ചെറു കഥ : മുഖമുദ്രകൾ

ഉണരുമ്പോൾ ആദ്യമായി കാണുന്ന മുഖം അത് എപ്പോഴും പ്രധാനമാണ്. അത് നായക്കും മനുഷ്യനും ഒരു പോലെ തന്നെ. ഒരു തെരുവ് നായയുടെ  രൗദ്രമായ  മുഖമാണ് ഇപ്പോൾ കാണുന്നത്. മുന്നിൽ ഒരു  മനുഷ്യൻ. അവിടെ സംശയത്തിന്റെ  നിഴലുകളില്ല. അവിടെ അയാളുടെ മനസിന്റെ പല താളങ്ങൾ തുടിച്ചു തുടങ്ങി.  അയാളെ തുറിച്ചു നോക്കുന്ന കുറെ നിമിഷങ്ങൾ. അയാളുടെ ശ്വാസം അളക്കുന്ന കുറെ  വിനാഴികകൾ. അവന്റെ ഉറക്കം അലോസരപ്പെടുത്തിയ അയാളുടെ യാത്ര  ദുഷ്കരമായിരുന്നു. അവർ കൂടെ ഉള്ള മനുഷ്യരെയും മൃഗങ്ങളെയും ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചില്ല. മുഖാമുഖം നിൽക്കുന്ന രണ്ടു  ഉന്മാദികൾ. അവരുടെ ഇടയിൽ ഊഷ്മാവ് ഉയർന്നു  താണുകൊണ്ടേയിരുന്നു. സമയത്തിന്റെ വിമുഖതയിൽ ആ മുഖങ്ങൾ പരസ്പരം മറന്നു. ഒരാളുടെ നിദ്ര മറ്റൊരാളുടെ മുദ്രയാകാം. അതുപോലെ ഒരാളുടെ മുദ്ര മറ്റൊരാളുടെ  നിദ്രയാകാം. ഇവിടെ ഇരുവരും അർഥങ്ങൾ അറിയാതെ അനർത്ഥങ്ങളിൽ അകന്നുപോയി. 

Poem : A Bridge to Buddha

Synonyms of life

Semblances of life

They lived through his name

They lived through his fame

He was nothing but a voyage

Void and visceral

Vestige and vibrant

He was a ray through riddles

Light was unfolding upon

He was a tide through turbulence

Ocean was spreading its waves

He carried the burdens of a myth

Unto his last days and lost ways

When he mirrored the mankind

Beyond the name, there is a substrate

Beyond the fame, there is a facade

Beneath the self, he echoes an ensemble

Lost in swarms and swamps

Poem: Rip Van Winkle wakes up again!

I just arrived at my office desk

Time machines everywhere

Numbers dripping blood from everywhere

It is my sweat, sweet sweet and salt salt and saltier blood

that you simply call by the name ‘sweat’

It is a socket to my nervous circuitry

It is a simple sickle in my stomach

Time is dripping away like a bloody whirlpool

You need not be a world bank economist to know

That money circulates in time

How much ever you obfuscate money

How much ever you mystify money

How much ever mask time with data

And use the equations

Time is not money alone

Knowledge is not power alone

There is a world beyond equations

World of inequalities and perturbations

World of irrational imaginations

World of exponential series

World of irregular tropes

World of truncated silhouettes

World of trapezoidal memes

World of memes and nemesis

World of numismatics and bit coins

World of plagiarisms and forgery

World is not a whirlpool alone

It is simply a whirlwind

Can you imagine what will happen?

When Rip Van Winkle wakes up

Only to see that Don Quixote is ruling the roost

And to see the affair between a pelican and an albatross

There are many stories unfolding

In the polynomial times

Time is just a tyrant, in an ocean of solitaires

Poem: Chipmakers

They are soiled people 

They are oiled souls 

They are boiled shells 

They are coiled coals 

They make living out of soils 

Most of us carry it on head 

Some of us know it is inside and outside 

Few of us agree that we are from soil 

But this group is proud of their foil 

They call it by names 

Silicon, Carbon, Graphene, Lava and so forth 

When we till our earth 

When we tilt our head 

When we mince our mold 

The chip we make steal our earth 

It rains heavy on the soaked blood of many others 

May chip makers know that theirs is soil too

Poem: Two lives laughing together

I was in a hurdled state of mind 

As I hurled myself into this passenger bus 

Paused for a while, perplexed for a while 

A little moment of relax and gaze 

When I saw them laughing together 

A little boy and his uncle 

The boy was listening and chirping 

His uncle was bubbling like a child 

They had no life missed in between 

No age difference for sure 

Sitting at the corner seats 

Both of them thin and lean 

Leaning on to one another 

Eyes thrown outward 

Body shrunken by nature 

They could spell a world of laughter 

On all possible topics 

Shouting at the stupid crows 

Speaking about the stupid death 

Speechless about our flashy lifestyles 

Spamming about so much more 

As they vanished shouting aloud 

My thoughtful moments were all but gone 

Though nothing much I could share with'em

Poem: My black rosary with red cross and daily bread

A gaze at uncertainty in your meal time
A wave of poverty in your surroundings
Which one will spoil your hunger?
What will kill your taste buds?

Nothing for sure can eat you
Unless you have eaten something else

A pinch of salt in your sweat
It refuses to give up its taste

A pale edge of your empty plate
It refuses to smile at your disposal

A moment when mind forgets to remember
A moment when mind remembers to forget

Matters of convenience and coincidence
All this happens in our daily life

We keep a bread for the day
Shrinks by the evening, rots by the fifth day
Filth by a weeks time, frozen in your next working day
Weeks after, you meet them all in your wounds

Your despair, your inertia, your pathos and vanity
All is known to submit to the season of red black winters
Same applies to my black rosary with red cross in my chest

Poem: People live in the Streets

People come from streets
After the office hours
Before the morning walks
When they are desperate for home
Eyes closed, Lids wiped off
Ears shut down, mouth dry and dim
Are we afraid of noise
Noise is just that we don’t understand
Do we fear what we don’t understand?