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Vasu Shankar Poem
There rusts a bullet
With your name
Within my heart;
For a long while.
Yes, it could be easily removed;
But alas, with my life alone.
And as you know,
I don't want to die;
For death is not the name of love.
And death is not the end of birth.
Therefore let it be there,
The lonely bullet.
Because it is my second heart.
Let it be there;
For we are twins,
Male and female,
Man for short.
Copyright © Vasu Shankar | Year Posted 2012
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Vasu Shankar Poem
AN OPEN AUTOGRAPH
(To All My Friends There And Here,
Then And Now)
On the bald branches of the lightning
That avoids the dark earth below;
Around the nipples of the October rain
That pamper the thousand lips of the earth;
I see you all; believe me.
On the receding waves that carry all the conches of the earth away into the bottom of the sea;
In the lidless red eyes of the fishes
That lie on the fishmonger's table;
When you sprout as the fountain-head of the parched river;
Now I see you accompanying the flower to cross today's turbulent river.
When all the unseen children crisscross the busy roads into infinity;
When you play with the orphaned tiger-cub in the wild within;
Believe me; I see you all.
While the female sweepers' fatigued hands scavenger all the condomed words along the streets;
When the lonely walking sticks stoop along my old verandas;
I see you all spinning around the earth.
When you unbutton your mind to the sun;
And your braless thoughts hang at my peeping window;
When a mischievous finger wanders into the most willing navel;
When Rahat Fateh Ali Khan burns my back with a thousand watts of energy;
I see you playing cards with the gods.
When the lunar night decides not to pluck the solar flower;
When the unwanted sheman on the train tells the story of the seedless fruit-bearing tree;
Believe me, I see you all here at my desk;
Yes, when my pen speaks to me the most illegible words,
The indecipherable of all.
(The End)
Copyright © Vasu Shankar | Year Posted 2023
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Details |
Vasu Shankar Poem
AN OPEN AUTOGRAPH
(To All My Friends There And Here,
Then And Now)
On the bald branches of the lightning
That avoids the dark earth below;
Around the nipples of the October rain
That pamper the thousand lips of the earth;
I see you all; believe me.
On the receding waves that carry all the conches of the earth away into the bottom of the sea;
In the lidless red eyes of the fishes
That lie on the fishmonger's table;
When you sprout as the fountain-head of the parched river;
Now I see you accompanying the flower to cross today's turbulent river.
When all the unseen children crisscross the busy roads into infinity;
When you play with the orphaned tiger-cub in the wild within;
Believe me; I see you all.
While the female sweepers' fatigued hands scavenger all the condomed words along the streets;
When the lonely walking sticks stoop along my old verandas;
I see you all spinning around the earth.
When you unbutton your mind to the sun;
And your braless thoughts hang at my peeping window;
When a mischievous finger wanders into the most willing navel;
When Rahat Fateh Ali Khan burns my back with a thousand watts of energy;
I see you playing cards with the gods.
When the lunar night decides not to pluck the solar flower;
When the unwanted sheman on the train tells the story of the seedless fruit-bearing tree;
Believe me, I see you all here at my desk;
Yes, when my pen speaks to me the most illegible words,
The indecipherable of all.
(The End)
Copyright © Vasu Shankar | Year Posted 2023
|
Details |
Vasu Shankar Poem
AN OPEN AUTOGRAPH
(To All My Friends There And Here,
Then And Now)
On the bald branches of the lightning
That avoids the dark earth below;
Around the nipples of the October rain
That pamper the thousand lips of the earth;
I see you all; believe me.
On the receding waves that carry all the conches of the earth away into the bottom of the sea;
In the lidless red eyes of the fishes
That lie on the fishmonger's table;
When you sprout as the fountain-head of the parched river;
Now I see you accompanying the flower to cross today's turbulent river.
When all the unseen children crisscross the busy roads into infinity;
When you play with the orphaned tiger-cub in the wild within;
Believe me; I see you all.
While the female sweepers' fatigued hands scavenger all the condomed words along the streets;
When the lonely walking sticks stoop along my old verandas;
I see you all spinning around the earth.
When you unbutton your mind to the sun;
And your braless thoughts hang at my peeping window;
When a mischievous finger wanders into the most willing navel;
When Rahat Fateh Ali Khan burns my back with a thousand watts of energy;
I see you playing cards with the gods.
When the lunar night decides not to pluck the solar flower;
When the unwanted sheman on the train tells the story of the seedless fruit-bearing tree;
Believe me, I see you all here at my desk;
Yes, when my pen speaks to me the most illegible words,
The indecipherable of all.
(The End)
Copyright © Vasu Shankar | Year Posted 2023
|
Details |
Vasu Shankar Poem
AN OPEN AUTOGRAPH
(To All My Friends There And Here,
Then And Now)
On the bald branches of the lightning
That avoids the dark earth below;
Around the nipples of the October rain
That pamper the thousand lips of the earth;
I see you all; believe me.
On the receding waves that carry all the conches of the earth away into the bottom of the sea;
In the lidless red eyes of the fishes
That lie on the fishmonger's table;
When you sprout as the fountain-head of the parched river;
Now I see you accompanying the flower to cross today's turbulent river.
When all the unseen children crisscross the busy roads into infinity;
When you play with the orphaned tiger-cub in the wild within;
Believe me; I see you all.
While the female sweepers' fatigued hands scavenger all the condomed words along the streets;
When the lonely walking sticks stoop along my old verandas;
I see you all spinning around the earth.
When you unbutton your mind to the sun;
And your braless thoughts hang at my peeping window;
When a mischievous finger wanders into the most willing navel;
When Rahat Fateh Ali Khan burns my back with a thousand watts of energy;
I see you playing cards with the gods.
When the lunar night decides not to pluck the solar flower;
When the unwanted sheman on the train tells the story of the seedless fruit-bearing tree;
Believe me, I see you all here at my desk;
Yes, when my pen speaks to me the most illegible words,
The indecipherable of all.
(The End)
Copyright © Vasu Shankar | Year Posted 2023
|
Details |
Vasu Shankar Poem
AN OPEN AUTOGRAPH
(To All My Friends There And Here,
Then And Now)
On the bald branches of the lightning
That avoids the dark earth below;
Around the nipples of the October rain
That pamper the thousand lips of the earth;
I see you all; believe me.
On the receding waves that carry all the conches of the earth away into the bottom of the sea;
In the lidless red eyes of the fishes
That lie on the fishmonger's table;
When you sprout as the fountain-head of the parched river;
Now I see you accompanying the flower to cross today's turbulent river.
When all the unseen children crisscross the busy roads into infinity;
When you play with the orphaned tiger-cub in the wild within;
Believe me; I see you all.
While the female sweepers' fatigued hands scavenger all the condomed words along the streets;
When the lonely walking sticks stoop along my old verandas;
I see you all spinning around the earth.
When you unbutton your mind to the sun;
And your braless thoughts hang at my peeping window;
When a mischievous finger wanders into the most willing navel;
When Rahat Fateh Ali Khan burns my back with a thousand watts of energy;
I see you playing cards with the gods.
When the lunar night decides not to pluck the solar flower;
When the unwanted sheman on the train tells the story of the seedless fruit-bearing tree;
Believe me, I see you all here at my desk;
Yes, when my pen speaks to me the most illegible words,
The indecipherable of all.
(The End)
Copyright © Vasu Shankar | Year Posted 2023
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Details |
Vasu Shankar Poem
(A bird-in man poem)
Yes, any bird can be the common crow;
the bulbul or the yellow bird.
And parrots, ofcourse;
because every tree has got its own bird.
But to which colour does your bird belong to?
Red-plumed; yellow-feathered?
My eyes nested on her head.
But said she: black is not the crow; but the crow is black.
Fluttered my butterflies on her lips;
She told: red is not red bird; but red bird is...
The snails fingered on her areolae to nausea; brown isn't the bulbul but the bulbul is brown, said she.
Then the snakes tongued into her naval flower.
She replied: blue is not any snake; but snake is blue.
While bites both venomous and mutual entwined us into ecstasy, on my moringa tree,
there rained all the parrots!
They ate my seeds to the barren.
Yes, green isn't the parrots but parrots are green, said she.
Which is the colour of my bird?
Alas, the parrots flew away with the answer.
But each with the same feathers.
And now we are flying trees with the same feathers.
(The end)
(On parrots:
Most parrots are monogamous, form strong pair bonds which in some cases last for life, which in larger species atleast 82 years.)
Copyright © Vasu Shankar | Year Posted 2023
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