..the temperature rises still
in this room
flames licking pots
and sweat screaming
to crawl back into skin
but hell never smelt
so good –
the bengali kitchen
the final frontier
of an artist’s kiln
and
as the fish leaps
to meet
its destiny
transmogrified
into bhapa eelish
i carry in a fan
and she shudders
one eyebrow twitching
shedding
sweat and turmeric
and cumin
in horror
“the aanch…”
she whispers,
“will slant and
burn the oil”
I stand mortified
“please-
get out of here”
and yet…..

….back in
Calcutta
i meet
the ultimate
architect –
heat!
sculpting out
breath from lungs
chiseling away
all motivation
to breathe
sweltering
swaddling
swindling
away
great fortunes
and the monsoon
as the city
steams to a halt.
this godforsaken
globallywarmed
superheated
blowjob
sucks
words right out of
sentences
and letters out of words
at least i know now
why
we here
drp vwls
frm evr fckng
txt
nd yt….

…eyes wide now
and you’ll see
the mighty monkey king
going double dutch
in his own island heaven
again
“you pay me
to show you how
brown
is supposed
to be”
this after all
is the regime
of the mighty
Australian-Hungry empire
gulping down
nasi gorengs and gado gados
and belching out
fly-infested beer-stained
bars
proudly proclaiming
“aussie owned, aussie hygeine”
swallowing whole
art, artist, artisan
and vomiting out
row after row after row
of curios
licking clean
every inch of green
from beaches
and villages
and volcanoes
and spitting out
fumes and acid rain
and power boats
yesyesyesyesyes
this is how we do it
indeed
65 year old white men
reaching across continents
to walk handinhandonass
with 20 year old balinese women
pristine beaches
with white sand
browner than
those browning on them
the dutch have taught
so well and so much –
I couldn’t even
feel the lurch
when I skipped
from the old colony
to this new reconstructed
beauty
and yet…..

….i blink once
and it disappears
some clouds
sky
a kite
and only
the future
and yet….

…..believing
is just a matter
of squinting
so hard
that my eyes
close
sitting here
with sand trickling
through my toes
i can almost see
the past
silhouetted
on the horizon
and yet……

…. now that
I’ve started
I’m truly converted!
your god
it seems
hands out
redemption
like vegas comps
and your god
counsels
brothers
to kill each other
on the battlefield
and your god
sends out his son
to be crucified
to resolve an
existential crisis
and your god
accidentally
beheads another son
for sticking true to his mom
and your gods
flip swastikas around
exchanging
theories of
aryan purity
and my god?
s/he’s the one you call a terrorist
shit!
your god’s got
to be working for the CIA
and my god’s snowed-in
for spillin the beans
so I’m back to square 1-
your god’s way too gangsta
for me
and my god’s way too whipped
so
does that make me a theist
or a maybe-ist
or an atheist?
and yet….

Day 14

…when the picture
finally clears
I see
in HD
I’ve been missin’
religion
and even more
specifically
I’ve been missin’
salvation
So forgive me
for I have sinned-
I ran over a sleeping
pedestrian
but how dare he
be sleeping
in front of my car-
and forgive me
for massacring
muslims
when you bloody well know
that their children
will eventually be call-centering
you to the margins-
and forgive me
for
bombing
an entire city block
to
smithereens
but listen – those
five dead children
would have
MOVEd
you right outta
your own neighborhood
so yah lord
I need some savin
so salvage me
and
salvation me
and
salivate on me
’cause i am your
eternal
servant
and yet….

http://articles.philly.com/2011-01-17/news/27033157_1_pulpit-wilson-goode-god

http://www.hindustantimes.com/india-news/live-bail-or-jail-bollywood-star-salman-khan-s-plea-in-bombay-high-court/article1-1345061.aspx

Day 13 (jet -lagging still)

….floating out of
murky sleep and heat
and sweat
and headlined
dreams
I’ve missed
lunch
and
I missed
becoming your indian
and
I missed
the band
and
I missed
the wagon
and I missed
the bulletin
proclaiming you king
and
I missed
your bullets
and
I missed
your point
and
I missed
your bullet points
and
I miss
being missed
so i sleep again
and yet…..

….this is also the day
when I finally turn On
and say
yes – I too am here
and yes – I awoke at 8:47
even when
the intersection
of streams and people
and movement
only reminds me
of the portion of the venn
that i do not have
in common –
the indian
that ain’t black enough
the queer
that aint indian
the black in me
that aint feministier
and the professor
that aint too poor
so yeah
this is also the day
when i
send you a postcard
and ask
“what remains?”
and yet…..

…this day –
the one
that comes after
the tears, and the whatifs
and the disbeliefs
and the screams
and the silence
and after even
the yogic light namaskars
and the ohm/my/god -nesses
perhaps this day
you bring together family
and perhaps this
is finally a good day
and yet…..