‘The Ruined City of Thebes’ and other poems

Let me see how the past looks now that I’m no longer there

like a ghost that stayed while the body unheedingly

moved on. Grandmother tells us it’s the profession

of the old to dapple their feet in the sweet waters

of memories and not of a boy of mere 22. Since my younger

days, I have known hunger as one does a prayer,

always present, always insistent. Pray as much as you like,

God will always be mysterious and absent, and hunger

an abysmal cavity. Every night before sleep beckons me,

I swallow the past in mouthfuls so when the sun comes

sneaking in, happiness won’t be forgotten. How it was all

breeze and summer- father laughing at my inability to throw

a ball beyond my own shadow, mother always in her red

saree, granny’s pickles in terracotta jars on the roof and

everything was flooded with a peculiar light. In school,

Ray kissing me on the cheek saying, you are my friend and

so much more, stealing it from a movie we had watched

together. How it was all exploring and nothing, not even

shame was for burial. It was the season of short pants,

long t-shirts, running noses and bicycles. Then,

we dreamed of descending into the future, of bulging muscles

and juggling girlfriends, of old parents and new secrets.

And now, it’s all winter and nothing is warm except

my own body, how it struggles to escape, how the present

sits like a sphinx at the door of the past, asking questions

in a language mother never taught.

When a child crawls out of his mother’s shadow,

what can she do but bemoan the loss;

another soul tricked by the world. She tells me

not every hand that touches you is warm,

not every love kissable. So I light a lantern,

go out and touch the first man I see. In the dark

Ma, every face looks the same, as one ruined city

to another and fleetingly, I’m in love. It’s like

seeing god; I just fall on my knees. Every night,

a new deity, a new prayer to learn. It’s a gamble,

I have realized, this odd search in odd places

and a miracle if I return home, unharmed.

Once in biology class, the teacher told us about

the concept of a little death for a little life,

meaning that every animal tries to mate at least once

in their lifetime in order to preserve themselves.

What is our purpose then; two faggots trying

to catch each other as winter stumbles into the

city like a drunkard. Out of love or heat,

we keep the other alive because when morning

comes, the sun will seem warmer

 than these hands.

There is so much of it     but none for me

On tv    people can’t seem to keep their love

to themselves as if it is something that

only belongs to others    Take it    share it

heap it    reap it    store it    Except

nobody wants mine because I have

queer love    love that might not shine in the

spotlight    Nobody willing enough to give

me theirs even for safekeeping    But

desperation is an evil two steps ahead of me

Even as a kid    I was as insistent in getting

what I wanted    as Zeus from Mount Olympus

One day    Ma explained a recipe that involved

deities    pray and you might get

what you are looking for     And so    I prayed

but as is the nature of divinity

nothing happened    Then I took to digging

with my talons decided I’ll man up and

dug love out    However    I am what people

call a curse    because every time I

plunge these hands into the earth of every man

I meet    they come out red and empty of love