Thursday, June 23, 2011

Bullets, Balloons, Body.

A river on my left
Rail tracks on my right
Yet the aim of a gun is my only sight.

A weapon heavier than me
A lover stronger than thee
And colored balloons under a tree.

An eye settling for the perfect gun-eye injury
A weapon close to a heart which (ironically) has never known fury.

Blue, Green, Red, Yellow
Each color in a row.

My finger on the trigger
And a mind of vigour
Shot four of them dead
Yet not a tear was shed.

On undressing myself the same day
I saw the same colors of May
On my thighs, breasts and arm,
A reflection of his charm.

Joining the Dots

Joining the dots between orators and poets
Poets and intellectuals

A handful of dots between the hashish we smoke
And the last haiku you penned

And even lesser between you and I.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Nothing Can Happen Over Coffee


Boy comes up to Sneh at the backstage.

B: You are such a natural. You were truly awesome on stage.
Sneh: Oh yes, I am sort of great!
B: Could we have coffee sometime soon?
Sneh: That sounds good.
B: It does? Can I get your number?
Sneh: Yes, sure. But before that I need to tell you a fun fact! I love coffee but I hate having sex.
B: *Coughs*
Sneh: God bless you. You still up for coffee?
B: *Still coughing*
Sneh: Seems like one of your organs are troubling you down there. You are not well. You need a bed and coffee both.