His and hers

A bigger face
A bigger strap
a smaller face
a smaller strap
For thick muscular hands
for thin slender arms
They said its god-given
Big things for man
small things for woman
Titan had wrapped them up
With velvetty cloth
perfect wedding gifts
His and hers

A bigger hand
Harder slap
leaving bluish purple marks
You get accustomed to.

Slender hands
To be wrung about helplessly
To welcome
a burn here, a cut there
As one her kind
Should get accustomed to.

And all these came
Packed in a golden box with velvet inside
The sturdy-ness of his, the softness of hers
God-given
Wrapped in skin and bones
Perfect gifts
for Humankind

Green and yellow buses

With bloodshot eyes
he rubbed wildly against
the shoulders of an old lady
with a hollow cough
bend with age
Oblivious of me and the crowd
collected together into a sweaty mass
in those green and yellow buses
with a uniform thought of reaching a warm home


I smirked, I stared
He went on his singular mission
suppressing his animal grunts.
The bus screeched to a stop
A bunch of fragrant white flowers
Undone from the lady’s coiled grey bun
Lie trampled by innumerable feet
He broke into a lazy smile
Watching the world
Through a dirty panel of glass
Streaked with vomit
And ancient spat of betel nut juice
Extracted by tired mechanical jaws

I took home
A repulsive feeling of disgust
And bathe for an hour
Willing the crystal water
To cleanse those dirty window panes.

Random Moments

Malarial Monsoon

Drenched by cloudburst at dawn
The sudden coldness
Of shivering malarial fever
He continuesPlotting a sweet revenge
Of acts committed
Seven generations hence
Crimson stories
Wrapped with fury
Stewed with each succeeding breed
Begetting a decade of pillage and plunder
Under the weeping heavens
The gray desolate hills watches
His daughter leave
With backward glances
The gray desolate hills watches
Her brothers buying her
And she sells herself
In little morsels