blackmail press 26
Rohitash Chandra
Fiji/ New Zealand

from: Angipanis of the Abanimal People - Andy Leleisi'auo
Rohitash Chandra is the editor of the Blue Fog Journal,
He has published his second collection of poems, "A Hot Pot of Roasted Poems" in 2007. He is from Fiji and is currently pursuing his PhD in Computing Science at Victoria University of Wellington.

On the air like a bird
the jet engine is eating 
like a hungry lion
we are hanging in the midst
of the sky blue and the ocean wide.

The clouds are down below
what was considered big is now small
we look from a different perspective
and fly with new dreams.

the grass is greener on the other side
but a tradition is lost
I am thirsty
there is an ocean to drink
and its too salty.

An Illusion

The lights, the night, the beats
the coming together, the touch
the smell of her hair
that intensity, that connectivity
filled the long void in me.
just as a compass needle turns
towards a magnet, I turned towards her,
there was no need to speak,
or exchange any physical human expression in between us,
our connectivity was clear, the night was cold,
and alcohol was conquering the fear
that held our feelings, it brought us together,
we sat in the park, and discussed
why we can communicate better with each other,
the heat from our body conquered the dark
and the coldness of the entire world, from where we stood.

It was the coming together of two beings from different worlds,
for a moment we conquered those worlds,
and slowly, it faded, fear came back into our system,
the alcohol dissolved, and the emotion intensified,
the fearful mind, locked us in the dark dungeons of the night
we became aware that this togetherness is not meant to be,
we have oaths to fulfil, and desires we must hold.

Now the world is real,
and our feelings are locked up in the closet of the backyard
we both think about it from time to time,
and give some justification to that moment,
maybe it was love, or just an illusion
in the fragment of the unconquerable hands of time.


Time wither my skin
in the mirror of everyday life.

Steak and ham sizzle in the pan
Every day I walk closer to my grave.

I of most intelligence
can feed on the lesser ones.

Only six feet deep in the ground
the justice is done,
those little white worms,
feed on me, it’s their turn.

Once Every Second

a child cries for food,
a mother delivers a child.
a man dies, another born
the endangered are killed in the wild.

a tear drops, a tear dries
a child is sold
and a widow is cursed.

he finds love, she wealth
some journey begins
some ends.
foods gets into the blood
and blood is cooked as food
a cycle of twists and turns.

a disabled prays to walk again,
an artist sells for fame,
the world plays its game.

once every second
the clock ticks
and its hand turns.