Why?

A friend saw this happen. A baby slip from its mother's hands under a bus. My soul feels like it's being stabbed by a blunt, rusty knife again and again. Maybe the poem lacks the force that comes out of first-person-perspective. Would like to know if it does.

Why?

I saw an infant die;
Supple pink crushed by soft rubber
toughened for human ease.
Death’s quiet pop-squish
Shushed life’s beating metal thud-bangs.
The din of coming grief,
Tore through denial’s heavy silence.
And two futures broke
Under the guilt of another wrenched
From hands too weak to claw back.
I walked away,
Heart 72 to a minute,
And order stepped gingerly
By a moment’s chaos.
I saw an infant die
And live to tell it.
Why?

parting ways

Six ravens sat on a wire once. They had never planned this, this black tie soiree and high wire circus act in one. But after years of defecating on unsuspecting strangers alone, they learnt from the iron birds men flew and decided cluster bombing was the way to go.
Six ravens sat on a wire once. They didn't all stay there all day. Each had his life, digging for worms, cawing at the sexy light grey exotic down by the next pole, and sometimes heading up to the tallest branch on the tallest tree just to get away from it all. But every morning they returned, feasting on their collective lack of drive to do anything beside sit on a wire.
Six ravens sat on a wire once, and had some fun times up there. Until one decided he didn't like the dull blue pigeons down the road and went off to join the dark haired grungy ravens that were driven enough to kill a few of those damned ingrates. Another tried, but was colour blind and ended up in the company of bright green parrots. But these were parrots used to years of human company, the high life. And so all they could remember now was the false name that gave them a false humanity-- polly. And like the humans around them, they talked all day long but never said anything. And the raven thought them smart.
Four ravens sat on a wire. But one had heard of an oasis in the middle of the desert, where the water flowed thick and black and burnt with the bright red fire of the millions killed to lay claim to it. And he went to the burning sands and the undrinkable water to gather the uneatable paper to line his nest egg with. And another heard of a meadow, where men ate the trees and made so much smoke that they couldn't see the hand before their face. And he went off, to shit on an old woman who did little but wave at the men who taxed themselves to buy her gold slippers and a stone castle, while they froze to death living in houses of cards.
Two ravens sat on a wire. But one had begun to look closer to the ground, where the wind didn't blow so hard, and passersby threw morsels of tasty pizzas and looking glass lives.
And then there was one.

To Sandeep, who leaves to drink fully from the fountain of money in one of the driest regions of the world.

my friday feeling

It's 2 in the morning and I have to get up tomorrow and go to work. But I just had to pop in and say Jethro Tull (or the Ian Anderson band since none of the other Tull members came) ROCKED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I honestly didn't expect his replacement band (Florian Ophale: guitars, James Duncan: Drums, David Didier: bass, something O'Hara: keyboards) to keep up with Anderson, but they did. And they did it oh-so-gloriously well. The man himself was on fire. Honestly you couldn't have watched him yesterday and figured out that he's way over fifty. Brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant.

P.S. I covered for work of course. It's out in tomorrow's daily. For those not in town and wanting to read it, please post comment and I will put up link here.

P.p.s. Update: I got one request asking for the piece. So here it is. It's the original because the final version lost a lot of its weight to fit space

A great Friday feeling
There were questions that popped up when the Jethro Tull buzz first began in Bangalore. Would an aging Ian Anderson live up to the expectations of a crowd thirsting for the flautist of two decades ago? How could he hope to do so without the legendary Martin Barre, Doane Perry and Andrew Giddings?
These questions continued to ring in one's mind as the opening act, Bangalore-band Thermal and a Quarter (TAAQ) occupied the stage. Incidentally, TAAQ celebrated their 10-year anniversary with a rocking set and a solid groove; the exception being vocalist David Pascal who wasn't able to manage the vocal character and depth of guitarist Bruce Lee Mani.
Then, Jethro Tull took stage, and as Anderson's flute rang out with the first notes of "My Sunday Feeling" from the debut album This Was, all doubt was put to rest. Flowing through a versatile collection that ranged from the oddly-timed "Eurology" from his solo album Rupi's Dance to the ever-loved solid-grooved "Cross-Eyed Mary" from Aqualung. The concert had it all -- the trademark Celtic mythology, the whimsical trilling flute, the occasional shredding guitar solo and the only accordion in the world that managed to sound cool. Whether keenly wailing through a moving solo or happily skipping along through the folksy numbers, Anderson had the crowd enthralled like few can manage.
But that was just the tip of the iceberg. After all, Anderson is musician, showman, comedian and philosopher all rolled into one. Thus there were the hilarious asides about Eurology, the study of wee-wee stuff; the advantages of borrowing from dead composers who can't claim royalties; and Mozart being a sideshow freak for all the parents in Europe.
There were a number of high points in the concert. The legendary "Thick as a Brick" and the masterful "Budapest" were full shows in themselves, magnum opi that would complete the experience without one other note. The Bach-inspired, slick and jazzy "Bouree" managed to resurrect a long-dead composer to a crowd in the here and now that might not even know his full name. "Aqualung" and "Locomotive Breath" ripped through the crowd with a powerful familiarity that few other hits have produced. The personal defining moment, however, was "Moz Art", a dedication to the legendary composer. Anderson borrows his most familiar compositions and creates a fantasy that even Mozart cannot complain about.
It was clear that Anderson had grown old, and that he missed his long-time compatriots on stage. However, if this is the aging rocker living in the past, then that is a past one could give an arm and a leg to live in.

Chance meetings

Chance meetings

Memory, like meat, needs refrigeration.
But not too much, lest
Cold rational thought rob its substance
leaving a dessicated shell,
Wreathed in old photographs and
torn love letters.
Left in the heat of obsession,
It putrifies, so that yesterday’s aromas
Are today’s fetid oversweetness.

A day has gone by since I saw you off.
Compulsive thought claims
You didn’t look at me
like I did, seeing the universe
in you. Cold rationale says
you never did.
In the middle space,
I remember that we shared
Good beer, meat and conversation.

And until next time;
I lock you up, not
In hopes of keeping you in,
But rather trying to keep you out—
For now.