Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Dust clouds

We rise,
crash.
Stampeding
winds
we are.
Grinding
to
the ground. 
Hopes.
Prayers.
In
infinite
factions 
we stand.
Opposing
antonyms
made from
the
same mud.
And today,
we,
the creations,
brazenly
create
Gods
out of dust. 

Monday, December 21, 2015

At the end of the day.

Another day
goes by.
Carefully,
we rearrange
our limbs
and minds
as we lay
down to sleep.
And then,
as the lights
burn low,
into our pillows
and fists
and bodies
of weary lovers,
into the deaf night
we weep.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Will I

It is
incredible.
The feeling
of wanting
to belong.
To something.
To someone.
It can
make you
better,
or worse,
all at once.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Hidden

We walk
we know not 
where.
Oft breaking into
haphazard
panic stricken
runs.
And at times 
our triumphs 
are nothing but
euphemisms 
for our loneliness. 

Monday, November 23, 2015

Blue-green

For
all the
wrong
reasons
I live
love
write.
And I
sleep
in the
glow of
cheap
fairy lights.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Chapter 1

I sit pen to paper,
meaning to write.
But no, I've not
yet begun.
I fear that may be
there's just this
one story within me.
So what will I do
when it's done?

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Looped.

I was glad
that like the day,
the road too
stood at its end.
And I fell
to my knees,
my feet weary.
As I lay down,
I cradled my head
in the palm of my hand.
It was quiet.
But as the new day broke
I saw what I had not
in the dark of the night.
That the road had
turned and twisted,
and there I stood,
once again, 
at the very beginning.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Tethered

The mayhem of life rose
in his eyes, milky white.
Today, tomorrow
and yesterday
flitted in and out of
each other's arms. 
The moment made sense
only but for a moment
before all was lost
and regained again.
They were clutching on 
to whatever they could.
Blood and bone.
A deep rasp clawed,
crawled in his throat.
Each breath drawn
with a ferocity ebbing.
And then she prayed
for him to pass.
His spirit free
of that diseased body
tethered by tubes
to this bed, this prison. 

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Slow

When a thing or two
goes wrong
you come face to face
with mortality.
And you realize that
death is not an eventuality
but a process ongoing.
Of the slow breaking down
of your body.
Tooth by tooth.
Nail by nail.
Curdling blood
and eroding organs.
Turning to nothing
and no one.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Finding of

Into you I pour
the entire universe. 
Your being 
becomes a cosmos. 
And so I love. I live. 
And find the need for 
this existence.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

The chase

There is no more

chasing of dreams.

For in this stampede 

you have galloped ahead. 

And left them far behind.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Who

The vine
withered.
Moth brown.
Drawn to
darkness.
Small, it felt,
smothered under
the green sky
canopy dense.
It saw not
that a
flower purple
had just
awakened.
Caressed
by its tendrils.

Monday, June 08, 2015

Awake

Sometimes I do not know
if all of me will make it
through the night.
Chunks get left behind
in the lands
that lie under the skies
of shut eyelids.
And I wake up
a little less every day. 

Monday, March 23, 2015

Know not

Do you know
where is home.
Do you know
anymore.
Or do you
walk, run, amble, 
stumble drunk
to a doorway
unknown.
Do you know
where is home.
At what table does
your hungry heart
find a warm meal.
And in which bed
does your mind awake
finally go to sleep. 
Where do you go
wandering. Tell me.
Tell me where is home.
Grass green sun patched
sky blue vast red.
Childhoods smashed clocks
as feet ran, knees bled.
But tickets, no roads
will now take you back.
And you'll live only in
fading memories perhaps.
Or worse still.
You'll live here.
In the moment.
Forever.

Saturday, March 14, 2015

Window

The wayward curtains dance
and give me a peek into his world.
He sits alone, not a pastime in sight.
Looking into the distance he sees
the scenes large and fantastic
shown to him by his wayward mind.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Everyday

The journey taken
too many times,
now passes by
without making
its preference felt. 
It doesn't
bother me 
that the curves
in the road
now seem
so very straight. 
You need to
start worrying
only when
the destination
starts to simply
pass by too. 
And becomes
everyday.

Monday, January 26, 2015

Passersby

He knows who I am.
The grocer on the corner.
And even if I am out on a stroll,
with no agenda, or money,
he lets me take home
some biscuits to dip
in my evening tea.
Because he knows me.
He knows me.
The rickety old guard,
in his rickety old guardhouse.
His calloused, wrinkled fingers
wave as I pass by.
They brought me home once,
a frail old lady
who had happened to
collapse in the street.
He led them to my house
and opened the door.
He has a key.
Because he knows me.
And they too had
brought me home, to my home,
because they know who I am.
And that's all there is to it really.
Being remembered.
A little.