Tuesday, November 26, 2013


At times a few words or moments will fling
A strange shade of light on choices you made
That startle and shackle your steps.

So you ponder as an angler with quietness and thought
Never knowing what from the lake of your depths
Shall pop, float or splatter with mystifying gaze
And tarnish those images you sheltered so long,
Here at the rim of these dark, raven woods
That mock our whirlgig of rides.

Rattled now and awed, I retrace my steps

And search for the charades I had left.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Vacation Blues

Here in the company of poplars and pines,
Where ever-roaming clouds do slide through your bars
Even as butterflies ballet among leaves
And leave me all dazed with splendours of sense
That still would all glitter and shimmer without end,
At night as I fixate on  light-dotted vales
Which glimmer as if diamonds are splattered on your screen
Bright beyond all that is known, done and seen.

In the next room, I hear my dad cough;
And all the stars dim their lights.

Friday, November 15, 2013


Words now are feeble and strained as I try
To condense my decades of splendour you'd sprung
To metres and rhymes that hardly comply,
Now in this moment of one final flash
That is torn between agony and joy.

So how might I voice
The tears you had driven
Or fears you had pulled
And how with your stance
My heart would just prance
And leap beyond doldrums of failure and stress
To a world that is painted with mountaineous strength
Shining with beams that have lifted from dark
Billions of palpitating hearts.

Guidance in darkness and solace in grief
You sprinkled your gems on our dim-dying days
Which have throbbed with your strokes ever since.

Even as the minutest flower that breathes
Wonders of fragrance to the sunshine in morn
Read, if you care, these verses of mine
Offered in gratitude and reverence without end.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013


Here among columns of unseasonal rain
That hurtle through fields beneath kohl-stained clouds,
I've whispered our tales to leaves that are drenched
With moisture of tears unaddressed.
Plots that had seemed full of solace and shades
Have wound into debris of sharp, sullen rocks
That leave our soles black and red.
Back in the twilight of chrysanthemum days
With blossoms that had showered
And covered our ways,
Our eyes never measured these uncertain times
Where hyenas and foxes now hold their sway
With instincts of jungles as law.

Borne along waves full of dream-laden pearls,
We are stranded and lost amid seedless old rocks
That scorch our soles black and red.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013


Stopped in my tracks, by the figure on the glass,
I wonder and stare with anatomic gaze
At a familiar shape but somewhat askew
That breeds within veins new coils of unease
Which wrecks all my networks of neurons in haste.

So I unleash my armory of old scales and tapes
And martial all photographic evidence of self
To puzzle me the name of the stranger in glass
Who gazes with fixated steel in its eyes
That drills all these holes on my sky.

Each time I measure, it shrinks another inch
And pukes a few balls of certificates slimed.