Bini.B.S, Lecturer in English, M.S University of Baroda. Interested in Translation, Creative Writing and Women's Studies.
She has translated articles, poems and plays and published poems in various journals.
 

Gandharva



I tread dream lengths to reach you
Slumber seems endless
Between us stretches
A cement grey avenue, in bizarre gloom


As winds shake the trees
You spot me across the shower of yellow corpses
Jaundiced ghosts float down your vision
Blessing our surreal union


To my eyes, all the trees were green
Even the fallen leaves flashed
Verdant smiles at us;
Sanguine moon glared her horrors

Erotic scent of pala blossoms
Penetrated my sleep and waking


Suddenly a prince woke me up with a kiss
From a slumber that seemed endless
As my eyes opened, I saw everything
Sinking down and down an eddy of pink;
The trees, the avenue and even you!

Blood


Her hungers
Swallowed men
One by one.


Their blood
Altered to molten moons
Spurted in rapture
Into the womb of her wrath


The sowing of spite
Ended in a harvest of brats
Pushing the men off
They sucked her breast


Milk is blood
In disguise
The blood once heated
By the touch of man
Feeds his brood


The same blood
He sipped
Drop by drop
From her chalice of pain
Calmed the hunger
Of his offspring


What about the blood
Oozing
From the bruised cheek of moon
To tell her
About the futility of hope?
What form
The empty cravings of womb take?


The moon-faced infants play
In the quadrangle of dream
Voluptuous men wake her
From the sleep



Hyena



Dreams die
In quick succession.
I chose to be a scavenger beast
A gruesome hyena
Dazed by the abundance of corpses.


You can't tell apart
The clatter of bones
Echoing from my loose skin bag
And the mirthless laughter!
I laugh a lot; and loud.


Do not run away in terror…
Let's celebrate
The carnival of culmination
In my cells!


Nights!
The pale moons in your eyes,
Wax the bare bones of dreams.
Through the absent veins,
Memory of blood tickles.
My heart twinkles,
Having turned to a star!
Fling the peels of beastly hilarity,
All along the silence of nights.


Do not run away in terror…
Let's celebrate
The carnival of lunacy
In my nerves!
 

A Domestic Calamity



In summer
Snowfall might mean
Detachment


I sat hurling your dry kisses into the hearth
To keep the cold out
They crackled like fragile twigs
And soon turned into ashes


But…
Somehow the home caught fire
You had to dig me out of heaped snow


Let me drink your thirsts,
Feast on your hungers,
On the shores of silence-
I lie basking in your passions.


This year's winter should come
Without ice and storms
Don't forget-
We have no home.


Periods of Theoretical Transition



I hoped, while we discuss things
The candlelight would assure a bit of romanticism.
But the modern windows
Failed to keep the storms out
In the pitch dark
We used to dissect postmodernism
Those nocturnal postmortems-
Filled our bedroom with grunting ghosts.


Don't we suffer from insomnia?
At least I do …
Should we discuss this further?
How we communicate in a non language-
Devoid of symbols?
How instead of doors
Our home now has a valve?
Entry is permissible, possible.
There is no way out,
So what is next?