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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! *** |
10/25/21
New | Poetry | Kindly Leave Me Alone, Ginsberg! | Sarvesh Wahie
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