10/25/21

New | Poetry | Kindly Leave Me Alone, Ginsberg! | Sarvesh Wahie



Kindly leave me alone, Ginsberg!

 

 

 

 

All they ever said

Mourning struggles of grain

The cloak of reason

Favours the sane

 Because the streets were so

Sodden, line after line

The hopeless display

Featuring comedians

Disdainful from the ears

Bids adieu to the night’s melancholy

 

We were around that time

Timid under so-called fantasy

Words collapsed and smoke did rise

One true rhythm away

On the lane forever

Deep blue misty eyes

Incense in mirthless curtesy

Mall road in monsoon

Water from the skies

Or cosmic vibrations

Intuitively under the feet

Walking, walking, walking

Home on a windy eve

Dazzle before eyes

Asphalt shone so bright

Not from the celestial plane

A flashlight from his pocket

Steaming all wishes aside

Because concrete plans weary scary

 Never separated the sand from eternity

Lost on sluggish screams perhaps

This youth of darling ecstasy

No sun ever braved the storm.

 

Those who returned

With dreams in their bellies

 were amused

Bellies kept growing

hair shorter than ever

Welcome back home my child

You have the keys

The seat of our family

Hotels never ran out of business

The fire of Capital read aloud

Verses of naked romance

This time complete

Concise departures and speedy arrivals

Restaurants fed late into the moon

Drunkards wore the apt perfume

Choking under their breaths

Of mastered realities

Yes, shaking with immense shame

The world did always escape

Outside to the fine country green

Majestic Mountain Madness

Glorious myths told ever again

The lone eyed prude 

Promising pure pleasures

Walks alone at dawn

A bakery full of temptations

He’s trying to find the devil

Lost in the goddamn sleep of crumbling tiredness

Mosquitoes from the plains

Dance together when

Traffic jams choke the streets

Bright summer filth

 Pungency in taxies of venture

Alike in luxury otherwise

Slipping slowly in forms

Counters and bookstores

All, Alive, Alive, Alive!

 

Oh! Toothless tragedy

The Nietzschean whisper

Saint George on the cross

Regiment of fine men

Those who sow magnanimous virtues

The nation bleeds seldom

Wynberg Allen in twos

Mostly women separated

Sports field, dormitories, day scholars

Who were never aware

That frightening neon love of the city

Crashed into the metaphysics of the runs early morning     

Woodstock aware in social contract

 Must nurture the town

Philosophies, Philanthropy

Music and bare moral

Grow ever hungry

would then conceptually thief

Waverly to Hampton Court

And in between  

International mirages of competition

Products of your pride!

 

Oh! lonesome sorrow

That wakes in the afternoon

Scholastic Tourism is a fine trade

Trespassers will be prosecuted in your property

Beyond that billboard

Occupational hazards of schooling

Bleeds in tears

The playmate never returned the toy

Because it was lost

Into the historical garbage on our hillside

  Where no education ever reaches

Or manages to dam the tears from her eyes

Teacher oh Teacher!

Forget your inhibitions!    

Life hasn’t bled you

Free from desire

Forget your sanity

You are alive

Born of the Bond like joy

Living in the mountains

Where no leaf has ever

challenged the stream.

 

 

Your Majesty, our gorgeous cemetery

Finest wistful products

Grave robbers humiliated

John Lang was discovered

Long live the Watchman!

Long live the frenzy!  

Trails of the company kind

  History Industry

Literature, Affairs, Gossips

Landour and Mussoorie

Wine and Roses

Lavish, Noble, Feudal

All subsumed under the hearty smile

Worn into conversations all kind

Marooned! The carpet of fame

We respect you without

knowing you

Mouthpiece of the town

Refusal cast in velvet mischief

Monkeys snatch from tourists

Feed them kind

Massacre of everyday rumours

Speak your will

 name this ghastly town again

Who lives off miniature histories

First light bulb

First multiplex

First of the firsts

We are all proud!

Mussoorie – You are the Queen!

 

Who are you?

Sitting alone in woods

Contemplating mirages on the horizon

Head to toe damp

The monsoon wilderness of your conspiracy

 

Who are you?

Writing sexy myths of the town

Applauses on the happy end

The clock tower resounds a digital bell

Every hour for posterity

A rustic gong of centuries forgotten

 

Who are you?

Preparing coffee and tea

Nimble with the snack

Well-fed promises of appetite

Where we rejoice the transubstantiation

Of mood swings into obscurity

    

Who are you?

Warming beds for masculinity

Electric blankets and hot water bottles

Lubrications were found in the morning

When cyber realities championed

The very cause of delight

 

Who are you?

Feminine in your resolve

Shying almost at every break

Between conversations of the hour

Lunacy cast in prejudice

The divine scorn of character

Shall purge this moment out

from the curtains of secrecy

 

Who are you?

Fostering history industry

Cross-legged on the table

Pancakes from Chaar Dukan

The lemon ginger tea

Does not taste as good

Because all the criticism comfortably

Was jailed in your throat

In French fries and mozzarella cheese

 

   Who are you?

Riding horses in the night

Whose tales are reported in newspapers

Sightings on the Mullingar hill

Stealing tobacco

Or lightning bolts from the skies

 

Who are you?

Smoking parables of decay

At the turn of century

Where no moral

Shall help you cleanse your sins

 

Who are you?

Selling bucolic vegetables

That fill our stomach

With authentic pride of the village

But never sound us out to visit your farm

 

Who are you?

Heritage keeper

Heavy with the burden of centuries

Contemporary issues are nightmares

Since nobody wants to restore

The Kohinoor in its perpetual smouldering glory

 

Who are you?

Sick old-time advocate

Disputing all gains

From deep pocket ego clashes

Lands were sold

Delhi and Punjab activism

 

Who are you?

Pillaging mountains through and thorough

Workers are probably innocent

The bandit rules among the moneyed

Trickledown effect of economies

 

Who are you?

Sleeping with his wife

As if that was the summit of all human sin

Talk of the town

Well, shaming is the necessity of the weak

Who draw their inspiration of charms

From law abiding citizens of Hollywood

 

Who are you?

Bourgeois kitty party

Undisputed atrocities

The diamond necklace on her skin

Dazzles brighter than sexy

Minorities who always serve the dish

 

Who are you?

Worshiping your partner

Because love bubbles

College-bunk rides

Between Dehradun and Mussoorie

Maggie Points feature always

And love-making in waterfalls

Shall survive as legend

Twenty-first century

 

Who are you?

Sending husband to buy sanitary napkins

Decided himself on the contrary

Because nobody should know

When daughters and wives bleed 

 

 

Who are you?

Sharing pictures of your naked wife at the café

Rembrandt like odyssey

Will not meet your artistic ambitions

For she died sometime

Late in the antiquity

 

Who are you?

Knowing accurate histories of the town

Every claim is contested concretely

From Dulip Singh to Dost Muhammad

Exiled here in absolute nobility

 

Who are you?

Fucking in the bushes

Utmost adventure of love

Teenage, Mid-age, Adult-

Hoods of blatant romance

 

Who are you?

Smearing tongues with alcohol

Mountains have set you free

Because cities were so congested

That you never could taste

The freedom frothing in glasses

 

Who are you?

Partying on the Chakkar

Same old mechanics

Engineers and Charted Accountants

Friends from calculation

Picture Perfect the spot to assemble

 

Who are you?

Clicking outrageous sky photographs

When was the purpose so unintentional

That clouds contest

Geometries on Instagram

 

Who are you?

Buying clothes on the Mall

A souvenir must suffice

The mountain journey

Bucket list fulfilment

And robust smiles   

 

Who are you?

Raging from within yet unable to answer

Because your words will be misunderstood

In that slapstick of ready-made opinions

The discussion groups of the canon

 

Who are you?

Dying a lot more each day

The mountain

The weather

The human

The culture

The Philosophy

Poetry or Epilepsy

 

Who are you?

Tied to routines

Businesspersons of the Mall

Assemble fortunes

For that one holiday

To Thailand, Bali

Or even Abu Dhabi

 

Who are you?

Calling yourself a hotelier

Trained in intuitions

Knows tomatoes from fruits and vegetables

Tables and rooms, clean linen

Priorities well suited

 

Who are you?

Shying away with your friends

Candy floss, flavoured softy

Or fashionable milk shakes

The sugar candy in town

 

Who are you!

Who are you!

Who are you!  

Does the Queen know you?

 

 

 

She was born naked of the Englishman

Calm cotton clouds of serenity

Frothing streams from her hair

She was the devil in details

Diamond in her eyes

Gleams brighter these days

Staring at Dehradun

The city of extreme flattery

And this town full of snobs

Oh Royal! Your Highness!

The hangover lived anew

The shy and the moon

Both appetencies on your command

 We do not belong to you!

 

Shopkeeper’s son

Burning the midnight oil

For a lantern of wisdom

Regulating funds for career

And the daughter

Does not think of marriage anymore

Gun Hill watches over

All stories alike

Some always are beyond sight

Black smoke rises

Burning words on paper

Into their eyes and

Bosom heavy from last night’s cough

Whose supreme consciousness

Was the hand rolled tobacco

Underneath the stars

For sacred visions of nearby angels

Rusted beneath their belts

One last trick up

Their sleeves of desire

Sprung outside in rain

The curtain in hotel room

Obscuring the midnight affair.

 

Ah poetry! The soulless shack of the brain

Meters cast in notions black

We seek to know you clean

Away from eternal recurrence of rhyme

Where rhythm has taken over complete

A broken fragment of this verse

Screeching in wringing pens

Projections on paper

And endless shams!

The soul lost to humanity

All friends turn away

A crime of shadows

The game of outright trickery

Shaping stanzas after stanzas

Stand before you undressed

Yet quivering inside the pants

The gibberish borrowed from monks

Buddha was on his way home

Ruptured and bleeding

Magicians he wouldn’t dare

A lowly Enlightenment speaks again

One fine morning to the parents

And they are certainly proud

The dog wagged his tail too

And the birds also sang

Along with the trees swaying

Side to side

Blasphemy of emotions.

Please do not write

Anymore

With shabby recreations of the blue-eyed monsters

Must ring significant bells

Arid ears forgotten in time

The poet, his romance

And the humiliation.

 

Death never separates

But the dearth of love

In a world full of passions

Must hold forlorn

Emptiness onward home

Cafe musings

Social Media Rants

Underwear jealous holes

Ranging from the hill to the vale

Camel’s Back Road

Brothels of peace have displayed

Billboards in supposed wisdom

Pick up a line or two

Shall guide you home.

 

I saw them this way

Muses, Humans, and weather

Everlasting confounded

As the very human

Forever muddled and seeking shelter

Landscapes were but silent

I was there

With you in tears

With you in the forest

With you in conversation

With you when I went away

Yet, you were always alive

When I closed my eyes

You’d always appear

Luminous mists diffuse

To activities despite fortitude

What has become of you?

 

 

A play if you will

Musicians walking forever homeward

Dogs were loud as ever 

And the night silent

Shattered when it struck

The digital repetition

What time it is?

Blake’s grain of sand

Eternity held at hand

Arms reach out in rain

Only if you’d speak again

We’d resume from death

The afterlife

Sing songs bemused

Share a smoke or two

Walking further into the night

As we were destined to do

The darkest of dark

Until we see no more

This ecstatic surprise

Death, the sole absolute

And memory divine

Defines all virtue.

 

What has become of you?

The desire outspoken

Tied to the hair of a beast

Crept further up than reality itself

A bottle of gin

Blame the very glass

The toke of motherly disdain

Merry go round

To the final lap of elusive craze

Bathed in country spring

Mature forest wine

To the chalice of my heart

Oh! Bottomless desire!

You want more.

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I will smile with you

When no sleep survives to build dreams

Arriving I will sing with you

When every tree is poetree

I will be with you

Watching the sun go down

I will breathe with you

Among breezes and mists

Watching over the winterline

Still arriving I shall weep with you

When you are deader than I am

I will be there

When the poet puts his pen down

Should you have lived through

This daze of our days

I will speak with you

For the endless story

Of simple springtime blossom

Or the winter snow

I will sink with you

In the cemetery

Watching graves smoulder green

Life sprigs out again

To hear the mystical silence

Once our birthright

Engulfed in mists

Where you stow away once more

Presenting yourself to crossroads of awareness

No soul will ever dare to look into your eyes

I see you spilling further

Roots underground

Where I lie next to you

Waiting for the next anybody

Ignite this consciousness of choice

I do not own you

For I love you

Boundlessly Home!      

 

 

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*Artwork by Sarvesh Wahie