Sunlight, on Rainbow

Who named it her bow?
It’s my autobiography, not hers.

She just fell down, that’s all.

It’s my story – by becoming thinner than a silk thread and finer than dust, I take utmost care lest even a drop of her gets hurt – passing through her.

What’s more, even she herself is my autobiography.
From dawn to dusk I toil on the fields of sea,
Plough, sow seeds and water with sweat and finally reap the grains of rain.

And at nights, while lying down awaiting sleep,
Just for fun I let the memory of the day fall on that piece of broken mirror.
Oh, sick and boring romantics, you call it moonlight.

You always stumble upon names.
Look at the number of autobiographies I write.
None of them carry my name.
Going only by names, what all you read?
What all you learn?

Four Banana Skins

1.

Male-halves,
As if love of their life called for them from the other shore,
Jumped into the river,
For a moment,
To bang their heads on the rubber wall of the dam
To drift afloat as dead bodies.
For a moment.


2.

Eggs put to boil,
For a moment,
Took the first waves of the warming up water
As the love of their mother’s abdomen.
For a moment.

3.

Sprouted beans,
Before falling into the frying pan,
For a moment,
Dreamt of climbing up,
Reaching out green tentacles.
For a moment.

4.

And me,
While walking, thinking God gave bananas
Their three-zipped skin
For us to eat them neatly without
Smearing dirt from our hands,
For a moment,
Put a foot on a banana skin somebody thrown
And ah!

Isn't it the Death of Capitalism?

Long & Short of It

Most of the short-term solutions become long-term problems.