Thursday, December 5, 2013

Get the door

Why is it that poets feel 
among all the chosen ones 
the pain of the past 
and the sadness of future? 
Happiness they all concur 
is fleeting and Blake. 
It sings two songs 
in two tongues 
Of innocence and life. 

They look upon a door 
a very Kafkaesque one 
It's a drawing on the wall 
animated by imagination. 
They are filled with hope
that it'll open to let in
some meaning about the world. 
Soon, the door becomes a deity
and is offered words and words. 

What is left

What's left 
if love is cut to size? 
It takes the shape 
of a terrible poem. 
An uneasy 
silence between lines 
sharpens the arguments 
of why and why not.
Distance accumulates 
like the lines in a ramble. 
And moments seem to be 
in a tensed state of packing.
Preparing for a long journey. 

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

False step

Wary of a false step
a snail chews on 
the darkness in its shell 
and waits in solitude. 

Wednesday, November 20, 2013


My complaints about life
dissolve into dreams. 
I have super powers in sleep
to deal with each of them.
When I wake up 
I am already exhausted for 
the ordinary living that follows.
This twilight like truth 
doesn't stay with me for long.
It slips into foliage
Wind does its job
and I go on to collect
more material for my dreams.
Prepare the next battle. 

Friday, November 8, 2013

Towards movement

Life reminds us all the time
it is not a check list
but a checkered one.
Litany is always on.
No break in prayers.
Prayers for
luck this and luck that.
Luck everything.
The dark patch is always
a shadow of success.
And while waiting
hope sprouts between the feet.
Tickles us into movement. 

Wednesday, November 6, 2013


Nothing ordinary 
happens in the past
Put ears to the ground 
clods exchange notes.
And memories 
the young mountains 
pierce the skies. 
Trees remain witness and dispatch
progress reports every season.
And the bees carry tears 
glinting on their back  
Dark and golden
To bloom a thousand flowers.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

When we talk

History happens every day
and when we talk, every moment.
Peering down the throats
of mighty anecdotes
We remember the times
And narrate it like griots
We play the see-saw game
of the hee-haw.
The pulse of an electric smile
is felt in the air
We could break off into
unknown physics here
But history
it keeps happening
when we talk
and the thrill
is of the future. 

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Fresh connections

An undated frog croaks
its heart out
Over and above the din
of a rainy bar
A snail at the next table
slows down further
Feeling the heaviness of love.
A scorpion makes a quick dash
across the room for a refill.
Earth worms resign themselves
into a corner
with the gurgling waters.
The night is overcast
with foot falls of singles.
I walk with a firm grip
of the umbrella of my thoughts.
But I slip often on the dreamy road
Go in and out of memory
Burrowing fresh holes for connections. 

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Secret withheld

Butterflies are smug.  
Fighter jets resting on a carrier.
I disturb their stupor 
Kill them all 
by simple teasing 
They are followed 
by ants 
and a swarm of flies
tempted first 
to the scattered jaggery. 
Insects were my first victims. 

Many summers later 
when I thought 
I am a grown up
They sent a young beetle after me.
A suicide bomber packed up
brain washed and all that.
He entered my ear
in a protective gear.
Chewed on the insides 
like a withheld secret. 
Hot oil and water jets 
didn't matter to  him. 
He was on a deep sea mission. 

The whole village was awake
with the screams that night. 
And its ear still rings
of the lore 
of such and such a boy.

Saturday, June 29, 2013

The same

We are the same. 
Reflect the light within
A thought photosynthesis 
Spread our word pollen.


This is read 
from a palm,
a Sumerian tablet. 

Fate's route
a flustered map.
No regrets! 

The travel plan 
written in the winds.

Courage from inside 
rummages gloomy fields.

Red, bled from the dusk 
clots into the dark. 

Journey happens. 

Sunday, June 16, 2013

The big picture

Life gives up claim
only to a postmortem of
The "so-sad"s
come across very late. 
Rain falls and winds blow 
but the suggestions stay . 
Hang about like strange shadows 
They've forgotten to leave. 
Dust and hot air come 
in between the big picture 
and my telescope. 

Friday, May 31, 2013


He cannot rant
for he is an ant
He is not a flopper
like a grasshopper

Unlike the croc
He is less with talk
His heart is elsewhere
The crocs are beware

His jumpsuit is of hare
but is a tortoise in bare
Inner peace, not very far
The tomb door always ajar

He brings to the table
always an Aesop fable

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

You recognize

You can recognize anger.
It is written
all over the reports.
But what about love?
No mention of it.

Stifled, yes.
That's what
one must end up as.
In death.
Not answering.
Living secretly.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Dangerous edge

Stitches come off the history text book. Pages of battle fields are ready to flee. The mighty swords are put away to rest. Winds change their direction Fill a funnel out of the rolling pages. And the bygone battles rattle up a shadow play on the walls. History written in blood soon goes out of print. Many hundred year wars, that never make it to the dangerous edge of a student's memory. But a personal battle rages on. A snail's movement on a national highway. One day there might be a cross over to some meaning. 

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Early birds

Light glues in shadows
and stitches the beautiful
with its needle rays.
But early birds do not
care about all this poetry.
Their interests are only worms.
They come down in brown coats
Survey the field expertly
and start their day.
The muscles of existence
push and pull
stretch and relax.
Their heads are down
with concentration
like the students at an exam.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Some light

Once in awhile 
ideals escape the books
Turn into dejected alarms
that go off deep in a dump site.
They ricochet off the darkness
and announce the world on stage.

A buzzard who flies high
will have to swoop down for lunch
and eat out of this darkness.
Obviously, some light will help him.

Sudden draft

A dictator is unnecessary
for me to feel claustrophobic.
A sudden draft of circumstance will do.
The room without a view is within me
and the window flaps rattle in the dark.
A montage from a ghost movie.

I wake my neighbor up
he turns to be me.
Dreaming something about a dawn
he disbelieves everything I say.
But like all neighbors, a good listener.

Feet take to heels
Conversation and I crumble.
The next morning
I watch a dew drop rattle
its beautifully designed windows.

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Making sense

Things stand in their own way.
A little difficult to imagine
but only possible to reality.
And big words take shape
to explain this small situation.
The thought of breaking free
goes about like a lone crane
holding on to the retreating rays.
Fear shines through
the impending darkness.
But night rules out everything.
There is only place for shadows here.
They hold hands
circle into protection
from a sadness
that starts to make sense.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Silence beckons

Silence beckons the broken:
the ones broken from inside.
Hope lands like a curious pod
on a deserted planet
with runnels of despair.
Darkness from the core
paints the world
out of a grim easel.
Words arrive like bogies
with weak links
that have come a long way.
And a siren waits to set off
inside every metaphor.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013


Crowding around a memory that bleeds
are characters half drawn from past.
A dream like this happens in a labyrinth
and I flit like a butterfly
against a storm as I try understanding.
No, not possible.
Time moves slow and ugly
like a caterpillar.
It drives its point.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Half life

A couple is at the togetherness table.
And a lonely coffee cup fumes.
Mist steams through winter.
Wind keeps its hands in pockets.
And the ground listens to the feet
write a story — a doctor's prescription
for true love — with a half life.