Shifting position

For long

my organs were hypothecated

I was living a borrowed life

lived, outdated.

Now

I have a blue sky

in my eyes,

they see the world

without hired colors;

I have a stream

in my ears,

they listen to the world

flow and fall

with melodies unheard;

I have a stage

in my tongue,

it lives in peace

with words and tunes

unsaid, unsung;

My hands have a mountain

in between

it shivered on my shoulders

bold, loud, fearsome

my head

dead tired for years,

of late it hangs in my arms

rests, vibrates on my lap

steady, stable, serene.

Integrity

‘How lovely to see you’,

says my smiling face

‘No, it’s not true’

sighs my inner space.

I feel heavy and hollow

beyond trace.

I sound sweet

when I think good and nice

in my mind.

It’s an engaging exercise;

my thoughts and speech coalesce at ease.

What a splendid bliss this is.

I feel light and healthy from inside.

Discovery

All through the sleeping days

I was acting on the stage

mimicking actions done for years,

parroting words of others

unsure, confused, rejected;

yet I had wings

to fly like a bird.

When I chose to be the audience

I stopped judging

enjoyed the role

started loving it all, from end to end

understood the importance

of waking up, accepting

my performance.

The same mundane world around me

uncovered, softened, changed;

detached, I was stable on the ground

my feathers could lift me beyond the sky

anytime

independent and free.

Reliving

Yesterday, I was thinking of yesterday

Living in dead hours
Yes to scrapped days

I wish I could say noterday
but dictionaries will be worried

beyond words, with naysayers;

anon with tomorrow I'm perpetually in wars

relay race continues to rehearse
mind ceaselessly carry memories, like hearse

it hardly has a trace
how it disappears behind grace;

hurt, hidden, punished, banished
in hell, in hell, in hell.

Powerless

I am slowly buried under the earth
I struggle to heal my moments

thousands of them, pouring in,

but I have also learned to plan and win
for days yet to be born

with my learned horn
my head, my head, my head is only alive

why!

I wish I could live light, feel good,
forever in heaven, engaged and full
but I have learned to live in my beautiful
dazed yesterday
with heaps of known sorrow
reliving in the dead tomorrow.

The story of civilization

The story of civilization

 In every home a sad story lies
still I know ‘I will rise’
the unashamed masculine world yet
is ragging me in my nursery, beyond words.

I am not a newcomer anymore
I was born with different organs; tender, soft,
engaging for you to fondle, to manhandle, to violate
you have all been so united, so desperate
to keep us under your belt; our power to vote, to speak,
to drink, to work, to learn and earn
is still limping on the stage. Even in 2018,
we have to ask for these rights; judgments, tortures
reign through your muscled eyes.
Your fake and meek might, your attempt to subjugate us,
is still the germ, your sperm did the trick
but the womb did the magic. The day we unite and decide
not to shelter the gray-drops, no terrorist will be born;
no leaders; no saints will walk on the earth
to fight the war, when men will also cease to take birth.

Your repentance in action without pretence
can sustain the story of civilization nevertheless
in every home, in every garden.

French

L'histoire de la civilisation

Dans chaque maison une histoire triste se cache

Désormais je sais encore que ‘je me lèverai’

Le monde masculin sans honte encore

Me harcèle au sein de ma serre, au-delà des mots.

Je ne suis plus une nouvelle venue

Avec  des organes différents, tendre, doux, je suis née

Que vous engagez à caresser, à malmener, à violer

Vous avez tous été si unis, si désespérés.

Notre pouvoir de voter, de parler, de boire, de travailler,
d’apprendre et de gagner claudique toujours sur la scène.

Même en 2018, il faut demander ces droits déterminés;
Des jugements et des tortures règnent à travers vos yeux musclés.

Votre fausse et douce force, votre tentative de nous subjuguer est
toujours le germe, votre sperme a fait l'affaire

mais notre ventre a fait la magie.
Le jour où nous nous unissons et décidons

de ne pas abriter les gouttes grises, aucun terroriste ne naîtra;

pas de leaders; aucun saint ne marchera sur la terre

quand les hommes cesseront aussi d'accoucher afin de lutter contre la guerre.

Sans prétexte votre remords en pleine action

peut soutenir néanmoins l'histoire de la civilisation
dans chaque village, dans chaque jardin.

But in my dreams

The moon was ready

to part

unlike me
the silver ball, with all its crews
in its single hue
hidden forms, out of sight
knows it’d reincarnate
anytime
in the huge blank of blue.

I am never done it seems
with transactions

of all sizes, shapes and colors
alas
I am never ready
to leave the body.

That pending interaction

or the other relation
to be cleaned

or for some elusive attraction
I hang on;

even if I reappeared on the screen
memories will be washed
like the night
or those holes in the star
gleaming with life

sensing light

stable, steady.

But in my dreams
I often become the moon.

Trying

In trying to write your script
I forgot mine.
Managing your lines
is such a waste of time
my page is crowded, gripped
with your words, your wounds, your footprints.

You I was trying to change
how on earth does it make sense?
But the world cannot disengage
from this clouded ignorance;
in the allowances, it oversteps.

You I was trying to control
confused in the given roles
my feet, never on the ground
my wings, lying hidden, unfound
my words, my script, my lines
lost, unheard, undermined.