Monthly Archives: August 2013


She comes bearing gifts.

Late at night,
When the coffee shops
are empty
and the moon is dozing.

Each gift more  magical
than the other.

She arranges  them
around me.
Amulets  and feathers
and pebble from the
shores of distant
seas and poems
and candies and
soft, firm breasts
and pliant lips
and a pair of eyes
that speak
and soft  hands
that rip my
heart out
and hold it up
the starry heavens.

I smile in my sleep.


Questions, questions

Do you miss me?

Do you miss me
as much as I miss you?
Do you miss me all the time ?
Do you bury yourself
in a thousand things too
so that your frantic mind
calms a bit?
Do you get angry too
thinking that I don’t miss you
even when you know I do?
Do you vow every morning
to stop thinking about me?
Do you laugh too
after making that vow?
Do you realise how
impossible this is?
Do you know how much trouble
this is gonna cause us?

You do, don’t you?


I tried my hand at poker
for a bit.

I suck at it.

Not because it’s a difficult
game to master.
It isn’t.

Not because it requires
extraordinary intelligence.

No common card game
can demand that.

I suck at it because it
requires patience.

Poker is a patience game.
It’s a common sense game.
And I have neither.
Not a bit.

I am a lover,
not a gambler.

It’s ‘All in’ me for.

Every hand I’m
dealt this life.

Careful is not how
I want to be remembered.

Smart is not my goal.

Give me awe any day
and you have have
all my chips.



The dark one.

Like life, not fair.

Lips always curled
in a smile that made the
hearts of sixteen
thousand Gopis
skip a beat every time.

His  breath,
the music of flutes

His words lightenings in
the dark, illuminating all.

The only god who
made friends with men.
Shared our food.
Loved loved  our women.
Tended our  cattle.
Wrapped our mothers
around his
little finger.
Drove our chariots.
Slapped some sense
into us.

The  only god who cared
enough to come down
from the cold, distant
heavens to live
amongst us.

Never above mischief.
Or a good laugh.

A god who never took
himself seriously.

The  god of love.

Oopsy daisy

It’ exhausting watching
us trying so hard
not to fall in love.

Tittering on the tightrope
of self control,
as our truant hearts
try to push us
over the edge.

The hourly  reminders
to self
to not obsess.

More a plea than
a reminder.

The outlook is not good.

is on a long
leave of absence
from our eyes.

Smiles that can’t be
wiped off our faces.

Feet  that won’t touch
the ground.

But what is most
is our faith in
our self control.

Which is another
word for denial.

And both of us are
past masters at that.

God help us!


Today was  a grey day.
An amoral day.
Bereft of blacks and whites.
A depressing sameness.
A hazy gloom soaking everything
in sadness.

A nothing day.

A lack.

An absence
stretched from
dawn to dusk.

The earth  aching
for an indifferent sun.

No wind.
No nothing.

Just a moody
pregnant sky
about to give birth
to uncaring rain.


Never believe in history.

It’s a bunch of lies.

Dictated by the victors,
written down by sycophants,
any account is at
best partial,
at worst pure

One man’s martyr
is another’s

One man’s fact
is another’s

Source of much
misplaced pride and hatred,
history is what ties people
to geographies.

Strangely manipulative,
it makes  us feel superior
and inferior at
the same time.

And history  never
repeats itself.

It can’t.

There are way too many
variables in any event
to be replicated.

But paranoid fucks
see patterns in everything.

Who’s to stop them?