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A Delightfully Obscene Life

By the time highschool ended I had already become some sort of urban legend. There were rumors of many incidents that involved me, directly or indirectly, that made people believe there was some kind of curse around me. The truth is I never did half the things they swore they had seen me do, and the other half was altered and exagerated. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the status and the power that came with it: some feared me, some worshipped me, many hated me, but all of them respected me.

Now, all legends have some truth to them, and my case wasn't at all the exception. I was always seen as the beautifulest encarnation of corruption, some kind ofA Delightfully Obscene Life10 years ago in Transgressive

Waves were Noise

She moves her head along with the music, and maybe her feet too. It's hard to tell since her image is filtered by smoke and the lighting is so dim. White light on white sheets over white skin. So fragile, like dirty children sleeping on benches, almost worth saving. Lying around her on the bed there are some objects I can distinguish: cd cases, book, ashtray. Ashes, like she needed any more in her life, any more consumption. An ashtray and a plastic bag full of weed. Of course she's stoned, that's nothing new. It's been some time since I've last seen her this peaceful though, maybe it's because she doesn't know I'm here. The first time we gotWaves were Noise10 years ago in General Non-Fiction

Change as In June

Something in me changed a while ago.

Better yet, something changed me a while ago. My ability to exist only when someone thinks of me, for example, is the same it was before those times of fake lust and godliness, of anemia and blush. Many times I've thought of doing whatever I had to do to bring those times back, hoping they'd lead my way into the numbness I miss so much. Only thoughts. If I let them become more than that, I'd be washing those stains of shameless lust. I'd remember, intoxicated, every time you breathed the vice that fills my mouth, or twist your fingers inside me until it hurts so much I have to smile.

Something changed meChange as In June10 years ago in Erotic

IndiaThe sea took'd me...

And oh my country of newlywed clouds how I remember you, dust and rain
and mud and spice in air. And in summer, baking roads and hot languages; a million
dialects, or eight hundred: I never learned you, I never will. I only loved you and I think
that is not enough, perhaps it never was, but how do I know? I know loneliness,
and how can you know that? I was a child, am a child, am something less or more now –
And how can you think of beauty? Do you hear yourself? Your radios are blaring
noise; your television shows are preaching idiocy to a million people
who hear and coIndia2 years ago in Free Verse

IndiaThe sweetest Indian spices
Fill their aroma in my heart,
Envisioning such worlds apart
That more than my mind entices,
But also long hidden vices
That purge from my body with peace.
The warm air my world decreases
And makes only this world alive,
A pure land with its own pained life,
Where I can make all dark doubts cease.India4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Pray for IndiaIndia is located in South Asia.

It is bordered by Pakistan in the west; China and Bhutan in the north-east;
Burma and Bangladesh in the east.

In the Indian Ocean, India is in the vicinity of Sri Lanka and the Maldives.

New Delhi is th capital
The population is over 1.2 billion.

FACTS
India is the second-most populous country in the world.

India has over 2000 ethnic groups.

At least 400 different languages are spoken in India.

Four of the world's major religions originated in India:
Hinduism
Buddhism
Jainism
Sikhism

DEMOGRAPHICS
80.5%  Hindu
13.4%  Muslim
2.3%   Christian
1.8%   Sikh
0.8%   Buddhists
0.4%   Jains
0.7%   Other
0.1%Pray for India2 years ago in Profiles

Carnevale2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry

India - a Reminder..

It began with the smallest mistake,
allowing them to stay,
along with us as our guests,
and never go away.

They spread the snakes of hatred,
in every nook and corner,
and bit us all apart,
making us easy to conquer.

Like vultures tearing meat apart,
they tore away our unity,
making sure the cut once made,
would never heal again.

When Oppression finally opened our eyes,
oceans of blood drowned us,
into the depths of darkness,
where once entered can never comeout again.

Until one day when he arrived,
bringing along the rays of freedom,
carried us up away from darkness,
and showered the glory of 'satyagraha'.

He heaIndia - a Reminder..8 years ago in Free Verse

Indiadark tanned skinned faces,
hidden beneath colorful masks,
that hide them from that Indian sun,
as they continue all of their daily tasks.

a jungle of red ribbons and jewels,
that sparkle for the buyers eyes,
sit upon little stands and tables,
that merchants sell to passerbys.

a music that fills the corners,
a thrumming that can reach the heart,
are the beats of this foreign land,
that make you want to listen and watch.

sweet candy unknown to the tongue,
a taste that melts away all thoughts,
and smells of homeland cooking,
that are boiling in taverns pots.

a home that is welcoming to everyone,
a place that is known for its culIndia4 years ago in Free Verse

IndiaIndia

The land of thrumming colours and sounds that make you want to laugh, dance, cry. It is the land of torrential, soul-quenching rain and heat too dry to feel. See, sunlight colours and air that sparkles with life. Where every day is another facet of the jewel that is India, the pearl necklace of the world. Elephants sway through dust in flight, flamingos soar over silken rivers filled with cruising crocodiles in the centre of a city, and the evening sky is purple with pink, luminous clouds like threads of the brilliant silk sold in market places and souks. Mopeds, and pearl coloured rice, and guns covered in rhinestones. Henna birds flyIndia2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes

Poem: A Memoriam of IndiaMissing teeth set in a smiling face
Bright colors floating in the violent sun
Radiant flowers peeking out of a wooden vase
The bustle of feet increased when the day is done.

Incomprehensible words spilling from foreign lips
Bodies constantly encroaching on personal space
Denim and cotton empty by holes and rips
Tons of metal swerving as if in a race.

Dark faces with bright eyes locked in a stare
Cracked heels and calloused toes amidst glass and foil
Tarp enclosure lived in by five and a pair
Back hunched over from working in soil.

The passion and joy that is ached for
Power flowing freely after spiritual drought
The desire of thPoem: A Memoriam of India1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

You returned
alive with the scent of India
still lingering beneath the stale pine-
freshness of the airport – the richness
of spice and salvation,
warm and solid and earthy.

You glowed with the heat of a sweaty sun
and the brightness of eyes
(the people you saved) blinking, new
at a shining world.

I stood before you and felt as pale
as the bandages in your big black bag.India6 years ago in Free Verse

64 Days With India-Day 2 (LEMON SERIES)64 Days with India

Day 2: Missionary

I woke up to find that the dawn was breaking.

I was so exhausted from the day before that I didn't really remember what had happened.

Until I looked down at my self. Seeing my naked body was all it took to jog my memory. And when I remembered, I let out a huge scream.

The room to my door burst open to reveal Yash in a silk robe, a worried look on his face.

"(Name)! What is wrong?!"

I pulled the sheets over my body and yelled at Yash to get out.

"But what is that matter?!"

"You are the matter!"

"What-"

I leaped from the bed and pushed the man out of the room, yelling my final, "Get out!" I slamme64 Days With India-Day 2 (LEMON SERIES)6 months ago in Settings

india inkfor some reason she’s dipped a paintbrush in ink, taking a thick oxhair brush and soaking it with a cheap replacement for india. “you see,” she says as she drags the brush across an enormous piece of banner paper, “this is art.”

no it’s not!, you want to scream at her, because something in you is rebelling against this scarring of a clean white sheet, at this waste of ink and time. your fingers ache to rescue her brush.

the curve of her lip when she smiles at you is another name for irony: you know she isn’t happy with you and the smile is a lie. she keeps smiling, though, maintaining the mask as she makesindia ink4 years ago in General Fiction

India - through western eyes

India – through western eyes

A lot of glamour surrounds the West – Europe and the USA – in India. The urban
higher middle class is of course in thrall of the West but even in poor rural areas this
attraction holds. If visiting or settling in the west is an achievable aim at some point
of time in the urban area, it is a chimera, or a fantasy-land in the rural areas. Last
decade has seen a phenomenal rise in tourists from India to the West. It is like
everyone knowing someone who has been there for at least a fortnight telling the
tales from the beyond.

Therefore, there is legitimate curiosity in the Indian mind aboIndia - through western eyes6 years ago in Articles & Interviews

Trip1

I speak six languages, French on the train,
Flemish in a square, money in my top hat,
I sell the hat, travel on, Italian at a Cathedral,
Hebrew on a mountain, money in my flat cap,
I travel against the sun, speak music with him.

2

I did not lose my treasure on the crossing
and no pirates approached our ship.
The natives are civilised, for natives;
a charming prince with a nose ring performed a dance for me.

3

wine buckfast lager pass a smoke man the dope shroom stash smashed
out of my head can't feel my feet the bed half a pill I'm delirious dead

4

Strong man and the Siamese twins dig ruts for the wheels
and the acrobat brewTrip2 years ago in Free Verse

unveiled2 years ago in Free Verse

Brushing Up Against HistoryNovember 1963

I'm eight years old and sitting in class (I strangely recall that my seat was in the middle of second row, on the side away from the window), when the principal comes in to tell us that the president has been shot.

I did not know
what it means, but I know
that it scares me.

May 1968

My mother meets Senator Robert F. Kennedy while he is campaigning in San Francisco and gets his autograph. I live with my father in a small town in Michigan, where every year leading up to Memorial Day, I sell paper poppies for the VFW.

blood-red poppies
blood of soldiers on the field
war has come home

December 1971

Brushing Up Against History2 years ago in Philosophical

HesaraghattaBangalore: tin
houses lean in mass
saffron lake, perspirationHesaraghatta4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern

To Reach You -

I lost my pupils to the Indian sun -
they melted into oily pin pricks,

settled
across
my
face as

freckles.

my contours like ink,

sunk

Somewhere in the English Channel –
Dispersed, lapping pebbles.

(I recallTo Reach You -5 years ago in Concrete Poetry

VadhaI have seen two blossomings of the Kurinci flower and twenty-four black monsoons since Kalinga Magha first landed on the shore of our island Kingdom. He arrived as the rainy season ended – greenery erupting from every hollow, pepper vines snaking up every tree. Cranes and peacocks drank from the bowls of mangrove roots, elephants rolled and snorted in watering holes, and the mists were slinking back to stalk the lush valleys of the Hill Country.

The thousands of soldiers Magha brought with him trudged for days through our country's red mud, sinking in potholes and cursing their gods in all the languages of the mainland. Farmers knee-deeVadha3 years ago in Historical

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