Sputtering poetry - Rohith (always you kirsty moseley txt) 📗

/> being enlightened seeing the upgraded species
welcomed our hard breath with utmost sarcasm
showing me those tricks in climbing
notating the life i lost...being a man.
A very lonely place it is...very lonely hill
those rocks
unmoved since some years became tangible for our senses
as we took those lifeless things
and tried to relieve those rocks from their tyrannical posture.
No foot mark...not even a small trace of human existence
not even a good road to reach the top of hill
so adventurous...so adventurous
and those clouds...those frantic...freak clouds
moving like tortoise...on shore
trying to escape from the eagle.
I babbled in my inner tone
with utmost insanity as i walked along this uncommon road
and all of a sudden...in a particular instant
i found that irrational resemblance between the world of mine
and this world...
from which one can look at the remaining world
wow...
a splendid experience
and at lost
a water drop tickled my exhausted muscles
leaving no idea
if its a rain drop or a sweat drop
which rinsed my soul
and gave birth to a news poet!


We Won
on June 29. © ROHITH, All rights reserved
Squirming legs
i tried to relieve muscles
but it never worked...
played 3 matches in a row
as the pain in my shoulders got intensified.
Killing the pain...i went to bowl
running from 8 feet distance
as my femur got struck...
i continued to bowl
for an insane sake...to win
my senses became so nasty
that even winning became insane.
Oh man...
sweat mingled with tears'
as i continued to wait for the ball
in the shade of that dirty brute...a mere bastard...sun
not even minding how my legs moved
and then last ball...one run
man...
my eyes are about to shut
and my kneels bended
and then a big sound...
everyone started screaming
we won
thats the only thing that recharged me
we won
we won
and then
i ran...ran towards crowd
forgot the pain
we won...we won
and then they gave us water
...feeling the taste of water for first time
we won!


Once there was a country...
on July 1. © ROHITH, All rights reserved
Once there was a country
which was clean and green
when it rains!
This country...
is a once upon a time sorta country
and its still here...
here on this land...but its not ours anymore dear
its our vaporized tear!

They said we are Jews
and moved away from us
they are not those whom we see one time in life time
but they are our neighbors and our cowardly Christianized
friends and relatives.

Oh dear!
They removed our name from the list
they said...we were OFFICIALLY DEAD
we lived in those holes...when it rained so cruelly
a nasty storm...it was
and those children cried with pain dear
not sure if they are crying with hunger
or seeing the scary thunder!

It not at all clear
the way the things went here
the cat meow's
the dog bow's
and us...we are reducing dear
not even meows or bows of our cats and dogs.

We are reducing dear
he is harvesting the weeds...us
dear...we are reducing...he is killing us
and there is no one ever dared to raise voice
supporting us!


Inspired by Auden's-http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/refugee-blue


Another love poem!
on July 3. © ROHITH, All rights reserved
Waiting for that creaking sound of girls hostel
he waited for the entire night thinking of the day to blossom.
Devastation of those unlatching tensions
revolutionized his dreams
which were burnt alive
by those thunderous storms of love.

He remember that old odor of her tears
mingled with cosmetics on her face
whose fragrance almost demanded
unpredictable love
to which he bowed with his heart.

Breezy winds flew
as unintended emotions brewed out
materializing the enlightenment that i feel in love
wetting the brevity of my poetry with those wet dreams!

Hypnotized by the lavished love
which tuned frequency of my intolerable heart
instantiated
my vocal cords to reverberate in a different passion
in a musical way...in the direction of wind
trying to make it resonate with nature

I LOVE YOU


? Amar rahe comrade AZAD ?{A TRIBUTE TO ALL NAXALS WHO BREATH THEIR LAST IN THE HEARTS OF PEOPLE}
on July 4. © ROHITH, All rights reserved
? Red star ?
after so many days i understood
why every poet use this word to express heroism.

So many hands raised
for he who was called a blood drinking beast
by those drinkers of poor men sweat!

So many tears mingled with those slogans
so many hearts cried to listen his heart beat
...those dirty butlers called them Hitler...
nasty butlers...
bastards...politicians
who peed with utmost timidity!

Who pay responsibility for those sadistic tears
of raped innocent dalit women
by the saviors of this country
by those commandos.

He raised his gun
saying we are all one
to mingle with the greenness of jungle
to fight against the murderers of constitution!

They may not write his name in books
they may make him a villain
but we glorify those things
that were made incognizant by those historians
by those liars...those prostitutes who sold their own souls
to this government.

This day...afterall this day
sun rose like every day
people slept like every night
but there is one man...particularly only that man
who didnt slept...who is not even awake
he died...the man of masses
he died bowing to those bullets certified by govt
no...
he died fighting with those faithless bullets
and his eyes are still scintillating with desire
his ideals are still awake
he is not dead
he is alive
his name may be not written in books
but those words are written in our hearts
in those hearts which live in timidity...with jungle
he is our slogan...
Amar rahe comrade AZAD ?
? ? ? ?


8:55 or even 9:30
on July 8. © ROHITH, All rights reserved
8:55 or even 9:30
but surely Pm...
I dont remember the time
i never dont remember it!
Its crowdy over there
some mobs moving from shop to shop
listening to hip hop music of babbling society.
I sat on that rock beneath the pillar
waiting for the bus...watching the time[but i dont remember it]
listening to the silent tickling of cruel watch
innovating the ideas to kill time.
A man sat infront of me
i dont know from how much time he was there
i dont even remember if he was there before me
but he was there.
He wore white dress but its not white...
its ashy black.
His stomach is more like a bowl
liberating starving howls of hunger.
Beside him is a women
who is as thin as a grasshopper
and she wore no pant or anything covering
but she wore a long shirt...long enough...
and she got that secret ingredient
in long pocket of her rusted shirt
that gummed his interest from the beginning.
Give it to me- asked he
she ignored
Give it to me...he raised his voice
he raised his spirits
she...moved a little like a worm
and taken the thing from her pocket...as long as her hand
as her eyes scintillated like an angel
an angel trying to reveal her glory
she took out some powder
a black powder...not gun powder
some tobacco powder.
She powdered it...even powdered it with her thumb
grinned it...and finally
raised her neck and opened her mouth...ate it
elegantly
...i can see the flow of powder through her pharynx
and then she smirked...she didnt noticed me seeing
she didnt noticed anyone seeing her...but she smirked.
I love her smirk.
Then the man asked him to give him this powder
but she ignored him
forced her to give it...but she repelled
then she gave it...gave it being helpless
and then she smirked...not caring the loss of her property.
He wrapped it in a paper
and kept it deep in his pocket...a corner
where everyone keep their gold.

Horns...
your attention please
bus number 6712 arrived at platform number 3...
we raced... towards the bus
following the rhythms of horns
and thats it...
thats the final time i saw her...materially!


[ Walking along those lanes ]
on June 21. © ROHITH, All rights reserved
Walking along those lanes
in search of ecstastic mares
along those narrow streets
where sparrows live without terror
among the drugged
the betrayed
smelling the vapours of rain
stirring the intolerable romance in brain!
Along dusty roads
racing with dreams
i continued to walk
like a drunken hancock
smelling the fume of rusty gold!
stupefied by enraged glory of fierce women
fighting in the streets
as the dogs continued to watch the cinema
and the men in their houses
filled their stomach with the fluid that causes intoxaication
seeing the football match!
I continued to catch that deceived dream of mine
walking along those lanes
as i reached the crowdy market
where even the smallest of ants
dont risk to pass through the mob
as i got inspired by the fluidity of water
and dumped my self into that crowd
of innovative angst!
Listeining to those babblings of millions
some bargaining
some laughing with splendid feel
some disgusted like me
some other cursing the brutality of society
a cosmopolitan in thoughts
enraged their existence
as i chased my dream
like a dog trying to catch a moving tram!
After all,
i found this dream of mine
which made me run so wildly
like a mad elephant
in that jungle...in the shade of cycad tree
named PEACE!


[ I sat at the patio ]
on June 24. © ROHITH, All rights reserved
I sat at the patio
seeing that portrait of a women facing ocean
discovering unsoundness of my imagination
as a saccadic thunder blazed
opening the eye of sky
as the clouds liberated first rain drops
which kissed inglorious mud
filling the air with intoxication
of romantic vapors.
Chained by the lust of intolerable fragrance
i crept along with those winds
near to the parapet as lazily as a drugged snail!
Tantalizing my dreams
a heavy wind with some dew
blew on to my face
as my lips raised in a sarcastic passion
conveying its reason to live.
Humanity overflown from my heart
as the innovative part of my brain
continued to search for the irrational logic of my smile.


Armed Gandhism
on June 8. © ROHITH, All rights reserved
in his dreams he dreamed of a world
like a butterfly
to listen to sounds of its flickering winds.
a colorful dream is what he dreamed
not even knowing how to use his
experience less imagination!

He thought of those beautiful flowers
which bloom only during spring
whose ethical duty enlightened Buddha
to research the depths of life.

BUT

he never dreamed of those irrevocable logics
roaring their existence
in the intensity of pain
when a butterfly is caught by a boy
getting enlightened by the sounds of those flickering wings!

He never dreamed of those beautiful flowers
hanging from the neck of greatly decorated lifeless body
in that crowded market of society.

He never even thought of his mother
struggling to feed his stomach
bearing bricks
pouring sweat
tearing possibilities
discovering for that day to see glow in his face.

That is what he learn
in time
with time...swimming in the pool of
his mothers womb
An untamed spark spread its wings...then
when
all his gates are closed by humanity,
by love, by emotion
some called it as Maoism
not knowing its called armed Gandhism!


Insomnia
on June 10. ©