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I the martyrdom of saint dupe the first

our saint dupe the first martyred in cold blood

            in a field the size of a modern supermarket;

robe bottoms-up — where the river mixes with air

           godspeed!

                    running with a puckered tail in his ass —

distasteful; i only live him, at times. & his ambition

up his unflattering cloak —                              made him look like

a chunk.                        saint dupe the first a blitzing jolt,

                                     saint dupe the first a loaded gun,

                                     saint dupe the first you make me

                                     whine like a dog.

& the confessional hand wiped millets from

the land; and elegies for you are                                a lover’s dream —

widening the barrels of my selfhood; all a pretence.

at twilight — the saint rang a stranger door

             and made me shiver right down to the shins.

                      built a palace of rain and didn’t let me in —

saint dupe my double, my price twice

                                               — too high.

II the creation of duplicate virtues

is a parodic endeavour — picture cleansed from the

start to paint all over again. but you a virtuous

saint, dupe. a settler’s wet dream. a dining table

conversation

             — a suburban diasporic nostalgia,

a bed of lint creased up the knees & down bad bad

             oft you’d look at the

                                                    — purged mess of it all

and like a hardened buddha, the gaze will go away.

saint for a name and saint for a blame; saint for the

                    — flesh & double aflame.

         to dupe : is denial mastered

once when fall is spread like a river, comes the wind

once creation takes over & we be mindless again

         saints absolved from the passed future

         for our father art in a palace — a big hungry

                    blob of disappointment for making

                    two out of one.

III a dupli-citous exposé

now that you’re gone i’ll miss your

                                         — blooming thighs

here, now i reveal myself in my bite-sized morsels

in my torso misaligned and my trashed brow

            a breathing living sack with satin in my

            — throat.

                       but in this being, that there is tenderness;

& tenderness brings with it a rush of

the prophetic tilt of fortunes

                      — double-faced montage.

saint dupe the saviour s/o the brown man’s mind

& the bride of the east — she’s one of a kind!

& law & order & rules & mandates

            fell short of the discerning acts, as he blows

            twin peaks into the distance;

once when fall is spread like a river, comes the wind

robes & leaves are all the same — each one in the air

right when it is time to begin

                                      — my double empties my chair.

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Mayank Rastogi is a poet and writer based in New Delhi. He recently completed his post-graduation in English from Jawaharlal Nehru University, and is currently working on his debut collection. His poems have previously been published by Lekh Magazine, Zhagaram Literary Review, Poems India and Indian Review. He hails from Ayodhya, India.