sigh of sin θ
in this world of the limped nuptial
i've appeared as a power-missile of the lac-dye
that is used by the hindu women
to paint the border of their feet
the tooth-ache of some-one pumpkin
that grows on the thatched roof of a hut
has wringed spirally
my mythological birth with corporate death
managing and arranging my thoughts
on what I was in the past
what I would be in the future
or what is my dos at present
the wonder-paintings of the altamira cave
unfolds its wings beside my painful in-growing nail
and in her own sky of miss marry
my hands become so much condensed in every drops
as if within that moping smog
without any speech
speaks the twinkle twinkle little star...
beside that labour pain what awakes then
is the patronage of a one-horned idea
along which while walking without much preparation
i can enter into any e-mail
though our love pulls a very long-face about itself
and in the opinion of the married women
the sigh of the sin θ of our love wants to cultivate
mustered-seeds on the soil of the inhabitants
of this human-life
with a stick by which the monkeys are driven out
what more can i say in lieu of
a piece of red-salute written in green ink
if i say in the dawn of the 52-cards
i touch your face
by the hands of a school-boy
your calmness and earthly perfume
make me stunned
then in this field of sweat and war
the explosion of logic and intellect
of your top-floor
seems more famous anchor than the milk
that spilt over on the fire
and more to say
when daubing all over the body
all taste of the path of joy
enter into then fort of gold you can notice there
when in some unknown moment
my pajama dies socially
by the bite of the snails and oysters
to keep the heart of the break-kiln always move
this form-less interactions are so well
in the harvest-arrangement of the late-autumn
we are all uttering the name of cherry-flower
and begging shelter from the mango leaves
the cause of spreading over of the fragrance
from our secret myrobalan to every side of the pillows
is not only such that in the morning
an empty ink-pot says to the rain-water
you are beautiful
it is also remarkable that
coming to our half-articulated travelling
the writings carved on the granite stone
become very much ashamed also
and taking the busy market-price of the sun-glass
in the fold of the loin cloth tied at the waist
my both hands are also marked very much
in the omnibus of the dancing-bar
such is just because it is the art and science of navigation
that pastes some earth-wave
having no number-plate
with the public
rolling down on the mat of the summer
it is impossible
to memorise the history of those
so much contended-hunger
so much contended-sleep
it is all right that the staff-members
of our vibgyr university are all alive
but they are the existence of some
bio-data only
arrangement of so much smiles and tears
in the nomenclature of banana-bed of mrs sofia
is not to tell the directionlessness of her fishery products
but if the culture of the wild trees assuming figure
then there remains no separate entity of the rbcs
inside or inside-up of the veins and arteries
all are the world of cosmetic-surgery
all are the arena of displaced national integrity
that is the only way to get admitted
into the still water of the horse-race
so the making of this self-portrait of the tip-cat game
by own-hand
so is the fancy of the engagement ring of the bursar
as a result of the headache in the au fait knee-joint
all the rats on the rice-pot of margaret
become very angry
and when they make their performance
you can't catch them by extending your hands
so there is this sky-blue printed sari of desdemona
now take refuge under her perfumed disaster
and it is feared that there may be the drops of sweat
on the lobes of her nose extremely devoted
that the trees become to reside in
how much confusing is that cascade
in each of whose earings the dark fortnight
and whose eden garden is so large
that all those people with crevasses dwell there
they stay in a group of nine
neither eight nor ten
just n for 9
n is also meant for the nancy
and the narcissus
and the sensational appearance of the
nereid
once again we rub green-chilly after pouring water
in the parched-rice on the ancient plate made of brass
it is right that the peak is separated down from the temple
but it does not hurt the priest
by the right of our walks strewed outside
we too when hiding ourselves in the regime of fire
with our intention and activities
with our standpoint
with our conduct and behaviour
or any instant rule or direction
or our deeds
that compel the rotation of the deodorant
thus after the eye-operation
the love between you and me is now
seeing more week-ends than before
to her knee has been submitted many caws
painted in water-colour
in every corner and every hole of the body
that pulls the rickshaw the wind enters
and in every root-cause of the sufferings
the ripple of annihilation of love
from the shop of dip-swimming now
you can also purchase soundlessness
to feel the spirit of chrysoberyl
now you need the work for 100 days
to gain the power you need to keep pace
with the graph of the terracotta
that may also be a long day of fasting
then on the back of that hungry conch-shell
a globe shouts
the other's world puts its office-water
in the fountain of cactus the roaring of which
pours so many telephone-calls into the ears
then in our market the ear-bursting sound of the generator
then in our forest-land
the bullet-fight between maoist and the joint-force
then with the enlarging and waning of our moon
are the bright fortnight the dark fortnight and the leaves of wood-apple
you may say now
those demerits relate to the seeds of the gm oranges
but just think the scanning of hibernation of the philtre
or of the kite the thread of which is cut off
they can't escape their responsibility too
then tell me to whom i could give
my sad melting point
but then to do any work means
this trigonometry
outside the territory of copyright
then the connection of the biscuits
with the thoughts of the fire-works
is clearly dismantled
the border-zone of all relations thus keep themselves apart
and due to a sharp difference in the chromosomes of sand-stone
our dwelling-house becomes a museum
to build a hospital with a big moustache
at last within the hypnotized company
the shadow of our bed-room appears
then the light of the social moon is like the materials
with which the inner parts of the sorrows of the pomelo
is made up
it may be well for making great
the art-work of the horse-rider
that is wrapped with the handkerchief of ocean
it must be waiting for my shampoo-power too
some cure may be offered by the paraffin
and her open hair
but one deed of the rose-petals
and the convex sweet drops of molasses
is the flame of thumb-impression
that is born and brought up by the pan-cake
in-between sauce-pan and peter pan
in this all-pervasive panorama of slang-opera
Poetry by murari sinha
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Written on 2010-04-20 at 15:28
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