Monthly Archives: June 2013

On the other hand

I am
a slave to my habits.
blinded by my prejudices.
hamstrung by my insecurities,
goaded by my greed,
deluded by my ego,
paralysed by my fears,
disappointed by fate,
and trapped by my

I am pathetic.
That’s normal.
Everybody is.

But that’s  just half the story.

I have also
loved and been loved much,
known the kindness
of strangers,
felt the firm hug of friendship,
and seen hope in dark places.
have  known awe,
been moved by beauty,
haven’t lost my faith.

I am quite something.
That’s normal too.
Everybody is.



She’s soft like a
baby’s bottom all
over with bones that
bend a little if you
press hard.

She’s soft with hard
diamonds eyes
that soften like
driven snow
when she’s happy.

Her gaze sliding
and slipping everywhere
like a new skater
in a rink.

Eyes that miss nothing.

Her blessing.
Also her curse.

And her elephant’s memory

She can hurt
herself like no one can

That’s why she fears no one.

Her eyes are hard leather,
she’s seen so much world.

But when she’s happy
her eyes are soft like
a rabbits tummy
and she’s soft like
a melting
monsoon cloud
with a bubble gum

Copy cat

I can’t bite into anything
anymore without
wondering if
you’d  like it.

Can’t enter
a shop without
knowing at a glance
the stuff you’d

I can’t listen to
new music
without imagining
your reaction to it.

Your nonstop commentary
about life
has become
my inner audio track.

In your honey voice.

Your likes and dislikes
are the needles of
my compass
to your mind.

I am absorbing  your tastes.
I am learning by imitating.

I am retracing your thoughts
to their origin.

So that I can love you from
inside out not  just outside in.

I am that greedy
about you.

What I really meant was

Never explain

Explaining yourself
is about as useful
as regret.

Or gonorrhoea.

Someone who
doesn’t trust you,
will not trust you
no matter how
much explaining
you do.

So save your breath.

Walk away
without a word
or a backward glance.

And with
whatever dignity
you have left.

Good boy.


Mothers have always
sung to hush a
fretting child.

They have sung to
children dying
by their sides
in dim lit huts
in tiny villages,
as the wind
roared outsides.

They have sung to make
the hurting little ones sleep.

To bring some relief
to their
fevered brows.

For centuries.

modern medicine
started saving lives.

Children died.
From everything.

Most women knew
what it was to hold a
warm bundle whose
life was ebbing away.

Their songs are the
mothers of lullabies.

Hence every lullaby is
sweet like pain,
delirious in its imagery,
and slow like loss.

For every sleep is a little
Every waking up a little

And sadness is the mother
of such sweet

If my memory serves me right

When you needed me
I was there for you

You were drowning
and I was a straw

I don’t care if you
clutched at me.
I don’t care if you
took me down with

I wanted to help.

Your cause seemed

Your need
than mine.

I did what I could.
I hope I helped.

Do me one favour.

Please don’t be careful
around me now.

Now that you don’t
need me.

It’s very insulting,
after all that we’ve been

The Plant

Everyday I want you
a little more.

Your love is like a hardy plant
growing inside me.

No matter what the
it grows.

Like some desert cacti
nourished by lack.

By your long absences.
By your chance showers.
By the merciless sun of
your rages.

It grows and makes my
insides bleed from
it’s bristling thorns.
But I can’t stop it from growing.

It grows for you.
It grows in spite of you.

I don’t wish it to die.

Not that my wishing
makes any difference.

I have made peace with it.

You are my only hell.
My only heaven.
I love you.