2-4 (somewhere in R.K Puram)

Pavement cries

under foot, corridors

full of nothing—just

dark whispers ‘tween

one-eyed streetlights

and the bleeding, blinking

eyes of the day...

cannibal eyes and

rabid jaws...

Split open, gutted

from throat to maw—

entrails that even

barbed-wire cannot

contain.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (25/10/2011)

Clock time and other stories

Pages are

like city streets,

the coiled spring

energy of children's

feet—

with love, murder,

business we

populate, the pavements

parched even rain can’t

satiate—

Pages—like the torn,

dripping rubber of love,

absolution is only time,

taken away from above.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (18/10/2011)

Mask

Mother, my brother

Another another,

Skin of my father,

Kill my other...kill, kill.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (16/10/2011)

image

my love is like

a coiled up spring

beating where the heart

was---a hollow, consuming

everything.

my love is like

a black mask, o'er

my face--- a dirge

where there was once

joyous space.

my love is but a photograph, plastic

lifeless memory---my love is but

a forgotten taste, the tongue cannot

feel, but closed eyes can see.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (7/10/2011)