Homeland

why are you looking so red—why is it so crimson all around?
are you blushing or is it bloodstain from a roadside killing?
i can only imagine, whatsoever, the reason could be your fake name
it could be your adopted gods; it could be your hopelessness
it could be anything and your silence only makes it worse
homeland, you always pinch my ass, stop it

i’ll not write odes for you
everything, for the worst, seems to be fine with you
like my love who is so liberal
it’s okay to raise hell with gunmen
and it’s as well okay to join forces with them
the ambiguity is killing me inside slowly
even so it’s clear for me: obscurity is unsuited for odes   

i’m not even a nationalist
i’ll not go to yunnan to get the guns and fight for you
would you persist, knowing the enemies are only amongst us already?
the february winds are on our doorstep
let it blow away the veil of secrecy between us
this is too much awkward
when sporadic gunshots and bombs are the sole icebreaker

i’ll not bring you flowers
you have so soon get so many supporters on both sides of the fence
it’s hard to consider both of them and stay sane too
like the lilies that stay in the hills, let the flowers rest alive peacefully
you’re already so fake and i wouldn’t help you with more artificiality
sharp stiled bouquets, pretentious admirers, it’s so bleak and phony already

i’ll never even tell others, my episodic detestation for you
when so many people are sharing the stink and sleaze
and like the few men who told me you’re on the top
i’ll just imagine the places where you could be
—definitely not the general shithole of the majestic land
but any place repels me as do the folks
no wonder i don’t know why you are looking so red

withal i shall keep you; the connection has been marked in blood
even if it’s started appearing faded after meeting the mortals so pathetic
before i go, i want to know if the school master was correct about red soil
though all the kinds of masters have cheeks of asses stick to their faces
while the real asses are lost in a maze:
with no idea, no direction, no hope
i’ll never know why you are looking so red

REPOSTING A POEM WRITTEN SOMETIME
IN MID-2014 ON A SIMILAR THEME

~   of telling about your world   ~

who am i
i’m the shadow of a non-existing man
my mind is marked on water
but even so it’s clear and so i can tell

tell your music
the hindustani is too round for your slant eyes
the western is too much in your primitive homeland
the world will not end if you have your own, play it;
and my ears are bleeding, please understand
your songs make me insomniac

tell your cinema
the groundnut sold by lousy north indians is better
the sunflower seed from thailand is better than the melodrama
in the theatre, sorry, i’d not gone for groundnut and sunflower seed
and my sore eyes can take no more
maybe you should focus on making cinemas for indian awards

tell your family
the rich is as pathetic as the poor
the rich got dung in their heads and they are afraid
the poor got dung in their heads and they are afraid
you should go get some family lessons from your hopeless teachers,
are they busy waiting for their salaries?

tell your friends so phony
join them and watch football together
drink beer and don’t call me
i’m tired of your phony loyalty
i’d suggest in groups should you imitate the monkeys’ lives
and live forever indulging in territorial pissing loyally

tell your society
it reeks of open roadside urinals during summer
garbage dump in winter,
the society of the slaves of the slave
the slaves of the slave live on charity,
please give me a chance to like it

tell your rites and rituals
from birth to death, the fake adoption compels
you have to do, read what is written like a arse-sore stooge
when a baby grows up it is not mandatory
you don’t have to have phony ceremonies
just spending more time with the baby will just do fine

tell your religion
the gods have different looks, and you look like a bastard
the goddesses have bigger boobs than your girls
and some messengers did arrive from further foreign lands too
in the name of father, fuck your beliefs
and if i have to be specific, your god is dead

tell your festivals
those are so fake
those make your phony friends less phonier
but those do not make you and all less annoying
those continue throughout the year
and many years i got relapses throughout the year

tell your government
it has confused the placement of its body parts
it has arses for the faces, up, and real faces as arses, down,
it works like a yes-man
it lives like a yes-man
it only knows how to fuck with the people

tell your leaders
they are hellbent on looting and killing
they are taking sycophancy to a new level
a shadow like me don’t have any regard,
or are you waiting for the chance
to loot and kill, just like them, just when the time is right?

but i do like anything that is not you
and you cannot even complain
i’m just a shadow of an unknown body,
and it’s more so, because these are all true.