The Forest

It has been here forever.

 

A narrow strip of trees, caged by two walls on the either side – the remnants of the forest which gave way to the city.

 

It stands stubborn, arrogant and indestructible.

 

The bulldozers never touched it.
The axes were all impotent.

 

In its bosom it holds a parallel civilization.

 

From the windows of the high-rises all around, one can see the birds – its airforce – keeping a vigil.

 

Often peacocks come out of hiding, weary of the incessant love-making.

Often they will fly towards the city, peering through the windows at sexual violence and erectile dysfunction.

Their call rings like laughter.

 

They can see through the hollowness of your eyes.
The systematic draining of your soul has made you incomplete.

What happens when you realize that with all that money you can only buy Lamborghinis and 12 Storey Palaces – but these are far from enough.

 

You sleep with a hundred people, but the sex is dead.

 

You peer into the eyes of your lover and your lover needs another cigarette to stand you.

What happens when you waste your life to get to the top and realize that you’re already dead.

 

What happens when even your death is just another event, even for you?

You blame the concrete and the machine.
But it’s you who is broken.

 

The forest knows.

And that is why it refuses to abandon you.

 

The walls on the either sides have gaping holes with open arms.

 

Take all your drugs and alcohol and cigarettes there.

The forest will let you intoxicate yourself.

It will let you vomit and spasm and even let you die of an overdose.

 

It will let you mourn, for you should mourn your death.

Its mosquitoes will suck away all your blood.

Let them.

 

If you die she shall bury you in herself.

 

But if you survive, find a lover.

 

Make love in the forest.

 

Feel the skin instead of the designer clothes.

 

Kiss with love and not with technique.

 

Taste and not just lick.

 

Do it with love and passion and not for duration or achievement.

 

You will know pleasure and not just a fake orgasm.

 

Do not sleep in the forest.

Stay awake and watch the trees.

 

They will shower their dew on you.

 

Look at the stars peeking from behind the canopy.

 

Let the dogs sniff at you when they come.

 

Know that you exist and you are not your name, or your position, or your popularity or your money.

 

You are worth the labour of the Universe even without those things.

 

Go home.

 

Take a bath.

 

But don’t forget the forest.

Filthy Delhi Lover

Do me in the doggy perv,
Take me in your lap and surf,
Shit’s the lube there is to fuck
Your Filthy Delhi Lover.

Hussain will paint us nude, my love.
With every thrust with every shove,
We climb up their towers and call;
Let the cameras cover.

Let the celebrities clear the way,
When legends walk they shall sway.
Bow before us ye bitches
You slaves want us as rulers.

Quote me in the Time, I say.
Hear me talk about that May.
When i groped you in the train, that day,
Your kick made me cower.

But thank god you are still potent, douche.
I like it when you fill my pouch.
Your ass is not forgiven still
You ask before you savour.

Cheap Bra,
Easy Rip.
Wet Cunt,
Take a Sip.
Take me in,
Don’t make me dig.

My Filthy Delhi Lover

You’re hard
Let me help.
On Top
Ill make you yelp.
Lie down
And you shall delve.

My Filthy Delhi Lover

My staff
But your crown.
I am your slave
Wipe off that frown.
You are the Queen
When I am down.

My Filthy Delhi Lover

There are some nights when you don’t sleep,
My poet, I shall let you weep.
Meet in me Hauz Khas you creep.
Ill show you how its done.

Ill ask before I rape you,
Bring some ropes, take the cue.
The stars shall know we were there,
We shall leave our mark.

Delete that clip, you will be slayed
I’ll break your apple if it will be played.
That MMS is useless son,
Stars perform live.

Take me for a Royce Ride
We’ll bitch about Joyce with pride.
Your piss on Ulysses my Aphrodite
Makes me wanna crash.

Lets go to some art gallery,
Lets make out amongst snobbery.
They’ll call our piece performance art
And sell it for a million.

Or we shall buy a red light,
Put it up, make the city bright.
We burn the khadi, win their game,
Parliament is now planetarium.

We shall orgasm seeing the Mars
Claw my butt, leave your scars.
Plan a party with the chamars
And dance with the hijras.

Its sexy when you talk society,
Justice shall be your piety.
Its nice when you worship none,
But love and freedom.

This is how you make porn,
You are wet, your mind is warm.
Dream me up when I am gone
Your Filthy Delhi Lover.

–X–
*CAUTION*
The names of certain communities, which are used as abuses, are not used in the same sense.
The poet doesn’t intend to hurt anybody’s sentiment. If your interpretation of this poem hurts your feelings, then you shall solve it yourself.
This is a dialogue, not a monologue. Meaning there are two speakers.
The poet doesn’t condone rape. The ‘rape’ used in this poem shouldn’t be taken in the literal sense.

The Cult Of Metamorphose — Hanel Alchemist (Snippet)

The Cult of Metamorphose was established when a man had decided that he wanted his left hand to be replaced by an octopus limb.

But when some new members got bored with being just a fashion fad, they had invented a philosophy in order to be taken a bit more seriously.

“Freedom With Mutilation,” their tagline now said.

They aimed, according to their new manifesto, to be anything they wanted to be.

They proclaimed to be the first ones to prison-break from their human cage, and thrive to spread the tale.

The number of body parts one would cut-off was equally proportionate to the level of freedom they ascended to.

Their big moment of shock was when they discovered that their philosophy actually worked.

Mutilation not only granted them freedom from the human body, but also from the human world.

Members highest in the hierarchy could now transcend to other worlds, often to find some cheap substitute for alcohol (with no hangovers), but also because of spiritual enlightenment.

Soon, people flooded this new cult, and they had enough members to organize parades.

People would fix tentacles to their residual limbs, wear hooves instead of human feet, replace their noses with beaks and dance to Electronic Dance Music.

It was largely ignored by the conventional press, because the cult forcibly mutilated any reporters.

And hence, their fame was based on word-of-mouth marketing.

It was the first time that the cult had come to the neighborhood of Hanel Alchemist.

The venue of the parade was decided by rolling dice and often, they would randomly stumble upon people who needed their help.

So you can be sure that the parade was there for Hanel Alchemist. Although none of them knew it then.

— X —

A snippet from my in-progress Bizzaro novel, Hanel Alchemist, where the protagonist mines toes, stumbles upon a woman with seven breasts and deals with daddy issues in order to look for his twin who died in the womb.