Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Rapunzel, Rapunzel why are you dead?

Rapunzel leaves home with hair hanging bright from around her throat.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel why are you dead?

She knows she is dead without a fairy tale praising her imprisoned state…
Without the lingering nostalgia of a princely rescue,
Without the savoring unfulfillment of an automated reality,
Arising out of exact measurement of a good cook’s recipe
Who plays chef everywhere…

But Rapunzel must know how to die
She must fall out of the bookish tower of blindfolded wait
Strange elevated beauty that drips from her skin
Which cannot be felt without a mirror…within her blood vessels
Her stomach…when she splits open herself with her hairpin
Her fingers enter her nerves and try to get that beauty out
Nothing. Nothing. She enters her guts. Still no beauty there.
The pain of emptiness. The pain of ugly dripping blood.
She was aghast at her ugliness!

A strange drizzling rain falls from within her dress
Into everywhere, where her hair rests in a bundle on the floor.
She stares at herself inside out…the monotony of a being
Awaiting a common dream that all prisoners of the tower are forced to see…
What delusions of a cramped isolation!
Every arrival of a prince seems the only destination.
What enforced short-sightlessness of Rapunzel
That can make a fairy tale happen!
Delicious failure of a mind’s inability to search for one’s own escape.

Rapunzel laughs out loud.
Her escape waits within herself...

But she must see what enthralls the eyes of the towers
That set her apart from the fascinating ugliness of the masses
Rapunzel must know what beauty keeps her still from
Knowing the beauty that howls of the forest outside
The sodden rain clogged mud of the ground beneath
The moist wind at the top of the tower…
The stunning rage of the sun’s breath down her legs
To soothe the hunger of her hair to become tangled
Impossible to be tamed into a braid.

Yet, Rapunzel, Rapunzel why are you still dead?

Rapunzel must find an answer to the Prince’s sweet delay.
Rescue was inevitable.
From tower to tower she must travel.
Rescue was inevitable.
To be rescued was her fate.

Hark! The prince comes.
The prince calls her to throw down her hair.
Rapunzel must now climb out of the tower
And into the ascertained happiness of the Prince’s hands.
Her fairy tale was coming to an end. Rapunzel laughs again!
The book was left with a few more words? Pages, maybe?
Rapunzel couldn’t let this happen.

With the final toss of her hair, she throws herself out of the window,
Her red hair screaming behind her to rescue her before it is too late
To wrap itself around her throat in a fantastic embrace of togetherness -
Rapunzel escapes before it is too late
Rapunzel becomes Porphyria’s death story.

She crawls out of the old page of my diary
Where prince charming keeps calling her name
From out of that turreted forest
Towers chasing her to employ her in their silence
Rapunzel must keep her feet moving
Even when plunging in her own blood
Even when her hair strangles
All the more, to remind herself of her escape
Before she hits the ground forever…and flies away.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel are you still dead?
No. She has rescued herself out of another fairy tale.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Oprah-Flavored Ice-Cream

Who are these people, that come and haunt you
The happy father, the phallic tongue of
Your mother
My Mother
All our children.

Happiness is an Osho temple
Sorry, a boutique island
A real estate agent
A Travel and Living catch phrase
About travel and indulgence
Or royalty
Or a perfect smoked salmon fish

Sadness is nothing more than a bad fit
A bad choice with your hat
Watching the Oscars
Longing for some of the fame.
A bad trip and a job gone awry
Sadness is a mild dream of yester years.

Humble spirits raise you to hear
The true color of life
Between the trawled sea and gashed ozone layer
So much metaphysical speculation
About the stars that lit up our
Domestic chores
Market and bazaar fare
A normal day of unfaithfulness.

Day care centre breeding your kids,
The pet dog accompanying you to the Austria trip
Maids with fallible human strength refuse
Another day of maddening labour
Super-mom sweeps the sky
Replacing the witches of Salem
I stand alone beneath the stars
Inspecting my washed clothes
Cleared dishes
And evaporating enchantment with
A supposedly greater order
Called life.

Cable guy is always the Jim Carrey show
Oprah reminds you of orphans and idiots
Living under the same roofs
Katrina sweeps the Earth,
An ineffectual West Wind.
So much for a good bungle
And the riot victims get their
Fifteen minutes of fame.
Allah, Almighty, Amen.
All is the same and again.

Friday, February 09, 2007

On the bank of Allegory

It was unnecessary.
To have failed once more

I know how to kill a curiosity
And a cat.

My allowance is a maidenhood
Of soliloquy
And arbitrary endings
That nurses poems
Of high school feelings
And hopes
Of nursery softness.

Later today
I am supposed to find
An allegory
To my answer,
Do I or don’t I deserve
Of the right shade
Grey or a blinding dazzle -
Abortive correspondence
With prominence.
Fatigued fulsomeness,
Gaunt dreams,
Weary with chase and rotting,
With mass verisimilitude.
Custom made fantasy frolics
Fallible scholarship of a three hour
Bridge courses meandering between
Degree calibre
And unacknowledged help
Of non-improvisations.

On the bank of allegory
And by the edge of pungent satire
I stand precariously
With failure at one hand
And the recognition
Of a handicap in me.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Farther down the road….

There is little beauty in the mind.
It is a warehouse of orphan thoughts,
Run by a hefty matron brewing leathery
One time rotten meals.

One-track mind of a calendar year…
My mind is a dejavu of fixed income
Sincere meanings and added values
I am a warehouse of broken panes
I have been thrown stones at
And compensated with disabled
Bank statements, junkets and happy
Jars of certificate of merits
Made of tree cut papers and your delusions
And my laughter or fatigued farewells

Nothing matters inside your mind
Anybody and flesh, any body
Any any one, any somebody, anything
Any me, and you
Any any any
All all all…

Another me will come along
And make me give up my mind
For it.

And still I will remain
In solitude
And a prisoner of my minds
Helplessness without me…