The poet inside tattooed
on alien tongue. Open
Hand or Leaf upon which
an ancestor wrote.
My poetry as always has been scattered. From the vision of a black beret, to the sudden appearance of a hungry bread-loving bird. Or hallucinations. Anything. So here, for the ungentle-st of readers who hopefully scavenge among the 600 plus posts for truncated sentences that maybe termed poetry, I present, the un-bound post of Within / Without poetry, even if vaguely suspicious. (“And that”, puffed the carpet – “Was an example of an unnecessarily long sentence!”)
Let’s not fool ourselves. Who cares about poetry anyway?
But more than for “others”, this post has been compiled because of the basic inefficiency of Blogger that doesn’t allow me to categorize posts and as a record for myself. All of these are not even half-way decent. Some of them are unadulterated crap! When do I write more and when do I drop off? And is London eating up the poet in me? I must rescue the poet from this city.
Dear London, won’t you please vomit out the poet you’ve half-eaten?
Almost a Sufi Wish…
Naked People and my Sweetie Pie, An arbit piece of string, How love sat precariously, Almost two years back, Just Another Poem (JAP), Eight, And a Bit of Old Pain, Owl, moon and Stupid Poem, A Phone Conversation, Rattle, Shit and Deep Fears, Talentless Refrains, Fears, revisited, Yet Again, On Borrowed Sentiments, Shiver, On Fearing Domesticity, Sleepy Song
A humble surf, Undone, On a particular stay…, Ode to Delhi, Self-Deprecation, What afternoon sleepiness inspires.., Somewhat borrowed, mostly mine, Almost evil rant, Stupid, It’s Me, Buddha in the dark, A random phone call, Gulmohar,
Arbit Phase – More Vogon, Mumbling of dreams, Tonight, On Flaws, On living off others, Someone Sleeping, A rant on knowing, unknowing, Poems in the cold, Cloud Burst
On Looking, Night and Morning, Post Marriage. Yet, Dinner these days, Where we live, Room with a view, Clay and Rust, On night yap, A certain vacuum, Nausea, Brown suds of miracle soap, Nausea 2, wing to moodswing, Ode to Krishna, How the morning raga was born, Subtle, Sudden realization, Versova – Reflections, Monkey speak, Proving, Unproving, Forgotten references, Sparrow
Arbit, Mismanaged, Weekend Vogon Poetry, Some vague feeling, arithmetic for dummies, on some days, a take on flight, deep inside, sequence, verse, a dam of colour…, other pursuits.., about a city.., to a khanabadosh
Ruins of the market
Of five years