Tuesday, April 11, 2006


Sleep's sweet poison lingering in my lashes
Huddled in a little warmth i lay
Mingling in the morning mist dreams a night old

Cup of coffee and cold sandwiches
From a blue tiffin box
My break is in the company of thoughts

Rushing in a cab
Past the lonely city lights
I come to a home all full of longing

I keep dreaming all night
I keep thinking all day
I keep longing all my life for you darling


It is spring. And I shall not dwell in gloom any longer; that I do promise myself. The golden sunlight rolls over and trickles down the lime green leaves into the gurgling kitchen drain which twinkles with bits of diamonds bouncing off the ripples. The breeze is gentle like the breath of a sleeping child, fragrant like the rind of a tangerine. Misty white wisps rise from my tea cup and turn into golden fumes at the touch of the splintered light straining through the kitchen window, dancing and swirling with the white lace curtains to some unheard tune. The whispering melody flows into my mind, my veins and capillaries; filling the languid stillness of the morning with some joy unknown. I remain happy just to exist. A mere particle in the cosmic chaos, oblivious of any fatalistic outcome of the great pattern, but filled to the brim with its fair share of joy, ready to bounce off and roll over the hurdles that the present day might offer.

Monday, April 10, 2006


And yet life is lonely
As the floodgates open in drunken stupor
Drops, drops and drops
The soul thirsts for blue poison once more

An inebriated kiss trickles down the edge of an aeon
My eyes, they close
The birds of the blue earth fly into abstraction

In eagerness I ruffle my feathers damp
Bits of scissored neon light remain scattered around the grille
Shall fly into the black embrace of night
A darkness without address, without even existence
But alas! The wings they are severed

Only shadows remain scattered
In all light, in all darkness
Not a feather, not a drop of rain
Not you, nor I
Only gusts did I gift life
And the boat was lost in the river-breast
You keep waiting for the colours to mature
Meanwhile it rains in the canvas
Washing off all fairy-tales
Just a fistful of sand left behind

But may be those are not shadows
Fistfuls of stardust are strewn on the dunes
Sheathing the moon, sheathing the clouds,
May be shadows they are not
May be it is I
After silent departure

Someday the boat was to be lost in foreign waters
A mistaken address
The wrong river
As the shadows merge between the stars
All that remains is an oceanic night
And a girl, hiding her face in the dunes
The girl from the poet’s diary
The girl who could not return in the nick of time

A one-night-stand
A millisecond of love
No recognition thereafter.
And that is how we receive anew
Comprehension nil, neither any effort at it
This is not mind, nor brain…just the intoxication of life.