|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
It is a quite Sunday morning
It was a weird outing in the evening
We saw fuming ashes
We saw failed elephants
We heard the tales of fallen petals
We saw drifting continents of love and lust
It was a quite Sunday morning after a tepid Saturday night
I saw many men sulking under the weight of their own dreams
I heard many women lustfully languishing their tongue twisters
They were all eloquent
They were all spellbound
They were castrated
A Carnival in the oddest of the hours
A Caricature of my self and many other selves
Our pulses were travelling to Venus, Mars and Pluto
We were simmering in the heat of the market mongers
We were boiler plates to the typecasted experiments in human nature
Have you heard about Pavlov
Who embarked on an experiment to create machines in human mindset
Have you learned about Vygotsky
Who smiled at the smiling babies and loved their zones of evolution
Have you wept when Maykovsky shot dead himself
His poetry must have been boiling faster than his heart impulses
When I end up embracing the dichotomies of Mikhail Bakhtin
I know I have become a scoundrel, polyglot, a hedonist, pagan beast
When this hetroglossia unfolds and scarlet fevers engulf the nations
Fear of languages, life and all sort of glass house effects will prevail
Do you know the fissures in your palace
Do you know if it is made of marble, mosaic, or even a piece of pitch blend?
Now I know only about primordial stones and shadows
Who build pyramids and prisons in the middle of stone hinged and laggard society
Who are in multitudes, nameless, nation-less, necro-manic living echoes
I live their turquoise blue rings, silver palms, their mythical fear of tortoises
I dig a grave to heal their zest for anarchy, and to unwound their zeitgeist
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
I despise these degrees of freedom
Said the neo Diderot and the archaic David
I envy the liveliness of the termites
Said the neo Valimiki and the primordial Achilles
How could they embrace a poetic saint in trance
Wondered the venomous Rama and the Venerable Lama
Who saw the torrid life a prince and the princess
Wicked was the Neanderthal Freudian and Digital Darwin
Over and above my sheaths
An albatross is savaged and an ancient mariner is saved
These pearls of wisdom and crowded imaginations
They strike digits and cubits of wealth in times of diarrhea
Astral mathematics, astralopithicus, astronomic gaze
They were the gargantuan invaders of the Gregorian calender
Rest is known to us, first word is born as a worm hole
No one need to be a snake charmer or a sand miner to unravel the lantern under the rooftop
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
A wise bird, wiser than the west
It blend beak of voice and a beacon afar
Deftly blending clouds with feathers
Spread over wicked continents
Which is shifting opinions as in tectonic plates
Continent of men, clouds of winged meanings
Drifting oceans, Dithering wings
They meet in swarms and grooves
In a season of stealth and drones
No one wants an yellow messenger
That whispers to the wind, vividly
It could tilt and slope, incline and invade
The valley of vultures and other dreaded signs
No one want an yellow messenger
That could see beyond the tropic clouds
That could foretell the origin of nemesis
That could groove vision in your timid eyes
That bridges light unto your iris canals
No one want an yellow messenger
That carves blissful voices in your yellow belles
Bile is bile, vile is vile, primate is primate and so is the Continental drift
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
A turn-around
A twist and a twiggy lane
A tremor and a tepid footprint
A tale of a triad
A tissue tanned
This is a tipping point
An axis of life
Orthogonal to my dreams
Origami of whispers
Snake boat ripples in the shore
Shivering hand of a fisherman
A bloated vessel
Anchored on its own will
On the axis of life
Original silence
Is burning yet again
In the hours of madness
In a state of denial
I just embraced the gradient
Away from all the quadrants
Loving a locus of a marching ant
Born to be bonded in
Born to be burned out
Born to be boiling over
Born to be brewing ever
Is this beacon on the barren land
Incomplete as it is
Axis of life is still a tangent to itself
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
I know languages count by silent lexicons
I know oceans measure by waving hands
I know serpents poison by miseries
I know clouds mould by whispers
I know rivers clutter by sediments
I know oaks augur by heights
I know blood oils by fossils
I know epics endure by echoes
I know ashes wither by winds
I know castles coil by curls
I know hells hasten hubris
I know I know, my ignorance by ignorance
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2020
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
A gaze at uncertainty in your meal time
A wave of poverty in your surroundings
Which one will spoil your hunger?
What will kill your taste buds?
Nothing for sure can eat you
Unless you have eaten something else
A pinch of salt in your sweat
It refuses to give up its taste
A pale edge of your empty plate
It refuses to smile at your disposal
A moment when mind forgets to remember
A moment when mind remembers to forget
Matters of convenience and coincidence
All this happens in our daily life
We keep a bread for the day
Shrinks by the evening, rots by the fifth day
Filth by a weeks time, frozen in your next working day
Weeks after, you meet them all in your wounds
Your despair, your inertia, your pathos and vanity
All is known to submit to the season of red black winters
Same applies to my black rosary with red cross in my chest
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
I know I am counted
I know how to count
I know how to count on
There is utterance of disgust
There is a vein of tremor
There is high and hollow sides
Half of what I said
Is already forgotten
Half of it is on the way to erasure
But whispers aside
My knowledge will speak for itself
My knowledge will speak for myself
Even when myself powdered thinner
Than the ores of iron and mines of sand
Though porous side of myself
Breaks now, then and there
My edges are born yet again
Even when the bones are shattered
You, my readers , are closer to my words, than the heart of my bearing body, a 1000 times broken, shielded and shivering, count me on, switch me on, stitch my split edge window panes, time to move on my glass houses
After the last sentence of my last word, will last the first utterance of my unborn silence, count me on, and 1000th piece of myself, knowing my willful word for you, Closer than my deceitful heart
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
I know you hate a slaughterhouse
I know what you eat with slit tongues
I know what lures your sly saliva
I know what bites your bile and bovine
I know what irks your intimate ingest
I know you love beefed up truth
I know you like cooked up lies
I know you pore hot porridge
I know you have chimes, crabs and nebula
I know you meet your muscles and minion ego
Unlike me, you cherish your bovine spirits and bile vines
Thinking about a savage kitchen, you perish in my baked lands
And I shall have you in my last supper in the retreat to unfreedom
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
It was her skin in the ground
It was her skin with blood beneath
It was her skin with heat and humid
It was her skin in countless shades of grey
It was her skin in columnar colors of brown
It was her skin in bruised blisters of black
It was her still life, silent life, upon us
It was broken, wrinkled, wrankled
It was unskinned, unwrapped, unwound
She was denuded, time and temperatures beyond
She was defoiled, time and temperatures again
She was demolished, time and trepidations on
She was silent, soiled, soaked in her blood
She was just soil, clay, ground, floor for them
Your soil, your marble, your rocks, your stones
It was her skin, it was her skin breathing her blood
It was her blanket of love, your sliding lands
It was her blood, which you drink as water and shed as tears
Now it is a flood, a flawless flood, fissures in the floors
It is she, erratic, lunatic, frenetic, wearing a fury
Breathing boils, Beaming blisters, Baggage of blasts
She remembers everything, conscious and unconscious
She is beyond skins, blood, veins, vessels, capillaries
It is veins of my earth, it is blood of my earth
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2020
|
Details |
Gokul Alex Poem
There is nothing that I cannot forget
Neither the tides
Never the shores
Newer terrains
Nether ashes
There is a fever that I see ferocious
Here is a blanket
Here is a blank verse
Here is a blister
Here is a boulder
There is a slogan that I see rising
Urge to utterance
United hopes
United tribes
Ultimate miseries
It is, it is a mistake that is moist
It is, it is a whisper that is whistling
I am just a centipede waiting for the walls
I am just a centipede lost in lusty sands
I am just a centipede with null and void
Let hundred hunters hang me down
Let thousand thieves thrive upon me
It is all a coinage, concocted calculus of cash and carry !
Copyright © Gokul Alex | Year Posted 2020
|
|