Aghori Poems

Aghori Poems of Hemang Desai (1978)

(1) Aghori
the natural nudist wearing the apparel of sky
tangly matted hair
a shock of stringy dusty beard
purdahing twin-baby pregnant belly
male-turned-female breasts’ nipples peeping,
emerges like an earthworm
from the prehistoric hollow he had crept into as
he loathes light
ephemeral and illusory
loves dark
all-pervading and permanent

he is an absolute sucker
-not in that derogatory sense-
but in that he sucks well
there he sucks a cigarette
with his lugubrious lingam
hanging loosely down his crotch
like a shriveled drumstick
he has trained it in sucking
first water, then milk, then ghee
and in a climactic crescendo
quintessential fire of a fresh womanhood
but without falling as
he preaches the gospel on the public pee-wall
“Every drop of semen shed, has a part of your youth fade”
thus abiding by the ancient adage
“Renounce what you want to pounce”

the holy ash on his body is
his armor against everything worldly
once subverting the sexual law of man losing, woman attaining
he snapped his bond with arousal
to avoid even an adventitious fall
chose cave over consort
to worship Lingam –the archetypal phallus- uninterrupted
however the earthworm performs staggering feats
pulls a car, lifts a heavy stone
and faith fertilizes barren women.

cross-legged he sits at times
staking his tarnished trident beside
-from its tip glides down the sun
cuts itself into a crescent moon-
poised on one leg like a crane
he does penance at other times
smoking a legitimate ganja chillum,
the devotee of Nataraja
sways and swoons in frenzy
and rocks the world
with the tremors of his thumping feet
at still other times.

(2) Aghori Penis
Engraving on my mirror
The prehistoric stone inscriptions
On the slimy skin of the snake
Run over in the middle of a meandering road
Wriggling with the lust of a sex-starved nympho
I get astounded
And become
The eighth immortal on earth
A postmodern crucified Christ
Gauging the length of the nails driven in my palms

I share the relation of keetbhramar
With the rusty nails
Half-hammered into my blue hands and gout feet
And one day, I’m sure,
It will metamorphose me into
A half-steely Duryodhana who
Knew dharma but couldn’t live up
Knew adharma but couldn’t give up
- Would the same helplessness have got
The better of the tough warrior when
going naked to his blindfolded mother?
What nervous thoughts would have made him
cover his loins and
have them smashed with a foul blow
in the final feud? -

My aghori penis will be granted a place
In the serpent yoni then
And
With the hope of fixing its fangs in Nilakanth’s throat
And sucking the cosmic poison
It will coil round a lingam-shaped stone
For days, months, years and
Even centuries on end
Until it is not transformed into a hard relentless lingam
Until milk and water are not poured over it

But the Takshak
Let loose and later nailed down
In the palm of my left hand
Does not budge an inch
Even after being scalded
Like the female serpent sneaking up my mother’s back.
The pie-bald dog fucking the bitch of obstinacy
Does not growl scared of going to dogs by starvation

Meanwhile
I, too, creep into the well-hymened hollow of darkness
Covered in dense nakedness
To have a foul-mouthed slut
Do oral sex for me.