Daipayan Nair writes

Fashionista God 

Fashionista Gods, corrupted third eye of corporate vice 
Dead asura gets killed once, lives twice
One nude saree, how it drapes is the worry
Tell the beggar man, how myths stole his palace

Okay, devotees won't utter, but won't they say
Fuck you, rum and butter, or boobies of pawny nymphs
That flatter; you scream, waiter! bring me roasted God
I drool over the idol; it's better than to nod

In my colony, bellies of a dual felony ask for capitalist alms
Fashionista Gods, be gone as a soul; earth, your better charcoal

 

Rest on my shoulder if you can, you are dependent
On women who don't deserve to live long, a four-day 'Visarjan'
See, I made you like my wife, now your murder is social
Endlessly drunk; self creation, how could I not fuck yours.

['Visarjan' is term used for the ritualistic immersion of certain Gods and Goddesses in India, on the last day of their worshiping festivity.]

 

 

 

Daipayan Nair writes

Handsome For A Threesome

Good job! The doctor pats world's bum

How was I vomited, dad?

I loved your mom, it was my 'fucking job'

I wanted to get rid of you, of her 

From addresses which I can't reveal 

But dangerous love stopped me 

Said, "Be weird as a fucker and a father"

That, she was killed by her master 

Now she's doing good as a mother

Existence is a son too with a risky fun

Existence is a daughter, getting slaughtered

Humanity, my close ally, an age old shame 

Surviving with fame of its name 

Duality tamed, they are game

'Woman' always sounded 'sexy' 

Mother, daughter, sister, pal, lover -

Emotions in intervals mattered; still do

I've loved beings, things, rings, strings, flings

I have been 'wanting' 

For a thousand years 

The political, social, genital heartthrob

When I want, I accept a gift or I kill

When I love, I don't care what's the bill

Man, a half-lived savage 

Balanced mortality keeping him 

At an average, making him overaged

Uniform sunsets in-between wages and sages

Extra blank page is born

Poets, polite with policies; politicians

Elite, my man with butts and bums

Rich & handsome goes for the threesome

Where the socio-equality of my lingerie 

Strong communism of my bulge 

Both fighting the smelly anus

No job or heartthrob but you lick it 

You just lick it.

Daipayan Nair writes

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