a kite's love song

Clouds
Of love
Enshroud me
Envelop me;
I lie transported
Bereft of barriers
That bind me to mortal ground
You take me to a new-found-land
Where myriad shades of love unfold;
Our kite like freedom finds new expression.

Together we go, your soul threading mine
Tossed, turned and careened by desire,
Higher we glide, guided by dreams
Until suddenly, you snap,
Leaving me to savour,
Those precious moments
Before I fall,
For your love
One more
Time.

one of my earliest poems in free verse. - maybe 2007?

the invisibility of memory

The remembrance
of forgetfulness
blinds words
that hide beneath
the surface of
volcanic thoughts
waiting to burst forth
in a canvas of emotions.

They refuse to erupt
And instead stop. Abruptly.
Their rivulets of
Loquacity stifled,
Silted into muteness.

Seconds, minutes and aeons
Seem to pass,
But nothing wills
Their unwillingness
To spill and fall.

And then, suddenly
They disappear,
Recede into greyed
Folds.

Lost
To the cacophonous
Laughter of the world
And the empty tears
Of a loved one’s memories

There emerges a calm
On the face,
The remnants of remembrance,
Now forgotten.

Many a time,
The loved one waits
For the torrents
To emerge,
If just once.

Alas! They
Are now buried,
Lost in a world
That she is lost unto.

Alzheimer’s –before it takes away reason

written in may 2011

i did. i did not.

Sorry.
I know it is a hopeless word
And that it cannot reverse
The kindness and care.
But listen to me just this once.
Even if it doesn’t matter anymore.

Sorry
For losing myself
To desperation.
For trying ways to keep you
With me, without
Ever finding out
How it must feel
To never know
Until the end.

For submitting you
To the trauma of cure
And all the sympathy
That came disguised
As tender care.
And not understanding at all
That it was empathy
You sought,
Not maudlin cries
Over furrowed brows.

For not asking you
If you would like
To be propped up
By the window
Not showing you hope
In the rising sun,
The beauty of the birds
And the open sky.
But instead,
Overpowering you
With concoctions of every kind,
In the hope that you will
Stay.

I wish
I could have
Known that it was the
Cure that evoked
The pain in your tears,
Instead of mistaking them
For gratitude.

I wish
I had known
That at times you just
Wanted to be free
And at others,
It was comfort
Of closeness, you sought.
But,
I chose instead to
spend those hours
In fervent prayers
To keep you with me.

Maybe,
if i had shown you
The starlit skies,
Your favourite tv shows and
Food for the soul,
I might have been lucky
To find solace
In that twinkle in your eye
Over decaying skin.

Sorry
For succeeding in
Willing your life
For my sake,
Albeit a while.
And in turn,
Watching you die.




this is the way i felt as i watched my father die. and then k's dad. both died because medicine couldn't do much. 2011 may

yesterday's is good enough

the memsahib has arrived,
hot, sweaty and sticky from
her forty-five minute workout.
the wetness of sweat has neatly
settled upon the even lumps
of prosperity,
even as prosperity strains from
the stretch of a
brand that screams fitness.

the table is set; spread in
delicate detail, awaiting
friends who will arrive
in shimmering georgettes, crepes
and muted gold.

in minutes she emerges, coiffed,
gleaming skin – the crows’ feet
hushed and muted for a few hours.

her friends and she
talk of how tiring it is
on the treadmill, of how
difficult it is to watch those
calories burn,
in between mouthfuls of
feta cheese, gouda, before
they wash them
down with wine.

five courses later,
the kitchen sink is full,
with half-eaten titbits,
discarded in haste,
when conversation turns
to those calories again.

tomorrow, memsahib will spend
and extra hour,
and come back hotter, and wetter with sweat.

but today, kamala must hurry.
she must finish her chores
quickly.
because today, kamala has a special treat.
her one meal of today's dhal and
today’s rice is
wrapped in a plastic grocery bag.
today’s rice is a treat, is it not,
for it is usually yesterday’s?

she is hungry, of course
but
the little ones at home
are waiting.
waiting
for today's dhal and
today’s rice.


Published in Muse India Journal - Jan-Feb 2012

this is a poem that started out as a short story. been in my head for years. put down sometime last year, i think. it's begging to become a short story. but somehow, the words have been evading me.

Retribution

Today,
I stand at the gates
Of wisdom,
Paying penance
For my forefathers’ sins.
Their sins of demarcating
Humankind into
The good, the bad and the ugly.

I stand everywhere,
Demarcated now,
Even though
I don’t care,
Never have,
About whom i sit with,
Or where i eat,
Of who my friends are,
Or where they come from.

And still,
I cringe when they say that word.
Apologetic for an
Inheritance that forsakes me
And sends me to foreign shores
To make a future,
Because i have none here.

In the end,
Karma always catches up.
It always catches up.




as long as we speak of caste, reservation, upliftment of different sects, there will always be a section that is demarcated. when will we begin to think of humanity as a whole? as one where everyone lives the way he works and is good at? ah! poetry and idealism.

twenty years to a lost childhood

I was twelve
And had not seen
My being, bloodied.
Yet.
I was but a child,
Who had learnt from five,
To thread garlands
Out of reeds, and squeeze
Nectar from the hives of honey bees

And you came, uniformed
A hat on your head and
Venom in your eyes,
And i became your sacrifice
Your sacrifice for the many days
And nights that you spent away
From your town girls and your wife

What did you see in me?
When you took me away,
Did i not remind you of a child
That you might have sired,
When you were far away?

Do you know that when you
Were done with me,
I saw blood for the very first time?
That it came gushing, as if to cleanse
The sullied pores of your crime?

Do you know that your monstrosity
Comes upon me, every night,
And that i have not slept since then
That i have woken wet with sweat
Watching my bloodied, tears with fright?

At the end of it all,
You moved on
To bigger catches and better fame
And i became a statistic,
Of a well rehabilitated
Tribal dame.

And i, spent every day,
Mourning the death of
My lost childhood.

Still mourning the death
For everything my life stood.

Twenty years later,
Justice they say, has come
But my blood is all dried,
My tears spent now.
Your justice cannot bring back
That twelve year old child,
Who had not seen first blood
Until you arrived.




this poem and 'Tribals and Bestials' are both written in the moment, 20 years after the mass rape at Vachati, TN

tribals. bestial.

We were here before you,
Arrived; intruded our world
In the name of civilisation.
We were here among the trees,
The birds and the bees
We were one with them,
For centuries
Before you came, invaded our ways
And taught us grace
Of your animal ways.

We were here before you
And yet, you deem it fit
To teach us things –
Of big bangs, toothpaste,
And other material things.
Ah! Your ignorance!
Worthy of a good laugh,
For no matter how many trees
You rape to write your histories,
You will never know the secrets
Our Mother has taught us through
Her stories.

How to plunder the forests,
And gain satisfaction through
Printed notes of greed,
These,
We will never need.

But once you knew,
How beastly you turned,
Such bestial rage we have never seen,
We have never seen.

But the lush treasures of our green
And the virgin trust of our girls and teens
Turned on the beasts in you,
And we were left watching.
We were left crying.

When you brought us your savage ways,
We wish that we had learnt it well,
Of how to turn on the beasts within us,
And give you hell.

Alas! That is a lesson our Mother
Did not teach.
Neither did the trees,
Nor the birds and the bees.
And now, we are left watching
You murder our innocence
And rape it well.
Tears well
Bbut mute our pain,
How we wish we learnt those lessons
From you again.




Published in Muse India, Jan-Feb 2012

Of temple walls and those within

Trusting hearts,
Know not the vile
Nature of a rancid heart
And a rabid mind,
They come when called,
Surrender unknowing,
To lust, disguised in
elderly love.

They give in, because
We never talk about the word,
Although it’s there for all to see,
On temple walls and art, of course
But taboo it is, to speak of it,
Or encourage talk
In our walls, within.

They can see it on live tv,
Or see it on
Their monitors, for free,
But to talk of it to mothers
And fathers,
Is unspeakable;
such hypocrisy!

So, these innocent lives
Never know
What demented people
Have in store,
A candy or two,
A secret between the two,
Is all it takes
For innocence
To lose its trust .

If only we can open our minds,
As wide as we do our mouths and ears,
If only we can begin the talk
Of sex and privacy
Maybe then our children will be
more prepared than we
Care to see.


written after a conversation i had with my about-to-turn-teen daughter

no roses without thorns

dark words, these
that come tumbling upon the white
they feel like blood on innocent skin
so dark, some emotions that i write

some say these expressions will scar my soul,
others speak of a mind, disturbed
at the choice of words,
to others, these words are mere fiction,
that i intend to shock through verse

it’s hard to turn the eye away
when rape and murder of children
stares you in the face, everyday.
It’s hard to blind the heart
To a child begging on the streets,
And having passers-by move on, hurried
and instead throw their pennies, in turn
for God’s mercies.

the rose-tinted view of the world
is not without its thorns, my friend
so, let other minds look at the roses,
while mine will remind you of the thorns instead.


written after the poetry recital on 25 september 2011. someone told me that i wrote very dark poems.

Release

when the time comes,
why is it always so hard to leave?
what is it that binds me, holds me back?
is it you,
the love you have for me,
or my love for you that wants me
never to leave?

is it my care
that i dread to abandon,
or the scare
of who will lay out your tea and toast,
or help you find your way around the kitchen,
knot your tie
or pick your clothes?

is it the smell of the well-worn sheets,
that held our love,
that i hate to leave,
or the emptiness that will become
of our togetherness?

i fear for many things,
of what will become of you,
for did i not pledge my heart
until death
that will now do us part?

as the monitors stuck on me
tick my every second away,
i cannot bring myself to leave,
even if it means
that i can no longer be
alive; full of life.

as the moments pass
inevitably to that time,
when i will cross over
to another world,
i realise
that in time,
i too will become
that faded void
of what once was us.

now i know,
what holds me back;
my heart is with you
and yours in mine.
so, release me, my love,
for us was meant to be
only until now.
from now on,
it will be just you
but fear not,
for i leave behind
my heart within you.
And you will be safe
With yours within me.


do we know just when we are about to die? i believe we do, for i have seen it in my loved ones' eyes and in their touch. sometimes, they are ready to go. sometimes, it is us that holds them back.

written in June 2008, days after my father passed away

wabi-sabi

Dishevelled,
My every strand in disarray,
Eyes, bleary from the drunkenness
Of the night.
The garb well-worn, with a tear
At the seam.
i glance at her
and she at me.
this face has seen
Countless nights
meandering in dreams
And as many days,
Wandering in thought.

and then i see
My crows-feet. Suddenly
Alive, etched into permanent marks
Around the eyes
That have seen,
loved, lived and died
Over and over again.
There are wisps of grey,
Settled irrefutably amidst the dark
Canvas of my hair,
Each, a toast to a lesson learnt.

Laugh lines gently kiss
The corners of my lips,
Some remind me of life
In its lighter vein,
Some, of tragedies that I have
Borne witness to. In vain.

I am no more a tender frame,
The burdens of everyday
Have settled upon me.
Generously.

She is not the I
That that will emerge
A few hours later, in
Coiffed hair and suit to match
The colour of her lips.
And rings that embrace
manicured nails,
Shoes that will announce their
Arrival with a gentle click on their soles.
She is the I that the world knows.

But when disrobed of external identity,
I discard the she that is not me.
I love this,
The wabi-sabi,
Perfection of imperfection
Than the world does not want to see.
The real she -
This is me.



written after an argument i had with a beautician friend! early february 2011

look up, just once

Remember the time
When we could count them,
Connect the twinkles
In the sky,
Sitting pretty
Against the cloudless
Backdrop of the night?

We search now
And then,
Among the hazy smears
That we have scorched
Into the skies.
The murky canvas that proclaims
Our progress
Has but blinded us all.

A few years hence,
They will all be gone,
Most of them, unnoticed
For we would have been
Too wrapped in our world,
And warped in our worries
To look up at them.
To look up to them.


So we’ll paint constellations
On our indoor ceilings,
Lest we forget they existed at all.

But before they disappear
From our eyes,
Just look up once, every night,
Because once they are gone,
How will we teach our
Future to
Reach for the stars
At all?



September 2011 - after i tried in vain to show the kids some constellations up in the sky and was shocked at finding just some hazy speckles

endless circle

through the night
and sometimes
through the day
they fill her
one by one.
they reek
of decayed morals
that hang limp
from demented souls.

she is scared today,
for it is him again.
the one who scars her first
with abuse that flows from
a rancid tongue
soured with crime.
then it comes,
in venomous form,
powdered pepper
sears its fangs
into that sacred passage
whence comes new-born life.


her screams
are seen in terrified irises.
muffled otherwise,
for she must not wake
that little form
that lies crumpled in a heap
beneath the cot that creaks
under the weight
of burdens that
untouched mankind
calls sin.

he is done.
and bends down
to pick up remains of his
discarded desires.
he smiles, revealing
a glint of
a decayed silver tooth,
stained in the blood of betel leaves.
he picks her up, that child of five,
and feels his lust swell once more.

unsullied innocence
is initiated
into the circle
just like before.


after a TED talk by Sunita Krishnan 2010

aphrodisiac of inebriation

i am she,
the aphrodisiac of inebriation,
the searing cold
that melts with fire
and lets loose,
the empty heart
in search of desire
even lust perhaps.


i am she,
petite. uncoloured
in judgement,
until i am twirled,
tasted and consumed
before i lose it all.

i am she that transforms
exchanges on
matter and space
to philosophies
that sound profound.

i am the sacrifice
that men and women make,
to take on shades
that they discard
or are scared to reveal
otherwise.

I am the invisible friend
that surrenders completely,
for it is i that melts
into their tongues
and warms their hearts
when it's cold outside
when it's dark.

i see him now,
i see him pick up
two of me...
two cubes of ice
to dissolve the longing in his eyes.



written now, in the moment

wordless

How can one
Transform twenty six

Into
A language
That describes
The feeling of lovers
Lying entwined, spent?

The haunting emptiness of
Cracked river beds that once
Teemed with life but now
Cry through silent screams?

A word that describes
Swollen bellies of children
That cannot differentiate
The hunger in their stomachs
From the anger in the hearts or
The sadness in their souls?

The beauty of an untouched sky
That sits atop snow-capped mountains,
Beckoning, teasing one’s heart
To soar?
Into the gut-piercing cries
Of a woman in rape,
Pinned down by monstrous lust
the emptiness in her heart,
when fingers point at her wretchedness
and bail the monsters instead?

Language that describe the
Laughter in a new-born’s eyes?

Into
The calm that emanates
From the heart
When lost in the world
Of one’s god?


written for a club contest on poems and quotes. revised sometime in 2011

quick sand

How quickly wonder turns to doubt.
Almost
As soon as ink dries on paper
The thoughts
That seemed so concrete
And sure of themselves
Just a while ago
Suddenly waver and erase
themselves.

How quickly i begin to question.
Almost as soon as i
turn away from the altar
Even though a while before
I had surrendered to Them
My doubts, bundled
In coconuts and flowers
And smiled as i closed my eyes
Sure, that they had heard me.

How quickly sadness replaces laughter.
Almost
As soon as
You leave the door,
Even though you have just
Revealed to me the many
Splendored shades of love
Through your hushed promises
And tenderness,
Making me believe the
Luckiness of it all happening
To me.

Quicksand it is
I feel myself stumbling
From surefootedness
Into an avalanche of doubt
That consumes me
Until the wonder appears
Again.


written now in the moment

the unfurling

At first, there is nothing.
Just fresh brown, erupting
In subtle, untold fragrances,
Teeming with miniature life.

And then
a slender cord sprouts forth,
bursting, announcing its arrival,
albeit hushed.
It brings with it tender hope
In gentle shades of green.

The unfurling begins,
One by one.
And then unfolds
The one mystery
No science can fathom
No art describe.
A mystery called
life.
Beautiful life.


now in the moment - a tender leaf is sprouting on my balcony. can turn anyone into a poet!

your eyes said it all

It took just a moment
For fate to decide
That your time had come
That you were too precious to
Leave behind.
And we just stared
And cried some.

Helplessness had a new avatar
Cancerous fangs and
Treatment to match.
Tormentors took on
And you smiled,
For it was your bravado
That we were still leaning on.
The pains in your veins,
We never knew
But we egged you on with
Our ignorant talk,
Urged you to stay calm
And fight,
To not ask questions
And to teach your body
The power of your mind.
And through it all,
You smiled.
Tears of pain
That we happily mistook
For realisation.

Many months later
The colour of your skin
Paled, its surface
punctured now,
with marks of
venom cured by venom.
There was nothing left,
Just skin and bones.
And your smile.

Through the torments
And all the charades,
That science and art together
Displayed,
The monster found ways to strike
You back
More monstrous than before.

But no matter how hard its poisoned
Fangs tried,
The one thing it could never catch
Was the spirit in your eye.

Resigned to Fate Series:Knotted Noughts

i lost it all to three firm knots
and three days of endless rhyme
muttered over holy smoke
and heady feasts of sweet and rice.
and then i saw him, this man
i had never seen
or chanced upon in my brief life
all of ten, for until then
it was just me, happily
ensconced in my world.

yellow knots threaded
together by golden gods
weighed me down
with their whispered tones,
and engraved in my heart
the many rules of marital bliss,
that i must abide with,
that i must lie in servitude,
and if fail i did, in these acid tests,
then my story would be
a grave one to tell.

sometime later a new life took form,
first a still born, then cherubic twins,
another boy and a little girl,
i had without much ado.
‘and now’, they said
‘her life is patterned in’.

then one night, he came to bed
took away my golden thread,
and the gods and the vermillion.
in one brief moment it was gone.
now i surfaced in a tonsured head,
in rough white yards,
relegated to a secluded spot
within four walls.

the infant cursed for her arrival
at an ill-begotten time
was snuffed out with
the milk of baby pink flowers,
punished for her faultless crime.
the twins were sent faraway
the last i saw them,
i inhaled their milk and boy-like smells,
torn trousers and dimpled smiles.
they went without even saying goodbye.
i knew not their whereabouts,
but now, the lump in my throat
had dried my eye, numbed my mind.

Solace i found in the last cord
That had tied itself to my womb once.
a trivial compensation for the nought
my life had become.
i held him close.
too close perhaps,
for my claustrophobic love
must have scared him so,
he left me for some lusty affair,
with a woman much older ,
a city belle, with skin so fair,
i was told.

now, they said that it was i
that brought ill-luck. not my child.
so i sit here, grind poisoned seeds as i cry,
it doesn’t matter now, that death i face
for she has already come upon me,
and i can vouch that hers is a gentler race.

but when i will be forgotten,
and become a tale to exchange,
let it be known
that it was the yellow gods
that failed me,
not i, as they claim.

Resigned to Fate Series: apathy of reality

she stands alone
amidst the sea
of hurried humanity.
dressed only
in ragged wear
patched together
in absent care
that struggles so
to cover skin
and unknown scars
that lie within.

her placid face
and hollow eyes
plead with
motorists and passers-by,
but all they do
is look away,
curse the system,
curse the day.
she knocks glass doors,
peering to see
if a coin or two
will fall down free,
from purses that bulge
with consumerist greed
whilst the likes of her
beg to feed.


a clatter here,
a note there,
sometimes nothing more
than a vacant stare
at other times,
a rude word or two
they all see her
but do not look,
afraid
that her sight
might wet their hearts,
they turn away,
shut their eye.

night falls
and she is forced
away from
her patchwork clothes.
she submits
and lies down
to feed
empty desires
on the streets.
lust swells to monstrous form,
until a child bursts forth,
from within her womb.

soon he rests upon her sling
oblivious to
the worldly din,
carelessly suckles
from a breast
devoid of love,
but wet with torrents
from above.
the breast struggles valiantly
to remain within,
the folds of cloth,
now worn tired, thin.

his scalp is singed red
by lice and dust
that have settled in
between the tufts
of hair and skin.
he wails in hunger,
and in pain.
then she holds him
tenderly,
for all hurried humanity
to look, to see.
now she knows
it’s easier on the streets,
for the rupee or two
will fall more easily.

Love, anger, hate et al
What are these, please?
In this battle of survival,
There’s no time to feel.

illusions of reality

I wandered many years,
Deluded by illusions
That offered to me a world
warped in bizarre chimeras
of what is and what must be.
I sought answers and received
Maudlin cries of sympathy
I reasoned and argued
And found that i was already
Lost before conversations had
Begun.

Surely these mirages i saw
were real, I thought.
Seeking answers,
i met saints in saffron,
And those enrobed in white
Men of god who believed in
a boderless might
I still not knew the answers,
For everywhere i went,
The questions were the same,
The answers none.

I wandered until there came a time
When my humankind gave me up,
To an institution for insanity.
Locked up, i discovered new
Apparitions of the world.
Cloudless with doubt,
as blank as a starless sky.
Hallucinating was i,
Of beauty that limited
Vocabulary.
But no one saw what i did.

After years of looking up to men
For answers i no longer cared about
I chanced upon a look above
And then realised the enormity
Of the blunders of my mind.
How foolish was i to find the one above,
amidst dwarfed mankind!

Resigned to Fate Series: of goddesses and baby girls

She rocks her child
One last time
For it will soon be time
To bury her
In sacrifice
To the goddess
Who is the only one
That can grant that boon
Of bestowing lust
With a child
That will sire
But not hold within
A life.

This child now,
Will be sung
The final lullaby
And fed a potion
Of the sap
of poisoned cactus
that has willed its life
amidst desolate land
only to be culled to kill
a child whose
laughter the village cannot bear.
But who will carry the seeds
They desire?
When there is no more womb?
Will they beseech the goddess then,
To lie?


Published in Muse India Journal - Jan-Feb 2012

haiku

barren, brown and parched,
they stand. bereft of any life,
no leaves, just dead roots.


written now. in the moment.

what will be?

unknown fears
have a habit;
they creep and crawl
into crevices reserved
for love, for other things
like wishes and prayers.

they sit upon the heart,
refuse to budge
and settle,
uncomfortably within.
and then they creep up
toward the spine,
and find a home in the mind...

they snuff out rationality
smirk at logic that allays
fears that will not be
they tire every thought
that passes by
until sleep descends...

minutes pass...one by one,
and quite suddenly,
the heart screams
in futility,
pleads the mind to behold and see,
fear take on a monstrous form
never before seen


of course,
the mind has known fears like these,
hover around and disappear,
not this time...
for this time,
the fears
speak of darker ills

the mind knows then
that there will always be
a lump in the heart,
that will never cease to be,
for it reflects the state of humanity.

o! what have we come to be?
what more can we come to be?


written now, in the moment

it's never goodbye

some frayed photographs
are among the last few
remnants of what was,
of where you once belonged:
to my world
that, and a handmade card,
with your name on it,
speak to me
silent verses,
full of voices,
that only my heart can hear.

is that all that is there?
for me to remember and share?
is there no more
than a faint fragrance
of your love,
no more than a faded shade
of the greying shirt
you wore many a time?

is there nothing at all
to claim that you once were
my dearest friend, my confidant and guide?
is there nothing at all
to dim that pain,
each time i remember
your words,
the many lessons,


there is nothing perhaps,
than a searing memory,
and
eyes that well,
each time i see those photographs and
handmade card.

and yet, sometimes, i see
that beautiful face,
come upon the mind's eye
as if to tease the heart
into believing
the nightmare will turn sweet,
that you will walk
into my door one day

the doorbell rings...
my heart rushes to open itself
the mind laughs at me,
such a child i have become,
since you have gone...



written now. 3rd death anniversary of my father. couldn't make it to bangalore. and the thought hit me. suddenly.

here, there, nowhere

Aimless chatter,
phlegmatic conversations,
purple prose,
cacophonous laughter,
mindless voices,
pierce the mind.

I wander away,
Neither here, nor there
A vacant smile,
A nod sometimes,
Mostly, a vacant stare
I don’t belong, quite evidently
And suddenly,
Everything becomes an effort
Even the smiles.

And then, i am pulled back
To mundane chores
Ah! But mundaneness does allow
Me to slip away once more.



The mind slips into listlessness,
Neither here nor there

desire (diamonte)

Fire
Sparkles, hot,
Igniting, searing, devouring,
Desire, love. Dampened beads,
Drowning, quenching, appeasing,
Divine thirst...
Water.


(diamonte is a kind of formed poetry:

one word
two adjectives describing first word
three words (ing words) describing the subject
two words describing subject; two words describing the opposite
three words (ing) describing the opposite
two adjectives describing the opposite
opposite word

soul, sold

Some time ago,
I don’t recall,
Was it summer, was it fall?
When I sold joy for melancholy,
For its frown, its sadness
Held new appeal

I bought tears for laughter
Lost the twinkle in my eye
and my smiles
It seemed inappropriate
To stay happy amidst the cries
that I saw the world to be

I gave my hopes away,
To traders and merchants
who stocked happiness
in their stores,
And gifted my dreams,
To the poor beings on the streets

I gladly sold the trivial joys
Of watching the sunrise,
and chocolate bars,
To a place on the couch.
I sought darkness
Instead of light,
and loneliness for gaiety

And when love rattled at my door,
My soul was empty,
I could never see, the clouds part,
For by then my eyes were blind.
I could not feel the warmth in my womb,
For I was not me,
Anymore.


written on 20 march 2010. watching my father in law slowly slip away into another world. just 20 days before he died. felt that i was numbed by emotion - the pettiness of life - it hit me like never before

the call

The unbearable weight of sorrow,
Wraps itself around
Muffled beats,
Lost amidst the silent cries
Of wanting to be freed

The child’s smile,
The loved one’s arms,
The sunrise,
The birds and flowers,
No beauty seems as appealing,
As that final call

Alas! Tucked beneath different layers,
She beats, resilient,
Every sound, a proclamation,
Of life that wills to live despite
That call

If the blinds were lifted just once,
If the layers that bind her so,
Drop their guard just once...

If she was allowed to see,
The farce called love, the lie called life,
She would agree
The futility of her being;
Her beating.

I wait that moment
To try to reveal
Only to be caught
Once more.

How long will I blind her
How long?

I wait.
In desperation.
Deprived of the one thing that will
Still
My yearning



written sometime in 2010

beating, bleating

Sometimes, many times,
The heart stops, albeit, a moment,
At times,
Struck by the beauty of nothingness
Shocked at the bizarre mind of humanity,
At others,
And then, when it resumes its beat,
It’s no more the same,
For a while

With beauty, it flutters
Like a butterfly in happy abandon,
At the quirks that define humanity,
It sighs,
a mute spectator, to the mind’s whims,
It beats against the chest as though
its silent screams will be heard,
Alas! How little does it know,
It must listen to the master above,
Until its time.

It beats
Forever in hope that its relentless
Plea will prove its master
Worthy one day.

Blind eyes

My eyes close
The journey begins
Dark alleyways, drunken slobs,
Homeless children,
Hungry eyes,
Beaten mothers
Soundless cries.

I flee,
Take another path,
Only to see
Masked invaders
Raping fields,
Killing life,
Martyring death,
All with smiles

I run in fear,
To another door
A world of beauty,
Rose-cheeked children,
Food aplenty,
The warmth of the hearth,
The laughter of love

Here is where
I long to be
I open my eyes
Only to see
The alleys and fields
Come rushing at me,
I turn blind,
Yes, I'd rather be
For this is a world
I will not see.


written on 24 jan 2010. it was becoming unbearable to see my father in law in comatose. it became clear that he would soon be gone.

...just passed me by

Life just passed me by;
As I lay asleep, my mind wandering,
Meandering aimlessly; clutching
The seams of elusive dreams

Life just passed me by;
As I lay repenting, my mind doing,
Undoing wrongs, repenting deeds
Left undone in haste; of words misplaced

Life just passed me by;
As I lay crying, my mind emptying,
Erasing traces of a broken heart
Mending its patches; finding no matches

Life just passed me by;
As I lay warped in the world of my mind;
Blind to the beauties that lay before me
Clouded by fantasy; until I was left behind
With reality. Harsh reality.


written sometime in 2006

Midas Touch

Does humanity hear the Gods cry?
Listen then,
For They shed tears

Each time we dam those rivers
Fell a tree, slay an animal,
Plunder the soil

They weep
Each time we send up clouds of grey
In the name of civilisation

And yet
We move on,
Pretending the Gods are happy
Watching us play Their role
Ignoring Their plea to be heard
Just once

We wage war
Because we need to fuel material dreams
We kill with passion
So we may brew more heady concoctions of power

And in time, how rich we shall grow!

With each tamed river, we'll find more gold
With more species gone, we'll expand our empire

Until one day, we'll wake to find
We have been blessed with the Midas Touch
Gold will fill our coffers, our hearths and our beds
It will turn our fields to money and rivers to jewels

We will never stop
Until one day
Our children cry for food and water

But no God will listen
For we would have killed Them all


written sometime in 2009

biography of a homeless soul

Shattered by the winds of abuse
Scarred by words that will forever remain
Entrenched in every vein, uprooted crude
From the warm embrace of maternity;
Abandoned by humanity, belittled by mankind,
Alone he stands; devoid of heart and home.

With each blow, he sows new seeds of hate,
Brews it hot with petty crimes and rage
Plunders wallets not for the hot refreshing
Pot of tea that those pennies will fetch;
But in fervent hope that he might feel warmth
Of the human cult to which he once belonged.

His appearance frightens both dog and child,
Huddled forms breeze past, smirking at his lying form,
Humanity travels on, lost; cocooned in a surreal world
That eludes its purpose, leading it to believe
That if it stops beside this demeaned soul,
Life will pass it by; so will its riches and gold.

He continues to scrounge the streets,
In search of a home, a kind deed or word;
Begs for alms, kills for a warm jacket
Steals to appease the constant hunger pangs
Until he is numbed with pain, cold and thirst
He succumbs to the world where his agonies are set free.

Snow falls fast, flaking his mangled remains,
Vermin claw at gaping holes that wounds reveal
Until he dangles between consciousness and death
His mortal code is soon ripped away, buried deep
In some unknown grave where he rests in peace;
Undisturbed by the hurried pace of men and women
Who never chanced to lay their eyes on this man.

His place in the street is soon taken away
By another starved soul that humanity longs to forget. Everyday.

soul deep

Love me not for beauty and grace,
For they are but skin deep.
They will wrinkle with age,
And succumb to time.

Love me not for passion and desire,
For they see only as far as my eye.
They will grow misty with age,
And grow cold with time.

Love me not for my dreams and hopes,
For they grow only in the depths of my mind,
They will change with seasons and each passing year,
And may disappear over time.

Love me not for my smiles and tears
For they speak from voices deep inside
They will shrivel and dry one day,
And will be forgotten with time.


written on 26.2.2006

Between... (a haiku)

A narrow path lies,
"tween the first and final wail,
Few live to tell the tale

Resigned to Fate Series: Cries

A child she was,
Until nine
Laughter on her face,
A smile on her frame,
Until womanhood
Was thrust upon her.
In one frightful moment,
It was gone,
Innocence died and,
Rape was born

A swollen womb,
Crawled to life,
While swollen eyes
That once held tears,
Bore the cross
Of manic want,
In one brief moment,
It was gone,
Innocence died,
a bastard, born

Pointed fingers,
Hushed whispers,
No hands to help,
No kindness or warmth,
She cried with pain,
That numbed and seared,
Her last cry
Was the baby's first
He cried,
Her father and his
Alas! What cruelty,
When innocence dies
And incest is born.