Points | David Blair
Give yourself
a point or two
if a fool
falls out with you.
One semester of literary theories
Another of critical theories
That failed to change
Life, world and the unjust rule…
The Sunni hates the Shi’a
The Buddhist robe is
Haram for both of them
No Halal! Shout the Buddhists…
Lower castes contaminate the Brahmin women’s virgin blood
A Berawaya is not the match for a Govigama lady
Is it?
The poor are the earliest
To the polling booth
They vote for the frauds
The story-tellers
The gamblers, the rapists
Whose decree lets doctors rape impoverished women
Coming to state hospitals
To get a cough syrup
Free of charge
The elitist’s young daughter
Clad in a form fitting
Dress, tik-toks on the marble floor
Like a lazy clock
Idling till her boyfriend’s Prado comes
To pick her up and go to Kandalama
Where they spend the night
With a gang of friends
Who declares in her sweet, melodious voice
‘I hate politics, it ruins the peace of mind!
Why should people talk about such serious things?
I have sunny attitude towards my life!’
She who doesn’t know her inebriated body
Is the bed for the gang of boys in the deluxe room
But not Lechchami, who has taken
The responsibility of her life to her own hands
At nineteen years
She works in the tea estate
Perpetually looking
For a young bus conductor
Or an attendant in a hospital to come her way
To run away and start the life
Her mother started twenty years ago
At the elections
All of them run and vote
For a democracy they can’t digest
For an ‘equality’ they cannot comprehend
Forever waiting for one ruler or the other
To miraculously change their fate
Which the rulers themselves internalised
So shrewdly that they didn’t even sense
I sit to my table
A warm coffee in my hand
With a bar of an imported chocolate
To type my assignment on how to do a
Marxist analysis
To re-write for the thousandth time
A theory, previous undergraduates
Wrote in assignments and semester-end papers
While the poorer students
Quote and scream lines from Das Capital
In front of the university
But none of us had or have the time to change the world
Marx,
We are too busy with studies and efforts to build a future
Seen as successful by the world which you wanted to change…
A jumper was on the 6th floor
Of a building down the street from me
Crowds gathered, cops, EMS, the whole 9 yards
But here’s the deal
This is New York City
If you’re gonna mess up traffic
With your dramatic maybe death
We want a body on the sidewalk
Because in this town
If you threaten and punk out
You’re just a wuss
I wanna spend my time
in an alcoholic haze
Pubs with a table by the window
Middle of the day
Writing my verse
Drinking strong stout
And amazing whiskey
If you want to stop by
and spend some time with this old dog
I’ll be happy to share libation
and read you a poem or two
By then dirty old man status
will be in full throttle
Short skirt optional
But totally welcome
I am your poet
You know where to find me…
It’s only been
A few days
We’ve been apart,
Yet every part
Of me is yearning to
Be with you,
Feeling your warm
Embrace, your
Comforting eyes,
Your sensual mouth.
I can’t sleep,
Only dream about
The two of us,
A glorious pair,
Fulfilling each other.
I miss you,
I long for you.
Come to me
My love,
In dreams,
In reality,
In every part of
What is me and you.
Two beings in a
Passionate union,
A dream realized,
Your hand and heart in mine,
Our eyes sharing emotions.
My love for you, limitless.
Let’s share it now
And forever,
The most wonderful gift.
All I have
Is all my love
For you.
Forever, always,
From the bottom of
My heart.
A love so pure it
Reaches deep inside,
To the places we
Only dream of,
An ocean of feelings and
Discoveries about each other.
You mean everything to me,
My sweetest gift,
I give in return,
All my love to you.