Tuesday, August 16, 2011


a winding railroad
still connects
your longings
to my heart

and far.
now in your
I wish you
think of me,
my thoughts
are entangled
on you,


dreams, to be waken
only by the now and here
of existence

I have broken
the branches
of norms to
be one with you.

I will whisper
this into your
ears that desires
can be quenched,
our adolescence reclaimed
happiness conquered

only if you
bring your ear
close to
my heart.
A publication is born
out of constant denials.
Unless, your fame sits
like a perfect cap on your
head, over premature greys,
your letters have meaning,
the void toiled hard
to comprehend..
under your peer-reviewers
eyes, you be incised
and shred for your syntax
grammar, diffused vision,
lack of this and that.
Shusruthas disect your
insighful innards,
they may not survive at all.

They want you to
be  a snail, slow
and steady with a
slilent trail lurking behind,
their thud  should squelch it
between the shoes.
In silent fury
can we see feel our
own death as writers,
cryptic critics
poets and storytellers?


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