Thursday, January 10, 2008

Your Ex-Lover is Dead (draft)

It started with a rrrrring.
This dawn is like ice and water-
colour pink outside my window, my
walls still dark and this morning
started with a ring.
They didn't need
to tell me but they called, they are
thoughtful that way.

Your ex-lover is dead.

Do you remember, was it another
birth when you bunked maths
tuition to watch him play at a fest his
friends so much older the little park by your
school where he touched his tongue
to your wrist that icecream
guy in the corner you
thought was Father
Christmas? Do you still hide
your blush when a passing
classmate mentions his name oh
when did you grow up
so much?

They didn't need to tell you but they
called. Your ex-lover is dead.


In a fit of summernight passion I had
given you all my childhood
dreams all my empty hours in
return of your
smile your silly schoolboy smile the pool
of sweat glistening in the hollow
of your throat. I was a child,
thoughtless and now
I cannot rest, these afternoons
make me shudder like a broken
conchshell I cannot hear my
footsteps anymore I have
bartered them for glitter glitter
glitter faded so long ago.

They didn't need to tell me that my ex-
lover is dead.


If I didn't exist, would you have
dreamed me?
I had dreamed you, I
built you up like a scrapbook with
memories, crumpled cigarette paper and
markerpen rainbows, built you up
till you were unreal, like dream, built
you up till my grubby fingers
could not touch you. So much star-
dust one could go blind! But now
you live in other people's dreams, a
stranger, or are they your
own? Dreams I do not recog-
nize, fingers that have sought salvation
in the voluptous perfume of many
other skins, washing over my sixteen-
year-old chewing gum
aftertaste since. As have I, as I
cannot imagine the timbre
of your voice on my phone anymore, there's
nothing left to owe or return, we are
strangers.

They didn't need to tell me, I knew
my ex-lover was dead.


And who let you in here this
morning leaning against the dark of the wall
your arrogant eyes undoing my drowsy
languor, accusing
accusing of what, what
right do you have to
demand? I turn my eyes away and there's
the smell of blood in my
room, your merciless grin hangs
in my air and there are
tears, scorching, tears I
refuse to cry. Who let you here
in my head, you, half-wasted
teenage narcissus, who
let you become the demon I cannot forget?

They didn't need to tell me but
they called. They are
thoughtful
that way.

43 comments:

Royal Bengal Tigress said...

Bloody brilliant. I felt like a boat caught in a stream of rapids, being hurtled along.

Guitar George said...

they always call don't they??

The journey said...

something has stopped within me.. as if someone has put me into a flash back - black n white... Wonderful!!

Mamma mia! Me a mamma? said...

It was like kayaking on a river, which quickly turned into rapids and finally hurtled me down a waterfall. I haven't read something this brilliant in a long while! Please do write more often!!

The Randomly Insane said...

They have to say it. It's their way of showing they care. :P

ahona said...

brillaint juxtaposition of words, emotions and imagery.it's marvellous. it's magnificent, a tour de force...truly.

ahona said...

brilliant *

saptarshi said...

Nothing to say about your expression. Loved the way one image spilled into another. One line continued into another. I kept thinking of this piece of hand made paper. Colors blotting into it. Merging and forming new colors.

Very sensual.

Samita Chatterjee said...

"What is a poet? An unhappy man who in his heart harbors a deep anguish, but whose lips are so fashioned that the moans and cries which pass over them are transformed into ravishing music. His fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrant's ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music. And men crowd around the poet and say to him, "Sing for us soon again"—which is as much as to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be fashioned as before; for the cries would only distress us, but the music, the music, is delightful."

- Soren Kierkegaard

Sayan said...

I don't feel the need to serenade you with grandiloquent adjectives,but..

*bows*

rukmini said...

"Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thoughts"...

panu said...

the truth may be out there.... but the lies are all inside our heads.

the soliloquist said...

"washing over my sixteen-
year-old chewing gum
aftertaste since."


Gave me goosebumps.
Do i need to say more?

ushmi said...

ei i quoted you in my blog...is that ok?

And of course i don't need to tell you how good you are...you leave me breathless with admiration, truly

Living On Video said...

Best ever, I think. :)

Sounds like a song.

dreamy said...

Too good.
The words.

eleventh october said...

this feels beautifully alien.

lonely as the only eye said...

some masochism dancing its way to incessant expression... but who is this guy u have tlking about for so long? may be a desciple of unfathomable desire, may be a caressing of the much pleasured pain..
...good style, tears i dont want to cry...really worths a feel

-last of the Dviga Vertov Group

Elendil said...

Jesus Christ, you are without a doubt the greatest poet I know in real life. This is absolutely breathtaking. How do you do it? Absolutely phenomenal.

little boxes said...

i dont know how u wrote all that?
did anyone tell you my darkest childhood secrets?
man,you have penned them all down.

Shreya said...

absolutely brilliant,i am awestruck

The Mad Girl said...

OH My GOD!!!this is brilliant!!every word of it,the stream of consciousness style.Very very good poetry!!

hobgoblin said...

very nice.
"broken conchshell"
i love poets with vivid imagery.
keep writing.

Life's Elsewhere said...

Jabbaba! Tomake chinte parbo na keno?

rajroop said...

and you suddenly become taller than any/all i knw...

Suryadeep said...

absolutely fabulous.

you have a new fan :).

Anurima said...

'...But now another stranger seems
to want you to ignore his dreams
as though they were the burden of some other...'
-L.C.

Brilliant! Someone has already mentioned this here, but I have to repeat her words- this is indeed a song...

Doubletake, Doublethink. said...

*lets out breath slowly*

wow.

Lara Baggins said...

'In a fit of summernight passion I had
given you all my childhood
dreams all my empty hours in
return of your
smile your silly schoolboy smile the pool
of sweat glistening in the hollow
of your throat'

You could write just that. And say it all :)

Amazing Greys said...

you are marvellous & i'm a fan (only one among the hundreds i'm sure)

WHAT'S IN A NAME ? said...

That's a killer of a poem! Brilliant!

Write some more.

Antigone said...

there is something in the way u write...stays with the reader long after the tab is closed...

WHAT'S IN A NAME ? said...

Poushali told u ???? did she ???

Why...she has never even seen a letter of literature of any kind written by me. You stand to be thoroughly disillusioned if you have paid heed to any.

Even before I knew her I came across your 'Water'-blog and since then am an occasional reader.

May I link ur blog at mine ?

Indranil said...

This was expressed beautifully! You did justice to this hard topic.

Bravo! Kudos! Bahoba!

Little Dandelion said...

wow. searingly mindfuckingly beautiful

Angel of Dreams said...

phew.breathless admiration.

Burberry Princess.. said...

very very beautiful!

Saturnalia's Offspring said...

I've read this about 5 different times since you posted it, and I've never been able to comment.
Still can't.
But I just want you to know that I wanted to.

Pongy Papaya said...

Dreams I do not recog-
nize, fingers that have sought salvation
in the voluptous perfume of many
other skins, washing over my sixteen-
year-old chewing gum
aftertaste since.

the bestest:)
r gota tai khub shundor.

Ankur said...

I loved reading it.

sp said...

Somehow reminded me of...
beni madhob, beni madhob, tumar baadi jaabo,,,,,

Gypsy said...

I still love.

Saurabh said...

Nice flight of fancy. But the unstructured paragraphs and lack of natural break points and basic punctuations strangulated the incentive to read your work.

For example,

Do you remember, was it another
birth when you bunked maths
tuition to watch him play at a fest his
friends so much older the little park by your school
should have been

Do you remember?
Was it another birth when you bunked maths tutions,
To watch him play at the fest,
His friends so much older than you,
Do you remember?
The little park your school

and so on.