"Fleeing male gaze"

Chandramohan s

Girls walk miles

Off to fields to relieve them selves

Off the horizons of gaze

Of male gaze

Even in the dark

Even in the womb.

Waiting for Poetic justice

 Chandramohan  s

Many souls died of starvation,

the kith and kin could have

been fed some morsels of Justice.

Orators at the crematoriums

at Kilvenmani,Sherpur,Tsunduru ,Karamchedu

promise prefaces of fairness

to edited volumes of history.

What was it took away life from Vilas Goghre?

What was it that tightened the noose around his neck?

Justice is

a posthumous honor

lost in between the lines

of an appended obituary.

Every year

We light a candle on their living wounds

on the dead souls

through editorials of newspapers

in straight lines of indifference.

Justice was maimed and cremated

stench of writhing souls

lingers around a tombstone

that was never there.

THREE POEMS

CHANDRAMOHAN S

1.Lynched God

 Purged from the annals of history
 vestiges being excavated of
 fallen, broken, desecrated idols
 entombed in violent memorials like Pokhran-II.

 Tales of a great soul
 lost in translation
 from Pali to Sanskrit
 scores of viharas
 spiritually usurped
 by vedic hymns.

 Bullets from saffron terrorists
 burned Bamiyans holes
 in pages of medieval Indian history
 tales of the vanquished race
 erased from the fables agreed upon.

 People of our race seek refuge,
 in a lankan island,
 like Chiang Kai Shek's defeated army in Taiwan.

 He used to meditate in
 three posters
 Padmasana, Abhaya, bhumisparsa
 but before lynching
 he lined up to the guillotine in Pranama posture.

 He descended down
 into the collective conscience of a
 a society as just one of the zillions of deities
 without a capital first letter
 India has become Brobdingnag for him,
 the miniature Gulliver among saffron gods and goddesses.

 In Malaysia
 he occasionally gets his due
 in a giant prostate deity
 as giant Gulliver in the land of Lilliput.

 His autobiography
 diluted
 divided
 deviated
 now sold as saffron history textbooks
 twice born editor
 refused to acknowledging the ghost writer.

 First global Indian
 almost has an NRI status now.




  2.Beads around the bosoms

 A chain of beads
 around the bare breasts of our eves
 a grim reminder
 of lynching of our god

3.Love Letter from Dame- Anglo Saxon

I am dame,

a daughter of the white man,

have no penis envy

a symphony on the tongue of a universal man

for all my suitors

I open a window of opportunity

to conquer the global village.

I help you proclaim to the world

who you are..

a queer can “come out”,

my nerve endings are named Sappho,Virginia Wolf

ignore my white skin..

I am not averse to the color purple

You can discard the garment that ties both of your legs into one.

come seduce me..

kiss me..

Your suppressed voices will sprout tongues!

I have estuaries of streams

in the delta of my Venus.

come

swim through them

from the margins to the mainstream.

I love inter racial love making.

Come

Invade my inner space

Broaden your horizons

encrypt your stories

in the breeze emanating from my tresses

You can reclaim the center

that holds

even when “Things fall apart”(1)

in the “Heart of darkness”(2)

You can cast yourself anew

Shed a tainted skin ,

drape in a camouflage

and be naked again..

1 Name of Chinua Achebe novel that tries to reclaim African sensibility from that of an Eurocentric

one..

2 Joseph Conrad's novel “The heart of darkness” which denigrates African humanity.