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Bharat Trivedi

Poet’s Death-wish

My poetic pen ruptured
the petite pink hymen
of the onion-skinned virgin paper
and an ink-stained poem lies
naked, without her fig leaf…

I’m about to be put to death for
my inadvertent insanity!
Anyway, before my execution,
let me stalk death that has haunted me
in the fearful emerald jungles!
Before I am hanged in the endless early hours of dawn.
permit me to -
poison a petite poetry
crush a creative couplet,
slay a stylish sonnet,
exterminate an emotional elegy,
hara-kiri a humble haiku,
burn a boisterous ballad
kill a kaleidoscopic kavita,

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Lamentation on Lost Love...

The shrill serenades
drifting from flutist’s clarinet
rush to dance with the rhythmic beats of the wedding drums.
Festoons of golden marigolds bound with mango-green leaves
auspiciously dangle at the decorated doors.
Tear smudged pearl-drops drip from your hazel eyes
and rivulets of kohl streaming down your rosy cheeks
moisten your henna-adorned hands,
while pantomime-faced guests flock to witness
the ceremonial wedding of two strangers

Dressed in glittering gold-dusted wedding robes,
he will arrive on a galloping white-maned mare.
and will lead you to take matrimonial vows,
while your dainty lotus-petals feet
embellishing silver-belled anklets
will follow him to circle the holy fire seven times.
Then both of you will metamorphose
as ‘man’ and ‘wife’…

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Burnt Memories...

Distinctly,
I see in my mind’s eye –
that (in) auspicious day of my life,
when we were bound in flowery matrimonial bonds.
those seven steps walking around the holy fire
midst the roars of sacred Vedic chants,
and your promise to be my life-companion for seven births…

How you rode a white Pegasus dressed in a princely attire,
sweeping me away to unseen dreams,
unknown lands and unexplored continents!
Our wedding night,
when the first rape of my body and soul took place,
how my maiden blood-stains mingled with fragrant rose-petals
scattered on the nuptial bed,
where your manhood dug a hole in my soul
and plunged me into my private hell.

Love had walked out of our door with your first stinging slap,
and tears of fear spilled on my satin-pillow

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