Why Do Men Cry?

Why Do Men Cry?

Why do men cry?
O, but men do not cry.
Ooops, my bad, wrong question!
Of course men do not cry;
how else can they be called the man?

 

I meant to ask, why do male humans weep.
For grief, you say, alright and pain,
sorrow, loss, or by any other name
we may call a heartache?
Perhaps, in brief, for all the reasons a female
human might? But of course
the social construct known as Man,
the very image of God, it is often claimed,
how can it cry and still maintain
its self-imposed godliness; no, men do not cry!

 

Rather, men prefer to hunt, and plunder,
and men would love to shed their blood and die,
for a cause they have decided to believe,
and often loot and rape, upholding the said cause!

 

But woe! The thing men truly love
in their hearts, more than all of these combined,
is the role as writers of what
the definition of a woman ought to be!

 

So, of course men can never cry.
But female humans can become men too
and in shame, the man in male humans too can die!


 

Ce n’est pas un Poème!

Ce n’est pas un Poème!

Don’t tread on me, my sweet little Dove!
You don’t want to free the Peregrine now, do you my Love?
Thanks to my dear Life, you cannot
play a game that It has not played before,
at least a thousand times with me.
So, what are you waiting for? Come and let the game begin!
And we shall play a game of chess,
on infinite blocks of pure black and white –
with our Bishops and their leaping Knights’ barren swords;
but do not tread on me, I’m not your diving board!


To Poets!

To Poets!

Dedicated to all the unpublished poems in the world.

 

Have you ever written a line,
as penetrating as those of Shelley,
a verse or two as sublime as Walcott’s?
Neither have I. Still you and I,
nevertheless, are poets of course,
perhaps of a different kind, or not!

 

Perhaps we are historians, but unlike
Herodotus or Thucydides, recording
atrocities and kingdoms of the bygone days,
we take snapshots of the now on a plate,
smeared grey with silver nitrate from the past
and hold it out against the future’s effervescent light!

 

Perhaps we are social critics as well,
but unlike Fareed Zakaria or Yuval
Harari, we want to keep it brief, we do not explain!
Perhaps we are like Florence Nightingale,
a statistician turned healer, or Keats,
an apothecary, healing the human souls instead!

 

Or maybe there is no reason at all,
that compels us to write, save that we are
madness incarnate, with countless thoughts buzzing in our heads
and emotions, by the name of hormones
flooding our hearts and until we unsheathe
our humble pens for blood and to bleed, we simply cannot rest!

 

But for every word that we write
there are always two or three we must hide,
and another bunch are buried underground,
like those pillars we do not see
traversing the visible structures around!
But they’re there, thankful in their thankless duties.

 

So, let us celebrate those words, unseen,
for without them, poetry could not have been
the iceberg that sank the Status Quo of Titanic!
And to all the heroes, unsung, who bled for writing it,
let my humbly audacious pen sing this unworthy song –
Hats off to you and your words, soar as high as you can, for as long!


 

On First Looking into Harari’s Sapiens

On First Looking into Harari’s Sapiens

Dedicated to Prof. Jaharat Ara, for her precious and timely gift.

 

And now I drown into the abyss of my thoughts,
the color changing from light to a deeper blue,
and then to pitch black darkness, like a moonless night.
I drown past the scuttling crabs of my libido,
past the undulating kelps of my acquired words – 
trying to stop my descent into the Absolute,
with myths and fictions, construed thousands of years ago.
But I was taught by a Waterfall, so I am
always unbent, unbowed and untamed, falling down!
And I drown past the legends of laws, religions,
past the petty states, nations and empires and their
made up histories as well. I have seen many bands
of wise chimps, exuberant in their genocides.
Drowning past them all I am one with the pure Nothing now!


 

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend!

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend!

… And Darkness, my old friend, himself
opened the door to his house on my second knock.
He greeted me with a wry smile on his lips
and a glass of whiskey, in his hand, on the rocks.

 

With my eyes, bloodshot and swollen,
with dried out trails of tear on both my cheeks,
I tried hard to forge a smile as best as I could,
but my friend put his other hand on my shoulder,
ushering me inside, he closed the door behind
and said, “Do not fake a smile when you cannot laugh!”

 

The ensuing silence hovered in the air,
as we walked through the hallway to his living room.
There we sat across a wooden table, dark and round,
he gave me a knowing look and I heaved a sigh!

 

A soothing smile slowly spread on his face,
like moonlight spreads over a passing cloud,
his voice grew as deep and calm as the Pacific
as he said, “Why have you sought me out, my dear friend?
I see you are troubled by some thoughts,
tell me, what can I do to put your mind at ease!”

 

“It is a vision” I said with another sigh,
more audible this time and he squinted his eyes a little,
as if his world gets darker when a sigh is heaved.
Nevertheless I carried on, “that keeps recurring
every time I close my eyes to sleep.
In that vision I see, topless towers
burning hot and fiery red, falling down,
dragging me down with them into the pit below.
I keep falling until jolted out of my slumber,
bare moments before I’m engulfed in that flame too.”

 

“So you wake up with your throat parched and dry,
wishing somehow you had never closed your eyes.”
Said my friend, as if he was present there,
when I was trembling in my bed, in shock and fear
like the wreckage left by a vicious storm
after the haunting vision had raged through my brain.

 

“Yes, you are right,” I said, “but tell me please,
if you know of a remedy for my disease…”
“Of course,” He cut me short and said, “I do!
You need time; it is only time that can heal you.
I do not how much time you have remaining in your hand
but this I know, if you have enough you’d be healed, my friend!”