Sperm embryo fetus infant
And in that instant
I realize that something’s different
I breathe it in but
Choke and spit out
The gasp of air
That we do share
It’s still different for me
While you debate on
This glass half empty
I throw this glass on the floor
And the beautiful pattern
Do you see?
The fragments of this world
That you’re trying to put together
They can’t be.

I’m just trying to weather
This pressure of normalcy
But it’s not working out
For me
This debris
Is of something
That once was human
It died consuming
Thanks to Darwin
We have evolved
Into fledgling
With mouths wide open
Prison walls for hearts

Fingers words thoughts
Made of needles
You keep sewing
Things that aren’t torn
Don’t you ever get careworn
oh wait! You’ve stitched a frown
Like a forever crown.
I’m weary on my skin
I’ve tried too long to
Fit in
Your music is my din
To the cacophony
Of nails and the classroom board
And I’m bored

I’m an outsider forced
Into this world
A sewing machine will
do for my skin
I’ll be careful
Not to rip that fabric apart
But you will need an anvil
for my heart.

a poem

It matters not the tune
Every word will strike
A harpsichord
In my heart

A poem is food
That you chew slowly
And not because it’s healthy
You let it simmer in the
heat of your mouth

Don’t you ever
Spit a poem out.
Lest you remain
Forever hungry

A poem is a piece of your soul
That was born outside
Your body
And now it’s come home

A poem is a hand
to fit your hand in
and if you never read it,
a poem stays forever incomplete.



Who says one does not sleep in love?
What about the turmoils that exhaust you?

That dropping of my innards
At the whisper of her voice

The engines of my heart
Pumping more blood than there is
Leaving me half hollow
And half overflown
The constant babble in my head
Directing me,
Touch her
No don’t
Kiss her
Are you mad?
Yes! We are mad they say
I am mad
Existential crisis
She can’t be real
She is!
And that ladies and gents
Is how my thoughts start.
It’s like I am a barrel of petrol
And she’s a cigarette,
Carelessly dropping her burning ash.
Losing a part of her but
Taking me completely out!

And you think I won’t be tired after this?

After her sighs raise my storms
And in her eyes I’m reborn
And the skies are full of her fragrance
And her voice is still dancing on my heart
And my heart is still pumping
I am probably recycling my sweat
I’m all out of blood
I bled out on paper
I’m running on every word she exhales,
And then she kills me with silence
Do you see the turmoil?
Sleep is necessary
But she haunts you there too…



Mine are the simpers layered,
over the envy of your triumphs.
Mine is the face of concern
of your pain, within, I rejoice.

These worldly tricks I learn,
mine is the face of calm.
Mine, within the anger burn,
the mask hides napalm.

Mine is the face of love,
masks of affection, delight.
Only greed under the skin,
within the mask, a fight.

Mine are none true faces,
I only mask the cruel, the vile.
Yet mine are all but one,
O, how I wreathe a smile.

Things I never know

flower-1313029There are so many things I don’t know
and I hope I never do.

the burning wrath that flows
when you lose your crop
only a farmer knows.

that bullet should’ve been yours
which is in your comrade now
how death has changed its course.

that home you lived in happily
destroyed by a 10 inch bomb
now entombed with your family.

that mothers screeching wail
as she buries her children
for their final sail

a morsel you had yesterday
a meal a month ago
only a feast of misery lay

the lands are scorched and still
throats are parched too
but driest is your will

of all things this most true
so many things I’ve never known
and I hope I never do!

The deep blue me

fallen-leaves-1186095-640x480There is a confession,
buried in my mind
disguised as a serpent
in a vine,
poisoning ceremoniously.
This “confession” used to be
a garden of roses,
this bed of blooming scarlets,
now an overgrown carpet
of thorns.

My confession was buried
in a coffin, alive
this immortal thing
constantly scratching
its way out
I hear it clawing
when I sleep
when I walk
when I eat
when I talk
and someone asks
“What’s the matter?”
My spoken words get
buried in its laughter.
What I want to
and what I say
are two different things
I garble something like
“I am okay”
over disparate yearnings.

It is only in solitude this confession
dances on my tongue
it prefers no audience and in certain
confined rooms this monster hung
around my neck, whispering.
I eat the words which
flourish in my blood and
nibble at my soul
stuck between the devil and
the deep blue me.

We the poets


We have been accused
Of portraying love
Through biased goggles
Like it’s rainbows
And gold dust
Like it’s mist on
Pastures so green
It boggles
Your mind; that
Love is a
Shimmering sheen
Blinding the demons
Antidote to darkness
Panacea for your soul
We never talk
About how love is
A see-saw
Which takes two to play
And eventually one day
Like distracted children
They abruptly get off
Leaving you to fall
Shimmering sheen
Blinding the demons
But their eyes adjust
Ready for their assaults
Antidote to darkness
But love isn’t a source
Of light
It is a candle that
Will eventually burn out
And the wax remnants
Wane you.

Let Me

1-P9slkBRJihg6bo2E5Jn8RwLet the ruins reveal,
what beauty couldn’t.
Let me know about
the universe within
these cracks

These cracks
that the world has
declared a singularity.
This black hole
from which there is
no coming back

Let me make
this one way trip
and see the enigma
Let me break the wheel

this aversion to scars
beautiful things that they are.
Plain skin is boring
Worse than that
A plain soul

I will place you on
the needle of
a gramophone
and see what music
your scars make.

Let me open your
wounds and unravel
so I take caution
and give you a
blood bound promise.

To wound you in a
Much different way.

Let me vocalize
the apology I’ll make
following my attacks
Let me voice it now.

Let me arm you in turn
and tell you ways to hurt me
and show you the place
my shield doesn’t reach.



I hate anomalies
I hate the butterflies
on concrete trees
I hate that amidst
the engine heat there is
sometimes, a cool breeze.

I hate the lonely tree
on the river of tar
and right next to the kitten
a puppy in the dump-yard.

The canal of cars,
and the smog that it leaves,
I hate the sigh of relief
my city breathes
in form of a flock of birds
released from the smog.
I hate it when the moonlight
shines brighter than the streetlight.

I hate anomalies
It bothers me to see
a jigsaw piece forced
in the wrong place.

like a smile
on a sad man’s face.

thy love

it is both,
the calm of the setting sun,
rage of several fires,
sweet ring of springs,
thunderous gush of rivers.
A force that beckons us,
onto a forward march,
into this brick kiln
and then it tears me apart,
a pull that pushes down,
a push that pulls upwards,
it is my kingly crown,
this song I’ve never heard.