Monthly Archives: May 2012

Au revoir

You believe
in ending
thing badly.

You believe that
the proper way
to say goodbye is
to flip the bird,
slap the face,
slam the door.

You’d rather rip
out our chapter
from the book of
your life,
deface it,
than quietly
turn the page.

You want
the violence
and hatred of the
end to make you
unforgettable to me
in some weird way –
the one you loved
but could never call
your own.

This is your fucked up
attempt at closure, my
lonely, angry child.

I get you.

You prefer the
chill of bitterness
to the warmth of

You want me to
remember you
with rage and hate.

I shall not give
you that

I adore you.
I always have
and I always will.

And I shall always
think of you with
a smile, my love.



By forty God wants
you to ignore
the fine print.

Reason why
you get presbyopia –
inability to focus
on near objects.

It’s time to put that
paperback down,
And read the
absorbing book of life.

It’s time to switch that
lap top off and
really connect
with yourself.

It’s the age when
you should be
gazing at the horizon.
Eyes defocussed,
looking into
the middle distance,
thinking your life over.

Vanaprastha, the Hindus call it.

That stage in life
when you
ready yourself
to leave the society
for the forest.

To uncomplicate.
To be less needy.

So forget about
profit and loss and
earn some awe.

Stop squinting.
Rub your eyes only
in disbelief now.
Don’t sweat the small stuff.

You are ready for the big time.


The Answer

Six years back
you were sobbing
your heart out
in a New York hotel room
as you wrote
me a mail.

They told me this
city will blow my mind
with its energy and pace,
you wrote,
so why am I sitting
alone and crying?

It’s called love, my love.
The reason you were crying.

The reason why tears
make it so difficult for me
to write you an answer,
six years later,
from a New York
hotel room.

I hope I die
the day I stop
missing you.


Children are feral.

What they don’t understand,
they sense.

And what they sense
shapes them.

Which is why it is
so important for them
visit new lands.

They won’t understand
the difference in sky, earth, tastes,
smells, customs.
That will come much later.
But they will sense
that other realities as valid
as their own, exist.

A sense of the immense earth,
of the endless horizon,
of the multiplicity of truth
is such a gift to receive.

And such a gift to give.

The bright side

I’m fine, really.

I don’t want to be better.
I don’t want to increase
what’s good in me
or decrease what’s
bad in me.

I’m finally friends with
both my devils
and my angels.

I have sinned
but not so much
that I can’t sleep at night.

I have done good
but not so much that
feel superior
to my fellow men.

I’m fine if I don’t
make it heaven.

I’ve avoided hell on earth.

And that is something.

New York, New York

Manhattan is proof that
ambition is vertical.
Like sex is proof
that love Is horizontal.

Ambition rises. Love spreads.

The skyline is a jostle of egos.

Sunlight rarely kisses
the pavements
of Wall Street,
A kind of perpetual twilight.
Perfect for the shady
business of breeding money.

Times Square is an
advertising acid trip.
Shallow and entertaining,

All the locals seem to on
some kind of upper:
frantic, high strung, possessed.

It’s the first city where
I did not notice the women.
They went past me too quickly
I am sure they are beautiful.

The Long Haul

After seventeen hours on a plane
you realise how little
you really need
to get by.

How little space,
how little comfort,
how little food,
how little sleep,
how little human contact.

Migratory instincts of our
pre-historic ancestors kick in.
Ancient genes get activated.
We become hardship ready
tensed balls of survival mechanism.

Becoming human again
when we reach
the arrival lounge
of some airport half
way around the world.

Our stern taut faces
crumpling under
smiles of relief.

The smells of a new land
awakening our senses
from hibernation.

Pride straightening out
our fatigue bent spines

The pride of the arrived.