog feet on sidewalk-
I bring you
this head,
full of breathtakingly
beautiful
images of yourself
and put it in
your lap.
Now I breathe
more quietly.
Now you pat me.
Now I sign.
In a moment or two
I'll get up and
be a man again.
Hours pass.
The watchdog waits.
Steady as a rock.
Wanting to be seen.
But not heard.
Guarding his sheep.
He watches the intruder.
A cat to us.
Yet a villain to him.
A usurper even.
Hours pass.
Time is meaningless to him.
He could sit and stare.
As long as his sheep are there.
And would not care.
As long as they are safe.
The great Overdog,
That heavenly beast
With a star in one eye,
Gives a leap in the east.
He dances upright
All the way to the west
And never once drops
On his forefeet to rest.
I’m a poor underdog,
But tonight I will bark
With the great Overdog
That romps through the dark.