Category Archives: Atyachar

‘I’ll tell you all the news

the ocean froths In the empty ghada a Shrill whisper rises  Like piss in the stream  The fawda picks away at the clod Darknesses converge  Upon the decaying carcasses  The dead stink  Louder than blasphemies  In the sacred chamber  And time,  … Continue reading

Posted in #poemaday, Atyachar, community, Could be verse, Gothamisation, hmmm, I want to ride my bicycle, It is written, middle class mithya, night, One Bad Day, picture abhi baaki hain mere dost, poetry, why? | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

portrait

There’s something about him – the way he conducted himself. No. Conducted is the wrong word. His demeanour is a stage without a curtain. really. There is no membrane. Nothing that complicates his serious play with the system. (haha. system … Continue reading

Posted in #poemaday, ananth, angryfix, Atyachar, community, Could be verse, It is written, One Bad Day, the apocalyptic real, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Rapporteur

I’ve watched black rain sow its seeds in fields of tarpaulin. pollinate the slum roofs with the manna of kali’s blood. and the angry gods in them come laughing out of blue urchin tongues. poverty’s a bitch, yo. I’ve watched … Continue reading

Posted in ananth, Atyachar, beauty, Bombay, City, Could be verse, epiphany, Gothamisation, middle class mithya, night, One Bad Day, traffic, vignettes, why? | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Reclaim

In the marketplace of time, buying cheap chappals woven by blind hands, tresspass Propriety’s red cloth taunts the wild bull euphemising the truth, Don’t just stand there, abuse Ride her back, and as she throws you like so many grains … Continue reading

Posted in Atyachar, City, Could be verse, epiphany, Gothamisation, hypocrisy, It is written, middle class mithya, poetry, the apocalyptic real | Tagged , , , , | 5 Comments

A rioting mind

I dreamt of blood of men with sticks and fire beating their breasts like gongs I dreamt of a riot in an anywhere town with anyhow cries tearing the crackling sky I dreamt of relief that it wasn’t me; that … Continue reading

Posted in Atyachar, City, Could be verse, Gothamisation, hmmm, hypocrisy, middle class mithya, One Bad Day, the apocalyptic real, why? | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A believer

This tumult of newspapered violence ravages me an incessant fist a thronging orchestra of despair Tired, I turn away and drink the evening swathed in birdsong aah! a believer salvaged.

Posted in Atyachar, Bombay, City, Could be verse, epiphany, Gothamisation, hmmm, hypocrisy, I want to ride my bicycle, It is written, kaha gaye woh din, middle class mithya, nasha, nature, One Bad Day, the apocalyptic real, why? | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Searching for god

(with apologies to Ginsberg, Eliot and the rest of the gang that’s been looking for an angryfix)

Posted in Atyachar, beauty, City, Could be verse, epiphany, Gothamisation, hasi to fasi, I want to ride my bicycle, It is written, middle class mithya, nasha, night, nostalgia, poetry, the apocalyptic real, traffic, vignettes, why? | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments