FOUR POEMS

1. HELPLESSNESS

I have no magical power
to change my restlessness
into glory radiating
peace or purpose in living:

they give me no room to better
men or myself but condemn
as one hanged for nothing:
poets are no living lessons

I stand aside ruminating
what I couldn't do or be
or await miracles through
circles and zigzags of the mind

even corrupt faith and curse
destiny for the maze
of my own making and yet say
I know the spirit's upward fire


2. I AM NO MOSES

I am no Moses receiving
God's message in lightning or thunder

none recognise me in the dark
nor can I see any without light

the cyst on my neck constantly
reminds me of my ugliness

the whitening chest and pubic hair
teel of the death of my potential

the earth needs timely spell of rain
and elements saved from human fears

I must redraw my dreams and visions
to brave life and the intriguing future


3. I WANT TO FORGET THE MYTH

I don't endorse their pact
to squeeze adulation and

control faith of the masses
to shed blood and spread darkness:

Idols may draw crowds to kill
and the spell may not last long

the temple doesn't attract me
I want to forget the myth

after the fascists owned him
Ram has ceased to be God


4. I CAN'T SING AND PRAISE

I couldn't make my bedroom church
reading psalms and Lord's prayer

the light of my lamp and
the portin of my cup couldn't

lift my soul mired in passions
and silence of the morning

the confessions couldn't remove
my anguish of ages

nor the tears and cries strengthen
faith, hope, and love-- the rock

slips the grip for enemies
within don't halt my body

glues to the ground seeking
darkness of the womb and joys

ever restless the child doesn't
grow and the father fails

in verses I can't chide fears
my face I dispise, can't find

freedom from the chemicals
sprayed in the air and the smog

oppressing my breath, the sun
fails to keep the covenant

the terrors of death are real
the traps overwhelm, I can't

escape my own creastions
the bed, the flesh, and serpents

that seize the house of God
I can't redeem, can't save

the soul in battle with me
in bed I can't sing and praise


--R.K.SINGH

I CAN'T HELP

Goes awry
the electrical circuit
in the brain cells

in my drugged sleep
I utter explitives
unmindful of

the victims:
I can't help my sensory
overload


--R.K.SINGH

WAITING

In the fog
seems smiling, ghost-like
perhaps half-dead
on the groaning ground
awaiting stretcher

SHRINKING INTO ITSELF

How to weigh the breath
the flame the soul or the ash
the body conceals:
I can't turn my inside out
nor know life's weight when lifeless

between earth and sky
it disappears one with
elements quiet
there's no way to know the thread
or its mechanism that binds

secures life now or
beyond what if I can't feel
the weight of the colour
on the leaves on tree maybe
shrinking into itself

GUESTS

No longer gods
the guests are turned away:
door bell dead

HAZY SUN

Sweating desire
inhales new sketches
with mind's pen

on the pillow
image by image
night passes

not knowing
how a hazy sun
rose from the sea


--R.K.SINGH

THE DAY IS SHORTER

The day is shorter
the night longer
and yet, sleepless

suffer the dark chill
in the air, in bed
I listen to roar

or whisper of
wingless worries
no high poetry

but nightmares trimming
the sun and the sky
that could never be