how we learnt to live

Momma was self sacrificial and bitter

like most  self-sacrificial people are,

the ones you read about in books

A true Gandhist,she lived on some sort of a curb diet plan

left best portions of handiya for papa and Ali

kept to her diet plans and ate only me,

for lunch,for breakfast,for dinner

Papa had always been popular and self-obssessed

but we loved his childish liking of himself,

our huge smiling dictator,we really loved him

atleast i did

(may be because he was as scared of my self sacrificial momma

as i was...may be she ate us both)

Pinkie had never been anything more than those pretty pink soap bottles

(plastic and no brains...easily mouldable,readily available)

and to be honest she never wanted/ pretended to be anything more,

she never had to,after all she was the pretty one

so she got  my share of true loves too

Ali grew up wanting to kill me

(and i dont know why)

Cousin brother was the only thing i claimed back then

and how he loved to teach and touch,

his fingers couldnt help touching

we experimented alot with our bodies and his ouija board

he was the one who brought me my first tin of cranberry juice

and he talked of bees

perhaps he was the one who told me

that we lived  in a bee hive,all of us

with our lack of individuality and  our continuous buzz buzz

Oh my God ,the humdrum,our humdrum was almost alive

Huge and cloud like with always the dull same notes  like a church choir's,

it was then and there 

when my last sessions with cousin brother concluded beneath the bed

(or perhaps it was under the dinning table,i dont remember)

that i learnt to fight myself alone,

cued my coloured aesthetics in neat rows,

loved my qualms,hated them,

all of the boys in my class awakened  a young mama in me

and i wanted each of them to have oedipus complex

when enraged i taught myself to destroy each tiny world in my fist

my tongue  craved everything sweet and red

everything as sweet and red as cranberry juice

and my brown hands stretched out to find words

to elaborate ''the art of survival''

this is precisely how i learnt to live

Reviews

[Siddhartha]

This traverses so many worlds, the world we inhabit alone, the world we share, the world we keep to ourselves.... There is a strange universality about this poem of yours... It seems very personal and yet strangely relatable. And did I forget to mention - it is in equal parts a human fable about growing up and the loss of innocence.

[Jasmine]

I've come back and read this, and I understand it a little better now.

Your poems remind me of Arundhati Roy's book "God of Small Things"... if you haven't read it, I think it would be interesting for you to do so.

You're so good that I'm jealous.

[Jasmine]

You're poetry is as good as it ever was, and I never have anything to say to improve it... (except the spelling mistake "dinning table" ;)

But, they're often sexually disturbing.. That's not a criticism, but I thought I'd just mention it.

Usually, I don't understand them, I won't pretend. They confuse me. Probably because I haven't seen as much life as you seem to have done.

[Jibey]

The words just tumble out of your vivid imagination and create a marvellous kaleidoscope of images, full of wit, a little spicey here and there, reflecting the jumble of family life and the zest for living that oozes from your pores...

[faryn wolff]

oh what a read. Such powerful expression. This is raw pulsating straight from the heart & soul, crawls into my chest cavity, it's sitting there now just soaking into me. your talent lies in honesty

"perhaps he was the one who told me
that we lived in a bee hive,all of us
with our lack of individuality and our continuous buzz buzz
Oh my God ,the humdrum,our humdrum was almost alive"

YES. such perception, striking words. they tap into my head like a drumbeat. i'm excited to read more of your poetry my friend.

[Khaaki]

i can relate to this too well... another masterpiece...

[Emily B]

you are a genius-poet

I sit in awe

[emmajoy]

Superbly sad .. words to read and read, emotions to share - if one dares. You can write soul and spirit and still remain complete.

[David W Moore III]

Brilliant. I wish I could say it better than Sam. Some people whine, you draw us in.