Some more Poems

The Accused

She was the accused
handcuffed and brought
to the court
The prosecutor screamed
Me Lord, she is at fault
Over and again
she swam like a blind fish
into nets made of words
She lifted people from the earth
and set them up on
pedestals in the sky
She forgot that the human race
is not made up of characters
from poetry and fiction…
The judge allows her
to have her say but
she is silent
She will not say anything now
but after serving her term
of imprisonment
she will file a suit
against those words, stories
and poems
which beckoned her with
the promise of truth
and left her to be handcuffed and accused

Moving on

The hair that I was growing
so that the children
of your village
do not call me a Kali Mem
have been cut short
once again by the
Chinese hair-dresser

That unworn salwar-kameez
has been pushed into
a dark corner
of the wardrobe
behind the rows
of pants and shirts

Putting away the knitting-needles
on which hung
your unfinished pullover
my fingers are wedded
to the typewriter

I have told the dream of
a daughter with
your sharp nose and
small beady eyes
to not trouble me anymore
Taking out the cigarettes
from my bathroom
I blow rings of smoke
in the Coffee House
and notice that you
are not the only man
in this world…