1. This place of time
    is empty of convictions
    of common air between trees
    and between forests and cities
    everything is lonely, rooted
    in a past hazy and contrived
    whose days in a hurry
    run past your heart
    whose hunger grips you on empty roads
    and shakes you fiercely
    with the restless chatter of the lost

    I pity you, you who occupy
    this place of time
    and call it your home –
    I pity you, you who dismiss
    your longing for those days
    which glint like diamonds
    through the running film of delusion

    This place of time
    which you endure with sedatives
    painkillers and balms
    you have to escape it, flee to someplace else
    where the talk of people
    still stirs the life in your gut
    where words are not rehearsed, faith not false
    and feeling not polished by age
    to the point of oblivion

    This place of time will soon
    see its end
    but you should first end
    your picnic in the graveyard
    enough of your worship, the dead are pleased
    and their ghosts are tired
    of stalking you in your dreams,
    rest and relax
    build new homes away from the ruins
    cast off the borrowed shields
    heavy with hatred and wars
    come now and kiss the seed
    waiting to be born.

    # vimeo.com/59796244 Uploaded 40 Plays 0 Comments
  2. An ant is trapped within the boundary formed by my hands
    that is open from either side.
    And yet the imbecile creature sticks to the hand-walls
    to find a way out.
    All such ants (and people) disgust me
    who have exit points available
    but succumb to the blinding immenseness
    of surrounding walls.

    The mindless, insipid barks of people
    the sweetness of sweets
    the sanctimonious souls and institutions
    - make me want to puke,
    make want to spit around.
    For I would rather concentrate on
    forming patterns on the ground with my own spittle
    than indulge in worshipping anything chaste.

    There is voluminous filth in beauty.
    The word beauty stultifies itself
    as it tries best to be enslaved by homogeneity.

    Cosmetic advertisements pasted on the insides of ladies’ compartments in the Metro train
    practise voodoo on me with needles of hatred.
    Then I look at my own reflection on a window pane
    and despise clothes.
    Fucking bras leave elastic marks that are so itchy.

    Every symbol and every sound disgusts me
    for it has been used and overused
    beyond the point of redundancy.
    And people who find expression within these symbols and sounds
    disgust me;
    they lack creativity to weave with their own threads.

    At night I have dreams,
    dreams of wild, deafening squawks that tire my lungs out,
    of crushing all uniform marching bugs under my stomps.
    But the morning which extinguishes the stimulation of such dreams
    disgusts me.

    # vimeo.com/58512829 Uploaded 52 Plays 0 Comments
  3. I, Raj Rao, 32
    Am a festering poet worn to the bone
    Lice live in my hair, mice have bitten my toes
    I have protruding teeth, a fungoid groin
    I smell like a horse
    My nails with which I sometimes scratch my verses
    Are grown and black and twisted out of shape
    There are holes in my teeth that let out slime
    My nose is a clogged drain.
    I'm yahoo in sex: i drink even your urine.
    My beard is stubble.
    My feet are huge with patches of white.
    The sputum in my throat poisons the air.
    Worms crawl in my stomach.
    I belch in public, retch after meals.
    I think everyday of death.
    Awakened by nightmares, I often howl at night.
    I claw at my hair, bite my own flesh
    And scream until my voice cords snap
    Smashing everything I can lay my hands on.

    From "For Hire: New and Selected Poems", 2012

    # vimeo.com/57769336 Uploaded 137 Plays 0 Comments

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