Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Tonight I could write the saddest lines ( with apologies to Pablo Neruda, the great poet)

Tonight I could write the saddest lines

Write for instance that

‘’The smog is shattered and the orange haze hangs heavily above

the hoardings selling insurance’’

The beedi smoke spreads , the autos cough out

some soot

Tonight , I can write the saddest lines.

Through nights like this , I held him in my palms,

Pressing his many buttons, feeling every romance

he held , every new acquaintance that was pregnant with a impending friendship

I dialled 100. The Bangalore police cannot find him,

My Bombay boy.

He loved me, Sometimes I loved him too

I broke him, I repaired him too

How could one not love his great wealth of

Sentiments, of his contacts to reach ceos

Within seconds

To hear the distant wind in a now hostile city

And to know that in him he carried Bombay,

Its dirt , its trains , the goat cheese tarts at terror struck hotels

And to know that he is gone now,

He is another’s, perhaps a driver of an auto,

A college student.

What does it matter that my care could not keep him.

My memories have been dismantled and he is not with me.

In the distance, coolies are banging and a few birds left in Banashankari

sing . My soul is not satisfied that he is gone

Maybe he was meant to go, dismantle a metropolis,

Stray fucks, strayer press conferences on what the rich hold dear

The same asthmatic smog molesting the same green city

I of that time no longer am burdened.

It is good that he is gone, that is certain

But maybe, I want him.

He will be another’s. His teenage poetry sms,

The invitations to coffees , the chatter with prs in high heels

Phones last so short, forgetting is so long

Though this is the last pain my phone makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for him

I am sorry for the drama, though. I found him in my drawer..eventually....


Chris said...

Hahaha. You didn't actually call the police, though na? This is really great man. Best blog post yet!
I remember how heartbrokenly pessimistic and defeatist you were that day. This captures it perfectly.

The ending isn't true though. You never found him. You were moping. You should give credit to the proper parties.

Y? said...

Chris stop raping my poetic license to lie about the police ok.
and ok my maid found it but still