POEMS

by P. RAJA

THE GREAT FART

The resting tusker

As if tickled by a thought
Rose to its feet.
A hillock appeared
Within a twinkling of an eye.

Its pendulum turned tail

Swept clean the vacuum
For a free-flow of air
Trying to find an outlet.

The tusker for a while

Gave a constipated look
Shrank its mammoth tummy.

The mahout howled

With both his arms raised:
“Oh! The great fart on its way.”

The watching children in the zoo

Winked at each other,
Giggled, took to their heels,
Their imagination running riot.

At last, the tusker broke wind…

The watching kids howled
from a safe distance:
“Oh, What a shame on the tusker!
It was only a husky whisper.”

P. RAJA
27.04.2009
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VISA TO HEAVEN

A map of pleasure.
That’s woman’s body.
The navigator flops and
Gets drowned
If he knows not his routes.
But if he does find his
Then it is a straight launch
To blissful Heaven.

P. RAJA
18.09.2009
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IF ONLY THERE IS A GATE…

I have heard of
Gate to Heaven.
Gate to Hell is
Quite familiar to me.
Surely, I know
Where I will go one day.

No one talks of
Gate to sky.
Certainly I have not
Heard of one such gate
When the sky really needs one.

At night,
Sitting solo in my terrace
And looking up
I see stars countless
Lying pell-mell
Enticingly and winking
Without a break.

Perhaps they need a hug.

My kiss to them
May be soul-gratifying.

Poor me! I do not know

How to reach them.
If only there is a gate…

P. RAJA
21.09.2009
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JUST A BALLOON

(A Dramatic Monologue)

Oh! Do not stare and grin

at me like that, you bitch!
Your all powerful olfactory sense
has perhaps sensed what
I threw into that garbage bin.

It’s just a small packet,

my beloved has pushed
into my trouser pocket,
and cooed: “Find a bin
on your way home.”

Oh, no, no! Don’t bare your teeth.

I’ll come out with the truth.
The pocket holds just a balloon,
a costly balloon deflated
and so is of no use further.

Oh, no! Please wait.

Your jaws look more cruel
than the jaws of life itself.
My beloved insists that
I should slip on before I slip in.

Stop it, you stupid bitch!

Your bark is worse than your bite.
What the hell you want me to do
with that balloon that enjoyed
my beloved with me?

How long can I move about

with that rival in my pocket
holding my would-be children
from spurting into life?
Mind your business, you bitch!

P. RAJA
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April 14, 2002

$$$

OH, TO BE A POET!

You do not know

what it is to write a poem!
At first
a bell rings in your head
to start the work.
Then it is
a matter of meditation.
All your senses
are forced to fly
swift and soft
towards the target.
And when your eyes open
you see nothing around
but only the vision
you had when
your eyes were closed.
A pleasant experience.
You are all alone
in the midst of everything
and everyone.
But you are somebody
amidst nobody.
And when your poem flows
onto paper
as your pen gives shape
to your thought
you feel different,
haloed,
pedastalled and
honoured.

P. RAJA
7/5/08
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LESSONS IN LOVE

Most often,
in all these years
I felt your fingers
round my throat.
I know
like the oldies of my home
you are in my shadow.

Many a time
you suffocated me
and drove me
into caring arms.

Every time I got off too easily

from your clutches,
I began to take a liking for you,
for you made my heart powerless though
you didn’t dare to stop its ticking.

Every time you tortured me

I gladly learnt my lessons
Didn’t those long lessons in pain
teach me what love is?

P. RAJA
7-5-2008