Skip to main content


Showing posts from 2016

I love you

I love you and it is tragic as it is not within my understanding of the quality of my solace when I think of your face
I love you and I cannot define it and neither I have the capacity to do so perhaps I just admire you or its just plain lust can I look at this state of mind as a trance? it makes me whirl myself in a "sufi" dance
I haven’t lost my sobriety when I say that I love you I will not follow you where you go nor would I wait long hours in the dust of the by-lanes of your house perhaps I would never even show that what I feel is what I don’t know
I love you and yet it’s not just about love nor it’s about what I feel or what I miss I can blame it on infectious togetherness the word “love” is theatrical but I don’t know of any other term to use and of course, thinking of you doesn’t give any clues

The Visit

Turquoise, reds and yellows a crescendo of warmth the door opened towards a portrait of her mind mystical, if I may say so was the vibrant flow of expressions amidst timeless elegance the dull lights captured the rapture of an omnipresent aura
words, some spoken some untraceable and some broken out of the shelf life of tempest emotions were surreal, painless, cold at times yet out of the warmest closet of her heart
I met her though it was not the first time earlier, I had traveled somewhere near her charred soul the music and the time flew instantaneously like her immaculately effervescent self which proclaimed a negative space, within her though my objections remain intact on this reasoning

The visit continues and the music doesn’t leave me her magical smile
is the ultimate mystery

Pamper You

I pamper you with unsolicited stares looking at the contours of your eyes as you work and chide It’s just so invigorating seeing you being just so busy I pamper you by observations of your busy smart self as I smile within to see your confused, questioning smiles your giggle at the coffee machine is not really a whisper I can imagine magenta lips decreeing someone’s frowns and decadently sharing the escapades of the mind I pamper you by looking at your graceful walk with a swiftness and savvy couture so when i do all of this I imagine jazz music at a place where i will be gifted back much more

The Feast

Perhaps the fall designs the dreams to sip warm desire out of the melting pot of not so amicable arousal the leaves fall as nonchalantly as possible outside but when i go down and drink the very organic you your sublime intellectual banter escapes into a shell and the dormant whispers get submerged into a crescendo when the sip becomes profound It is thereafter not a sip anymore but a luxurious lap deeper than what the autumn can convey and you spread the feast casually you are the conductor the host, the torment music spreads like orgasm

Cannabis Hope

My directionless detente
my senses
I need the endless orgasm of the day
where i lay barren, awake,
to be taken
and in the cervix
of a naked soul
i need to make love
to the breezy feeling
of an ecstatic mind
i am alive
cosmic illusion
sucks me in
makes me
what I am
I need me
I crave myself
I give in
I give out
and the silence
grants me my wish

For R

The heat of her verse
gets submerged in the throbbing sea
of her eyes
her eyes or a mirage?
questions of subtle nuances don’t qualify
when it comes to her
A walk in the shrubs
or a lazy kindled emotion
she walks with the lilies
camouflaging the rays of the sun
with her smile
traversing through the dropped leaves of the willow tree
the words sounding of the woods
descending on a mystical dawn
a fantasy of a touch
a listless sound of the bees
she cascades humming dreams

My Seven Girlfriends

Out of my seven girlfriends
Six and a half are married
one is conscientiously married
to her inner, juxtaposed situation
the second is married to the innuendos
of a rat race,
sitting all day without a back rest
even on a gloomy dark clouds day
the third has chosen a man
to quench her hunger of joint fallacies
of anger, of greed, of plastic smiles
the fourth has married the contours
of self obsessed melancholic constructs
fifth is an abstract piece of broken clay
married to her enigma, which shows in her gaze
the sixth is on an eclectic bond
with her own split self,
a merger of effervescent intellect and a cosmic zombie
the first half of the seventh is unmarried
lives that part as a quintessential single,
open, vulnerable, desolate, creative
the second half is married
to her traverse past
which insulates her from future decadence

A lady in a red dress

Her Red coloured dress resembled
a Venetian house
which lay besides the gondola
in an unrealized dream
as the Gondola retreated
through the hazy eyes of the canal
the house kept on getting bigger
painting one part of the lake
with a mixed coating of
the red
and the green accumulated piece
of the ubiquitous waters
but still red was the colour
green was the envy she was herself
with the poets
while a poet
let one more dream die


Parleys of sunset Immaculately playful over the corner office at the cusp where the late evening coffee meets the sea this sight hardly ever melts the succulent arousal of power the power of seeing the sea through the blinds and smiling the stock is on the upswing and so are the waves of the thrashing sea the sunset pats the shadow of the fading sun on the periphery of the faded evening the blinds are down


morning starts with a holocaust or was it last night that the bird sensed it? one who came from the farm where the feed was stale was willing to die the life was anyhow wretched, he said so, a nice human being could consume him and offer him nirvana the cage was anyhow worst than a concentration camp the horrendous travel to the place of mass murder was not which anyone saw while eating a popcorn with the bird’s name on it there was no preparation, no time for the last words or wishes but a colossal fear and anxiety there was no noose to hang but brutal strokes of rusty knife if it is “halal”, it is a slow death and “jhatka” means the end of the soul the bird becomes the part of someone after death and hence lives on with the same fear, and same anxiety caged as ever before, in the graveyard which is called “human”

Churlish Dawn

Listless, like a churlish dawn over the overcast vineyard, at the plucking the eyes don’t see the foggy distance the mind cannot fathom stillness before the vengeful storm hallucinations of walking on a thin wire when the world looks like a haze of black and white and grey through the translucent lenses of a stoned photographer the boredom converts into a dark spiral of disdain and decadence nothing, not even a favorite movie does the trick what does it all mean? which spicy corner of the city shall I tread or discover to get the purge of emotions of laughter, of gratification? sleepy eyes yet no sleep the fog disappears from the windowsill and transcends into a gloomy space the mind craves stillness of the chatter and a tranquility of sunshine in this clutter of hopelessness

Pain of Living

A flyover collapses over the corpse of human life and a bomb explodes across the street in what is known as another Country a large conglomerate of blood and fear spills all over and the dirty mind laughs an over-speeding drunk vehicle rams into a trivial footpath and some perish the creation which took painful nine months gets out of this world in friction of nanoseconds should this bring a numbness to the heart or a “life goes on” hashtag in the brain to inspire the self-degraded human mind of course their kids died, why should we bother the news channels bring the new chemistry to the chaos the morning innocent Sun and the silence and the newspapers are an imperfect match morning Tea is still better the subtle pain of the mind, though stays in the corridor of thoughts every life, killed so ruthlessly every day, mostly so, without any reason makes living so fragile, so decadent, so liquid trampled by politics and fuelled by greed life is a monosyllabic myth

“Surreal, but nice”

“Surreal, but nice”
the actor said
in a movie
when he got swayed
by a kiss
which was instantaneous
and effervescent
i did believe in the movies
and created mine
in fantasies
I still do
the landscape looks
more real
on the screen
and so does
romance and
so i was
part of this
where i re-developed
my teenage instincts
and it happened
the forties doesn’t make you
less romantic
then your vulnerabilities
age is merely temperamental
i was gently
by her lips