Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Rancid rant

And no i will not compromise!

Why should i?
Did i work less?
smile less?
report less?
write less?
perform less?
discuss less?
advise less?
manage less?

Yes i did not -
warm up to you 
snigger at lame jokes 
laugh at sexist jibes
tolerate idiocy and sycophancy 
passed counterfeit data 
blew up time for 'right' moments 
cosy up in corridor meetings 

And that is the precise reason, Mr. Asshole !
That i deserve all that you claim
appropriated by goddamn history!

And i will have it, my way - someday!

He is a poet

Because he can afford to - 

He writes poetry dipped in sensitive phrases 
laced with kind, soft musings about a female heart. 
The first kiss on her lips
the soft touch of her skin - for the first time. 

She is just his wife -
being made so the night before -
washing the stains of the bloodied sinful sheet furiously 
sobbing and crying and wetting her dishevelled hair.

He looks at her 
writes another verse 
of her pain 
the stab of his virility
taking away her innocence. 

She cries 
continues to cry. 

His verse unbale to reach her 
penetrates the world 
with amazing sensitivity. 

Brilliant the poet 
emerges on the canon

Rising above mounds of tears

Because he bloody could afford so! 

Am not writing...am ranting

Am not writing - 
creating a beautiful architecture 
measuring words in teaspoons of rhyme, rhythm, candor 
loading with intertextual metaphors in history and theory 

Am ranting. 

I don't have the luxury 
to weigh 
to balance 
to contemplate 
to think through. 

Poetry is not a hobby for me 
it's a reflex 
when one of you groped and fled 
whistled and sniggered 
catcalled and dragged 

Poetry is not a search for me
it's where i belong 
after each night of violation 
where i curl up in peace 
after draining my tears 

In tiara of words. 
Am not writing, am ranting.