*Meaning

A poet died

back home

and I,

miles away

couldn't make out

what it meant.

He had died before also,

almost, I mean.

Like a frog run over by a truck

many a times he had

fallen down on the black mud

of the streets,

drenched in blood,

in wine,

spread eagled,

almost dead.

There were his other deaths too,

less physical,

but more intense.

Mostly murders, i guess.

Love hate lust

and folks like you and me

together had him dead

at the cross, many times,

and yet, from his blood,

holy in its unholiness,

they had risen like fire,

words,

burning their way 

right into you.

They called him an addict,

made fun at his back,

but were silent as the stones 

when he rode,

with his 'bird' and the 'snake'*

like a king 

on the streets 

in the rain 

of molten, acidic,

black ink.

I asked a friend of mine

what it means when

a poet dies;

don't know why, but she said

probably it was a 

'trick question'.

May be 

that's what it could mean

when a poet dies.

A trick

to end the agony 

of being shackled to life.

A question

that keeps screaming

in your head, 

never letting you 

forget.

* In memory of the Malayalam poet A. Ayyappan who passed away recently. The poet who had led a tumultuous and lonely life remained lonely in his death also. His body remained unidentified on the roadside for hours.The poet had recently won the coveted Aashan prize.

* The poet's favourite metaphors, the 'bird' and the 'snake'