Sunday, February 28, 2010

One Waits

The time you showed me
your poem in the library
- eyes gleaming like the skin of mackerel,
hands clammy clasping shirt in an ingress of waiting -
I thought (so naiive am I)
that it was for me!
--
You soiled me with that chant about her limbs and voice,
and the countless courtesan ways of your goddess
And I thought maybe this poem was the abacus and
I had only to mathematize my way to your meaning and
I would find love.
--
Obvious to You, perhaps, that my surmise was foolish.
That of course
you wouldn't cock your poem at me if the poem was
for me.
That if I were your goddess
I'd be in a gold frame and the poem, under a mattress
Somewhere.
--
Yet even at that time,
even in my triste, I wanted only to soothe
you and
tell you how super I thought you were,
tell you that your poems were divine precision
and that they were sexy.
--
See, I'm your archetypical mongrel sheep
trying to butt my way into your favour, your forever.
Still.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

And maybe it takes courage to be boring.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Because I'm Pissed at Plato

Pichku was a small, wiry girl with noticeable calf muscles and beautiful knees.

Aaron was a stout teapot of a boy, who smelt of orange cream biscuits and listened to Akon on his way to school.

Every Tuesday, after morning assembly, the children of class 9-A were made to run four times around the football field by the big gulmohur tree.

Pichku had calf muscles that could get her anywhere in any time. Sometimes, they rippled in the soft, rippling sunlight.

Aaron could sing like Akon if he wanted to, but his throat made despairing sounds if he tried doing it before girls or women.

On one Tuesday, when the sun was soft and the gulmohur tree twitched like a nervous neck in the breeze, the class of 9-A was made to run. Pichku was beat and Aaron was upbeat, and she - who typically ran like sweat down an armpit - lagged behind. Since Aaron was running faster than usual and Pichku was running slower than usual, there came a point (Aaron was on an inner track) when the two were apace.

Aaron grew greedy and began to run faster. His thighs trembled, his ears throbbed, but he kept on anyway, because it was quite important to him that he reach the finish line before Pichku. If he had only read The Republic, he would know that Justice emanates from doing what one's nature is most suited to doing, and that women were inferior anyway.

So he wouldn't have to go to such great lengths. To prove the axioms.