One day it will strike you

Full on your face,

Your eventual loneliness.

That is the way of the world.

People leave inevitably

Like whiffs of vapour;

They will bow out,

And leave you on the stage

And the spotlight will widen around you

And you will surrender to the blinding light

And embrace the searing blindness.



As I grew older,

I realized the irony

of growing up-

It took twenty three

years for me

to distinguish a lie

from the truth.


As I grew older,

my friendships were few

and far between,

like the fizzy drinks

in multicoloured cans-

cold and piquant

with an inescapable shelf life.


As I grew older,

the familial connection dwindled

and I became self-centered,

the last standing thread

of pollen in a sun-speckled field.


As I grew older,

I learned to hate

myself and others

with  fervent strength,

talk about a life

that keeps on giving.




I pull up the syringe

and inject the tune into my bloodstream

and I lose myself to the rise and fall of the rhythm


I medicate

to forget, to dream,

to fantasize and to be free.

My body is no longer

a bundle of nerves,

but a nest of coiled verses.

Yet I pull up the syringe again,

and I lose myself to the sweep of the rhythm.

A Positive Spin

You pull words out of a hat

And throw it on people,

Basking in their sad attention.

A magician like no one else,

Twisting words to suit your needs

That is a talent, no tease.

While you do that

I pirouette to the music

Of your slander.

I stretch and twirl,

Turning things around,

Literally and figuratively.

The very definition of optimism,

No doubt, you would agree

With a beatific smile.

City Life



I watch my pet cat dart about

my kitchen garden,

thinking of the changes that have crept in–


Eat or be eaten,

the way of life in the wild,

now, reinvented for the urbane,

concealed by shimmery electric lights

and the smell of warm notes–


Vehicles gush by, silhouetted

by oncoming headlights

and up, above, smoke travels in ripples

choking birds in its wake.


They say that

where there is smoke

there is fire.


They say that

where there is a will

there’s a way.

But I don’t care

what they say anymore,

It’s not their call,

I have repainted the idioms

and they are drying under the sun-

Words that stare at me

imbued with new meanings.


They say, they say,

they say, that’s all they could ever do.

But now I say and I stick by my words.

And my words don’t lie.



Two roads diverged

and I met someone at the crossroads,

the meeting fleeting

like the flash of headlights

of a car passing;

And  my dilemma

was no longer about the path

that I have to take

but the person I encountered.


Two roads diverged

And I met someone at the crossroads,

the meeting fleeting

like the flash of headlights

of a car passing;

Among the  blood-soaked leaves

my voice box lay out of place-

The mouth organ that cannot play.


Two roads diverged

And I met someone at the crossroads,

the meeting fleeting,

the flash of headlights

of a car passing;

And I was nearly killed

by someone I love.




She broke the news, I was surprised.

I didn’t feel betrayed, but detached,

as if I were staring at her through a glass wall.

I should have known that with each passing second

secrets are formed, locked, and buried

only to surface like corpses washed ashore.


It was a happy occasion but I was morose,

I had to grudgingly admit that

One could never really know a person,

And that everything I didn’t know

And would never know would only grow

like weeds amidst pasture.