Wednesday, September 29, 2010

In this small world

In this small world
some people sleep
when some are awake,
some cry when some
laugh, and some drink
while some are thirsty forever.

In this small world, seeking
love is a sin, when your
heart beats  another heart
seethes, when you long
for a touch, you are
slapped instead.
In the small world, the
dog barks in a lonely corner
of a cringing lane, a truck passes
flattening it to the molten tar.
Its a sin to be alive,
the night screams to you
in this small world.

In this small world
there are a million ways
to end, but
life sprouts after life
like mushrooms in the mist.

 This raucous intensity
of road rollers and cars
the twitter of women in a
corner, their chores
like the unending words
that flow from my pen,
the men who frown over
their work and egos,

In this small world
life reenacts its tablaeaux
despite its intrevals
and curtain falls

Friday, September 24, 2010

Rag Picker

My hunger donned a
strange aquamarine,
the sky before sunset.
My poetry had grown its
roots where I found it.
I gathered all the words
from the writings
that went before me
from cunei to calligraphs,
like a rag picker,
my fingers soiled
by the garbage of fame,
my peers excavated
they, the gold mine diggers,
unearthed ancient
wisdom from everywhere.
I, a  versifier in the
cubby holes of
middleclass well being,
painted my hunger
in an unrealistic horizon

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


Are your evenings
evenings too?
And mornings
Mine have
ceased to be,
since you left
its darkness
once again!


It rains everyday
the raindrops are
my tears, these
crystal drops are
my parting gift
on your windscreen

Saturday, September 11, 2010


danced on
my feet
tapping the rail,
rushing to
bang right on
the train of


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