“I am happy, life is good.”
Heard at the end of a therapy class. . .
The heavy-duty brainwashing and you
Remember your crores stacked away. . .
Your Harvard airs helps in large doses
Soon, the colors peel away and there is nothing
To do than wrestle with your yearnings.
“I would like to make love.”
Wanna fuck? It is easier saying it this way
For something that you paid for in cash
And cheques and credit cards.
Forget the lesser action, the lack of poetry—
What mattered was how you let go
Of your hate and heat and hunger
But never had the courage to talk
To her of love or loneliness. . .
“You are trespassing on my territory”
You guarded it with LoCs and walls
And barbed wire fences where hatred
Danced like high-voltage electricity. . .
You killed creatures and cleared forests
And wiped away the darker people
And those of dreamy tongues with
Your agenda of a war-a-week, the
Worlds-to-win and vengeance-to-wreak. . .
Your Mushroom clouds and wmds and
Poverty drafts and armchair chivalry and
A collective manhood of nuclear warheads
That explode and penetrate. . .
To make her yours and yours alone,
You pushed her deeper into harems
Where she could see the sunlight
Only from the lattice windows.
Domesticated into drudgery she was just
Another territory, worn out by wars. A slave
Who maintained your numbers.
“Let’s make love.”
~all that you thought~
What’s taking her so long to undress?
~all that you said~
I m gonna fuck till ya faint. . .
“Oh how nice to have made love.”
~breathless~ Iminahurry. Cyasoon.~panting~
Here are the words, again—
I am happy. Life is good / I would love to make love.
You are trespassing on my territory/ She’s mine.
Let’s make love/ Oh how nice to have made love.
On sunny green fields these are the only
Six sentences the male of a grasshopper can ever say.
But what have we done with words?