Mock Cover II

Mock Cover I

Snow White

'Ghenna Pitti' cover

Cover design for 'Ghenna Pitti' (Hatred and Bile), a book of Bengali poems written by Somnath Roy and published by Guruchondaali, that was launched at the Kolkata Book Fair 2011.

Abstraction Sucks

Karin

L'Ultimo Spogliarello

La Maja

To Allen

El Baile

Trophy

Love Died In '91

Have you seen the multitudes thrive
In inhibited ignominy,
Licking stale blood off each other's armpits?
No, you haven't.
You live in a different tier of hell,
Don't you, dear?
With your cars and your hounds,
The horned butlers
And the iron maidens,
You self-crowned empress,
The whore of Weelzewub.
This is your farm
These are your geese & pigs & calcified eggs
Harvested to be torn apart
And rejoined in a thousand new patterns.


I walk over the eggshells and mongol skulls
Towards your bed.
Your leopard, castrated, painted blue,
Leaps for my throat and chokes on its gold chain.
(I kick the carcass away to reach the final three feet.)


You're still there: naked, proud, glistening
The Salome of slaughterhouses
Your skin smells of hair
Your hair of skin
Your lips taste of holocaust,
O mistress mine.


The arms open, the breasts sway,
Your nipples - erect - remind me of
Bayonets of riot police from a grainy past
As I, dazed, happy, sad, climb over
On all fours
(My butt thrusting sacrilegiously at your grandfather's clock)
My chest hair shaved to form your name in the forbidden alphabet.


Your nails tear at my jaw
Your teeth pierce my shaft
You want my fluids, all of them,
As I want yours..... Mother.
Feed me at your breast,
Urinate on my face to wash my sins,
As we blend into each other,
Lost in our coitus fantasticus:
Purgatory,
Sweet purgatory!

Altered Natives

It was another city
Another man:
One who looked like a fake film star
In plastic jeans.

Seduction was not his forte.





It was another street
Another house:
One which had smelt of blood for years
Pig blood. Human, too.

Weddings do not look good in crematoriums.





It was another woman
Another night:
One which turned from magic to middle-class
In the blip of an SMS.

You should not have unclasped your belt for her.