Notes

Notes

- to Auritro and Riju

1.

we artists evoke such envy and suspicion

amongst our fellow men

that nothing will please them more

on a Sunday morning

than the news

of the death of one of us.

2.

I have seen the greatest works of art

that could have been,

poems and virtual games

that could win at

every awards’ night,

but I do not remember them,

and that’s a good thing

for if I did,

all art would end tonight.

3.

I would want to know

in all accuracy and detail,

what is it

that a man feels when

his greatest, worst, most sinister enemy for ages

falls before him, cold.

4.

a guitar slides inside my soul,

at the end of a street,

my friends the night crawlers

greet the officers in grey suits

and together they stare at the moon

or remember spectacular feasts from an ancient time.

5.

glancing through my ipod,

the name of blue oyster cult strikes me,

I suddenly remember you

who gave me these songs,

you who carried pills

in your wallet

and songs in those pills;

it’s an old fact now

that you overdosed that night.

I can’t say that I miss you,

for we weren’t that close,

what did we ever really share

but for an afternoon

in park street,

and the mist

of a cheap cigar,

last year on paul simon’s birthday?

6.

ladies and gentlemen,

when on weed,

do not forget to take a rickshaw ride,

now don’t look so embarrassed,

just let it all slide down your body,

your third eye, your heart, your genitals,

and out through your shoes;

now’s the time to kill your shadow,

now you are the priest

of a thousand cathedrals

of glass,

does the city bubble inside your skull?

look up once,

you even got a full moon;

dear sirs and madams,

you’ve got a choice now-

engage in the sacred art of bitchcraft,

or grow fangs

and growl like a wolf.

7.

some day, I’ll just leave

without a poem or a note,

some day, I’ll leave

with only leonard cohen

in my pocket.

8.

never tell your stories

to authors,

they always steal them.

9.

do you too feel

a strange kind of sadness

every time you hear

the night-watchman’s whistle?

10.

a true spirit of brotherhood

is felt

when three people sit in a circle

and remember to pass on the weed joint

each time, unerringly,

after exactly three puffs.

11.

how long does one live

with jazz and jibanananda?

how long does one worry

over the price of cigarettes?

how long does one remember

the smells

of the woman

with an ektara in her breasts?

12.

supermodel,

spotted you on a billboard at bypass,

faking on the trumpet,

I remembered the afternoon

we spent staring at the trains

that passed so slowly,

we talked of chinese horror movies then,

we thought love could conquer all,

supermodel,

do you still stagger around the corridors,

on pills?

supermodel,

do you still listen to those folk songs?

do you remember my tongue

inside your ears,

and my body radiant in sweat?

did you know that every beautiful woman

like you

has a bitch of a best friend?

supermodel,

does your dad

still protect you from guys like me?

does he still drive you around town?

supermodel,

do you still dream of being a strict mother

to your unborn child?

do you keep your soul

in the hollow of the blue tree,

every night?

13.

girl of the rivers,

you appear in a cloak of sand and steel,

and shuffle your cards

to reveal the fate of poetry

on nights of storm and murder;

your neck wet,

your fingers the oars of an astral boat,

and my spine the fret board of a guitar,

our story takes a new turn.

14.

the river meanders

around boulders and songs,

and carves an Adam upon the rocks,

our argument spins

in the night sky,

and paints an Eve dressed in silver,

I never knew

we needed the moon so badly.

15.

people won’t think much of you

these days

unless you start making comments,

so what are you waiting for?