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	Saju Abraham
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Saju Abraham, 23 grudnia 2011

The Art

A kiss on the forehead
Triggers the trip down ecstasy lane

The two become the sculptor and the sculpture
He the potter and she the clay
He kneads into shape the supple body
Then the clay guides the potter

The slightest touch
Creates magical effects
Like graphic animations
On a PC player
Filling the canvas
With art unseen
Leaving the connoisseurs
Wanting for more

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Saju Abraham, 23 grudnia 2011

The Pyre

One by one the bones he gathered,
From the midst of the dying fire.
His eyes fell on the nearby pyre;
He looked at his own body burning;
He saw her and himself in the frame’
Corner to corner in flame.

She wore a red saree and green blouse;
Bright colours she always liked;
Her beautiful hair upto the waist;
Thin lips seemed secrets keep.
She was running away from him,
Looking aside to see him after her.

He would have her in his arms,
Kiss her thin lips as she struggled.
They would lay on the green meadow,
Surrounded by tall lush grasses.
She whispered sweetly in his ear,
‘Take me with you, love me forever’.

The flame now rose higher;
He felt the heat and his own words,
‘I love thee not, I love another’.
She uttered nothing;
She went away never turning back.

He dug into the fire for her bones,
His body and soul numb.
In the holy river he scattered them.

Now the pot he handed to the bereaved.
Then to the pyre next he staggered.
Solace and penance he found there.

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Saju Abraham, 28 grudnia 2011

A Camouflage

His camouflage struck me the most,
As he lay with his face down,
In a river of murky water,
Murkier by his blood.
Far away a little boy smiled at his mother,
Not knowing grief on their heels.
Who did he fight for?
Who did he die for?

His masters camouflaged their dreams,
And flashed his hope before him.
They lay before him the targets,
The source of all his woes,
Like a magician pulls out rabbits from his hat,
Like the ads display discounts,
And he buys them readily.
Where are his colleagues moving to?
They see through his body,
There are no flowers to decorate,
No white linen to wrap,
They pick up what they can,
Pack up their backpacks,
Walk away like zombies to the battle next,

They wept inside,
But felt omnipotent outside,
They could take lives,
But not sip coffee with their dear ones,
Widow women and rape them,
But not touch their wives sleep serene
Orphan children and abuse them,
But not join their children pillow fight,
Raze to the ground cities built over centuries,
But not play cricket in their neighbourhood,
All for someone's plastic dreams,
And their own hopeless hopes.

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Saju Abraham, 28 grudnia 2011

A Crowded Place

He'd sit on that quiet cold
concrete chair
In the playful park,
Would leave when the last child
left,
Sipped constantly from the bottle
in his pocket,
And watched the children play,
Never spoke a word with them.

When he left it was to warm his
lonely bed,
Sleep was hard to come as he felt
the emptiness,
Empty house, empty bed, empty
life,
But he'd become a part of their
games,
He smiled as they laughed,
Frowned as they squabbled.
Then one day they played to an
empty chair,
They waited for eternity for his
return.

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Saju Abraham, 6 stycznia 2012

Wake Up

It’s a cruel cold world
You and I shrugged aside
You don’t sing their tune
You don’t fit the garb

You watch the events unfold
Excite yourselves in attitude
Express in nameless forums
Revel in some crony’s comments

Toothless lions still rule the world
Shake their mien to stress their word
They’d live for years to come
For you’d take eons to come

Come take the reins in your hands
Take a break off your stupor
Get right your gene permutations
Set the world on a new path.

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Pozostałe wiersze: Wake Up, A Crowded Place, A Camouflage, The Pyre, The Art,