Thursday, January 11, 2007


Not a perfect ‘O’
Not milky ivory white
But a faint half-muddy-pale-orange
Hardly befitting its past glory…
The Muse of many poets…

Struggling amongst a thousand teeny weenie
Original stars and the lit stars
To gain a small watery space
To reflect its unshapely self

Glory now a thing of the-good-old-days
It was the same… same was the lake
Stagnation and reluctance killed it
In a time obsessed with pushing the envelope
A little further…
With perfecting perfection…


Parallels are enjoyable
Only in the poems
They don’t appeal much to a
Much-tired soul

In the early morning mist…
Looking for patterns in semi-dark sky
Silhouettes added trouble
To the already webbed mind

Life seemed almost there
Too close…
Single-tracked in attempt
To reach for the parallelly-rising sun -
Backlighting the fast-paced silhouettes

Funny! Wasn’t running after the destination
But side by side…
What did I expect?!
The train came to a halt
At Churchgate

A backward journey chalked…
Peel by peel
Dreams –existing in a parallel world - disabled

Long-due Abortion

9 months plus 25 years

The umbilical chord
Cut before the 25 years
Of silver jubilee existence

Bearer held onto the borne
With weak-womby-wishes
25 years too long a time
To remain obliged
For about only 3/4th year of pain
Lopsided equation…

Need for abortion
The right incision is all it took
To set free the famished nourishing soul

Abortion - legalised

Night Blind

Pupils strained
To make sense of the darkness
Defeated courage forbade
Inward glance
For fear of unface-able ugliness

The pitch dark
Of the unknown forest night
Not as blinding as the inward
Lack of light

Turn conveniently night-blinds

i found a fiend

I found…

F un loving soul
R oaming with me
I n sweet words
E nthralled me
N ot a vice I could spot
D onning her innocent face

One day I found…

F ilthy mind
I n that helpless body
E xpert in the art of fooling
N aive souls like me
D umb enough not to realize….

That R (our) is just hogwash there
A snare meant to snap and kill
The stupid souls whose vision
Of world had still not grown up

I found a fiend.