Poem 11

Translations of Evocations within

If the woman is the mother for time infinite
Then we are all Oedipus
At least in the matter of our eyes.
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If these kind of implicit norms get uprooted
From this ancient civilization
It is likely that Bharat might actually vanish
One day.
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Even with this realization
These eyes don’t stop copulating.
How do I deal with their voracity?
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I am presenting
Translations of evocations
Sans outbursts of dalit disgust.
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My mirror yesterday whispered tauntingly
That it’s the same in your mirrors as well.
Your mirror, it seems, said –
‘Not an issue, friend. It’s the same with
Everyone. Of course, the quality could be
A little different. But how does it matter?
All eyes are sex-starved for sure.’
ê ê ê

‘I am Bobby. Would you be
friends with me?’
Why friends, I could date you and take you to…
(Hope the censors would allow)
Infinite powers they have to
Titillate–
This one talks huskily
That one gives a come-hither look
Someone sways across
Another one dresses to kill and so on and on.
We need a censor board in every town.
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What’s all this man?
ê ê ê

You have also surrendered your being
To women who were looking the other way.
And too you have received silent gifts of raw wounds
Sometimes.
And you too go on bearing life like a coolie
Covering the wounds in bandages of memoryLike me.