POST-MODERN IRONY

In reality, a mirage
Is delusion for real
Why then must we
Confess the truth
And feel false beneath

Below, on the surface
Where the fluid boils 
Renditions evaporate unheard
Corroding within the skin
Such uncouth suffering 

Let us strip the skin, dear people 
This blood needs to breathe
Our shells have cut the perspiration
Homosapiens sweating like pigs
Such post-modern irony

-K.G.

GREATNESS

Save me the greatness
In the name of advise
Give me nothing
If it's greatness you derive
From the lives and times
Of gallant men
Like salt to the sore
That seeps rapidly within
'What is right' is general truth
We all know what not to do
And yet we flounder
Time and again
Each time a different disdain

Similarly, I am a bit
Of every man I meet
To greet or scorn
And carry on
My faults are all identified
Discovered and certified
We're all just a family
I scratch your back
You scratch mine
Narrating greatness of former times

What you do great
Becomes greatness tomorrow
But they that just narrate
Are comfortably hollow
Greatness is an abstract
That can't be seen or heard
But only be felt
Fleeting south like birds
To make you know
Where you are and where to go

-K.G.

I WILL FORGET YOU AS CHEMISTRY

I'll forget you as though

I have forgotten Chemistry

I'll forget complicated names

Of your many elements

And the logic in your laws

Like outlaws do, naturally

The colours of your solutions

Will fade after they react

And become yet another problem

Therefore, dear friend

I'll forget you as though

I have forgotten Chemistry

Why not some other science,

Is that what's on your mind?

Because I will always remember

That delightful November

When Biology became reality

Within the confines of my body

The Physics between you and I

Has its own gravity

So much Force, so little Time

So many angles undermined

Hence as Chemistry, I say

I will forget you, someday

-K.G.

FINAL FALL

From stones to sickles
To shadows that tickle,
Man had a crazy life.
And what astonishing device!

His ever winding gyre;
A lurid cycle of fire–
An active funeral pyre
For prolonged requiems of desire.

Each paddle a unit,
Each distance a day.
'Every man for himself';
The rear view is only sweet dismay. 

Balance is struck through motion,
Motionless- the cycle falls.
And gravity calls them sooner
Than the curtain's final fall.

-K.G.

PAST REALITY

Looking back and forth
Into my ordinary life
I struggle to find divide
That pushed me aside
Within the undulating rigmarole 

Removed from most parts
Through childhood phase
I remained a fluid
Seemingly languid
Separated in two halves 

Both developing steadily
One on the outside
The other- underneath
Pleased among the trees
Denouncing authority distastefully 

In memory, most forgettable
This wayward life does seem
So much more living
So terribly unforgiving
An unbelievable past reality

-K.G.

FIRE EXTINGUISHER

A few days ago
In a nearby building
On a high-risen floor
A fire extinguisher croaked
Prey to sophisticated curiosity
Of a suave gentleman

Oh, what a hoax
The poor nonliving coaxed
And cajoled as satanic
Barbaric thing of dismay
As it fell to the surface
Letting out a destiny

Waiting there endlessly
Through days, months, years
Waiting for a fire
In an unsure, diminished life
Like a soldier in peace time
A hopeless rest for fate

And then the final act
Set in the way inscribed
They forgot how the bizarre
Of the lashing nozzle
Would make the only sense
Once fire begins to ascend

-K.G.

I AM EVERYTHING

I am a he,
I am a she.
I'm nearly everything
That can possible be.

I am puzzled,
I am all cool.
I am burning ember,
I am fuel.

I am they,
I am them.
I burn tobacco,
I love hemp.

I am failure,
I am a degree.
I suck at math,
I love history.

I am uncultured,
I am talent.
I live progressive
But I love 'gallant'.

I gaze out of windows,
I turn on the A.C.
I am nearly everything
That can possibly be.

-K.G.

THOUGHT BUBBLE

Be gone, despair
We can no longer be friends
Sadness saddens me no more
I have found thought
And thought, I have
On seeing things
Upon being things
Before knowing not
And even after having known:
"From hour to hour we rot"
Yet I have just thought 

When sleep eluded me
I have thought
When logic secluded me
I have thought
Even when I couldn't think
I have thought
Set to find truth and meaning
All across the covers of tense
Perpetually through the time fence
Time traveling battles fought
And all of this, just in thought

Because this friendship has sunk,
Let us rather be allies, despair
A rather effective remedy
For that live tickle
That I will not solve
Bound by fear of a resolve
And which to resist
Is not a poet's choice
So I accommodate discomfort
And host every how and what
Like just another floating thought

-K.G.

THE BOOK STORY

Upon eyeing syllables
From an open book
We derive a personal meaning
Beside general outlook
Each sentence analysed 
By differing views, each time

Where you see clown
I could see door
And what's my bestseller
May be your nevermore
To read or not to read
I see, is just about the seed

Once planted unconsciously
The pages begin to flip
And thence very responsibly
The story slips below fingertips
Time gradually fleets thereby
With questions like 'then' & 'why'

You however could be at ease
You're safe, you do not read
You are a different breed
But there's no GPS to graves
Tombstone notes are engraved
So while we lead, you could follow

-K.G.

MENTALITY

I'm not an affluent head
And in what I earn
I'm not content
But I'm human
I've mastered compromise
I'm the fringe class
Seldom at peace of mind
A middle-class manor
With middle-class means
Against the many thoughts
That cannot seep within
And therefore do not reap
Any fruits from wisdom trees

No room for reservations
No attics for ego and pride
Such bereaving divide
It's not a matter of money
We are beaten off mentality
For the problem is queer;
We don't belong being poor
And can't afford being rich
So I remember what father said
'Money saved is money earned'
And keeping temper in check
Muffle my virulent roars
Anger is a costly affair

-K.G.

ACOUSTIC

My guitar is an earthy jig
No wires, just acoustic
The shimmer of new strings
Only adds to the sound within

It's really all about the fret
And massages by drunken fingers
Amid floods of sounds- inebriate
Beating down rains that hinder

Notes ringing in the sound box
Reverb in the hollow wood
Sustained longer in the blocks
And only half understood

Its insides are the quarry
Where I have often dug for gold
And digging often in hurry
I dug my grave- untold

-K.G.

CLOSET PLANT - II

I'm talking of the various textiles
That construct the stardom
Of your premium wardrobe
A fine dress for each occasion
Each one- cut and stitched;
Patched to perfection
For that complete look
That helps you get by
Day, by day, by day.

Some of the starry scrapes
Have slipped through as seed
Down in the last shelf
Far behind, in spare spaces
And has rooted itself therein
Growing in tenderness
In shades of seclusion
With green leaves of envy
And blue flowers of desire.

-K.G.

CLOSET PLANT - I

There's a time by darkness 
That serves as a shift;
An absolute butter drift,
Damping the din, as harness.

Dusk simmers the noises
And paves way for night;
Dazzled by pretty lights,
That bifurcates all voices.

And then casually descends
The cadence of reprive,
Dissolving beneath skies;
Just silent chaos, in the end.

It's not all that severe,
You could hear it too
Upon looking through 
At a nearby atmosphere.

Free of the nonsense chant
From individual infinities
And lurid amenities
I hear breathings of a closet plant

-K.G.