Monday, September 21, 2009

always the followers
soil the essence
in following
sometimes i listen to kabir
and i wonder what the hell
i'm trying to say in my own words

Friday, September 11, 2009

fuck off if you think i need to legitimize this

i am compost. so there.
make what you want to make out of that.
equilibrium is a dream
repeatedly dies in wakefulness (is this that example of when i try hard to create impact, and my words suffocate in an overdose of intended poeticism? i did add the wakefulness upon revision. thought it contrasted well with the dream. that's what they teach in schools, after all.)

i came.
did you see me?
did you look away?
brr. brr.

repeat repeat
repeat drabness

there are no words today
that are round
no words to create juice
even to create predictable sounds
feels like yet another mode of deception

if anything
i feign a poem
in this
there is no poem

today thoughts are weary
the jackal hunts the vaccuum
and square is the shape that always confines me

a good poem is a bad dream
a bad poem is just awkward

it's awkward
this is awkard
this is so awkward

garbage in garbage out equilibrium
but even that. who am i kidding.
i can't even get away with a make-what-you-want-to-make-out-of-that.

too many evens betray an aura of oddness.
wit failure.

erm. awkward pause.

it can end you know.
even if it's not a poem. a poem. poem.

...something undignified about a poem that refuses to end.
that is not really a poem. a poem. poem.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

of love

love is the delusion
that makes you hungry in the dark

what? what what what what what?
here now
this is crap atop crap atop crap atop crap

you, me
between us this dangling compromise

we do not touch
not touch
thinking reveals

arched memories
and punctured minds
is always the otherside of the coin
the one that faces not us

we don't win
even in memory we don't grin
love is the sad byproduct
of an abundance of time
and space
and indulgent idleness
and the mastery of dubious self deception

the soul sleeps
and the soul is a whore
love is the tired
wind that passes
so softly

nothing shatters ever more

love is forlorn
crap is love
but this time
i saw your face
and felt my skin stretch to a half smile
and then i recognized

love is the deluision
that makes you snarl and drool
even when you're bellyfull

yuck! forget it!
who wants to write about love anyway!


the song pours
my ear twitches
love is a whore
love is a whore

Thursday, August 6, 2009

delayed fading

a love that scars is a love that lasts.
love made permanent in scar.
so that even when memory fades,
remembrance is the name evoked by sleeping wounds.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009


"not right, not wrong,
this timeless face of yours."

Sunday, July 12, 2009

the unintended

is memory the problem
or the procrastination of
keeping in mind

Thursday, July 2, 2009

epiphany 0.1

it is, it is! it is possible to fall in love with, be in love with, remain in love with anyone and everyone except when the ego comes in the way.

and the ego always comes in the way.


who said this corridor is well lit, sparkly bright
no light shines at the end of this tunnel
but i'm interested enough to hope you'll keep me company in the dark
and if a mistletoe of pain awaits us
we shall kiss and then we shall part

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

title pending under indecision

i face the earth
you face the stars
and in our faces linger the yearning
of ageless hours
of fraught sunshine
and tangled moonbeams
and the rain choking
and the humiliated coffee bean

i smash the earth in your face
you smash the stars in mine
i go bright with disgrace
and you grow dark like the sun never shined

we claw at each other with the nails of our heart
we don't know how to part, my love,
we don't know how to part
we claw
and we wound
deliberately we beat
and we hack
and we wring and we strangle at every angle
we pull and we yank
and we slit and we stab
our follies have scarred every limb
every joint
every smile we shall smile
is stitched with a thousand lies
we groan and we moan
and we kick and we prick
and we smash-squeeze-shove-screw-PULVERIZE!

but you never die
and i never die

why all this fuss, my love,
why all this fuss

a flower loses a petal
but a flower does not bark
a flower does not bark
in daylight
or in the dark

but listen to me shriek, my love,
day and night
one loss of love, my love,
and an eternity of fright

what's left of you sits beside what's left of me

we don't know how to part, my love,
we don't know how to part
as petal-less flowers bloom in our heart


and when there is emptiness
then there is scope for a lot of thinking
and deluding and the building of uncertainties
and then fear.
fear that precipitates,
tangible on the skin that i'd never felt before.
fear in my eyes,
behind the lids.
fear grasping, chaining my ankles.
fear everywhere - the rim that encases my glasses.
the tip of this pen that writes.
fear! fear! everywhere!
what do i do?
why does emptiness
so automatically get filled
with dark, brooding, sombre fear?


I hate these pages
I hate what I write
Even more that I omit.
I hate myself
And I hate the core of your being.
I hate this universe
For the lack of a better reaction.
I hate everything that comes my way.
I hate boys
I hate women even more.
I hate that I'm funny
even when I'm sore, sore, sore.
I hate that I rhyme
My poetry with time.
I hate that I'm sick sick sick of myself!
I hate, I hate
And in hate I create.

Monday, June 29, 2009


i waited
to hear a word

you were my muse
but without excuse
you took your leave

i waited
and degenerated

Sunday, June 28, 2009

this bird has flown

Dearest, you're the nearest to my heart
Am I taking too much for granted?
Peacock feather blue
Nobody will miss me when I'm gone
But is that what I'm supposed to be greiving about
While I'm still alive?

So we part
And I so bold
Standing in this corner
Smugly turned away
As if I do not know which bird's name love is.

i start to sweat before you feel the warmth

Environmental activism
Is not environmental optimism.
It is the voice of greed
And it bleeds with the fear, the sorrow
Of human incapacity
to see
Beyond itself.

We die
Without grace
Clinging onto hope as if it were life.
Clinging onto self as if that alone were life.

But life amiss -
A mass of regret, our body and our soul
We take from this earth, all that we never owned.

Environmental activism
Is political propaganda
Unless you want to hear the earth's agenda

And the earth has none.
Yet why do we go on and on and on and on?

the elemental zoo

Crippled blindness
then must mean that you can see
But what I see is glory
Without an ounce of mystery.
Glory glorified
is too much to see.
I wish I could go back to being wholly blind
To gain a little bit of that mystery
And return to the unexalted
So that seeing, again, would not make me believe.


When they told me emotions are dispensible
And confidence needs to be made permanent
And suddenly so much of distanced alertness
All this alertness
Makes me forget who I am
What am I expending my focus on?
A filthy, wasted bargain.

So they tell me love is an object
"Make an object out of love!"

And I try and peek in to see if it's my heart
Or my crotch they're talking about.

Friday, June 26, 2009


on the edge of disaster. and life is back to being beautiful again.
even in death we are a little inconsistent

the exhibitionist

"i want to spread myself out for you
i want you to see
all of me"

and when i say this,
i excite you
i arouse you
i make a new man out of you
don't i?

i start shedding,
my sensual body
is clothed only in your gasp and your stare
and the look on your face
is enough to arouse me as well

touch me with your naked hand
all my clothes undone
you think i am done
but not yet
for i havent shed anything yet

in unintentional ingenuity
(but oh what ingenuity!)
i shed
and i shed
shed skin and flesh and bone
in front of your eyes
until i am nothing more
than just the vaguest memory of somebody dead

i wanted to show
i wanted to tell
i wanted to reveal
and leave nothing behind for you to misunderstand

i left nothing behind

you saw
you saw all of me
but what you saw
you couldn't make out
as me
because you knew, i know, you too are what i am on the inside
the same flesh, the same blood, the same gory biological detail nobody wants to pay attention to -
ugly, intolerable truth.
but why must it be told?
why must it be shown?
when it's in all of us
and showing thus, it keeps us from remaining alive.
in showing all that can be seen
there was nothing left of me.

we all want to see
we all want to be shown
i think you got more than you asked for
but i wanted to show more
i wanted to show so much more
but i was gone before i was done
so maybe you did misunderstand me, after all.

and just to be fair
i hope you'll keep a lock of my hair.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

something is not quite right with this poem...

there is no power in what you are going to say
because the future is in yesterday
so when you procrastinate
(line missing)
but a blog imprinted with memories of loss.

creation submerges in loss
emerges as pain
it is almost always barren
where only tomorrows exist.

(hmm...reading a poem with a missing line can be awkward...)

while nothing came our way

we waited
and created

"i experimented with love
the result: burnt petals in the rain. oh so unwashable.

i experimented with desire
but my body language
contained too many grammatical errors

i experimented with satire
and oh ya...i got a lot of laughs-
i do not want to go into exactly why that happened

i experimented with pain
and how my heart burned
but heart burn is really just belly acid rising up to the oesophagus
it's belchy, it's bilish,
it has no room in poetry.
i experimented with pain
and waited for the rain
but it was the wind that finally set me free.

i experimented with fire
as flames poked my gut
a sensation unrivaled.
and while i experimented with fire
i discovered i was unable to disappear into the smoke"

we created
and waited

Friday, June 5, 2009

are you my marygold?

yes. no. bitch. whore. too many fucking lies. everyone denies. you are a fucking pink pig that does not cry. no, bitch. you are not my marygold.

Thursday, May 7, 2009


i hate you
anonymous reader
i hate that i have to speak to you
with a voice
full of deliberation
with words
full of meaning
i hate that i have to put you first
in order to see myself
i hate that i have to be something
before you
in order to be myself
i hate that
you have to be there for me to make sense
of myself

you critic 
a sleeze
you judge
and sit in your comfortable world
created out of judgements
that need to be made
as my insecurities create your comfort
you, too, must know that it will not last.

you that reads
and understands
and shoves meaning into my words
that attempt to define no truth

you anonymous reader
you are forever gone
watch yourself diminish
as my words expand
into a silence that you will never comprehend
as they contract
into an absence that you intend
to dismiss

it is not for you i write
if you come again
you will derive no strength
no self esteem
your ego is the gunk that rots at the bottom of a pile
of self made lies
your ego is yours
without beauty
you speak
without love
you think
and pollute this universe without care.

you are one daring creature
but you dare
to do all the things
that make you unreal
and i am your queen
but i am your loser

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


look at how the word doesn't seem to like the way it stands
it makes a stand even while it stands
and instead of standing straight,
it slants
as if it were pointing towards something that has been unknown to us
for far too long

i fail
every time i try to define who you are,
the boundaries blur
you and me and us and them and so much more
are none

yes, every character seems to have its own story
y is like a dance,
o an expression
and u something crouching, as if it wants to remain hidden

i like most
when it encapsulates a crazy 
yapping, freakshow of a person,
passionate to the ends of her hair,
spiraling out into the universe at the rate of 55 epiphanies an hour,
and mostly,
dwelling on one word
as if understanding the weight of it on this world meant
salvation itself

asking me to build on this word
makes for good poetry...


An apple
red, round, supple
glistening, glowing,
shapes and shades merge and glide over this bulbous thing
called a fruit.

An apple
i am told not to touch
so i stare at it longingly. 
I watch from far because
i am not to touch.
That apple!
I long for, but i know i would not want to eat.
Bloody apple, i dont even like.
But long for
only because it is the forbidden fruit

that apple – a festering fruit
an earthly, elemental dome for maggots, squirming, swarming, 
devouring the core
why is it so forbidden
when my own core is a family of maggots,
curling comfortably,
waiting to make contact with distant relatives.


I found a way to make you smile.
I miss you whenever my hand creates your writing.
I miss you.
I miss you.
Always, in my writing, I'm talking to you.
Saying things that you may never hear.
And while I'm alone here,
You, too, must be alone somewhere.
If only I could know what you were saying to me.

- - -
“I, too, am heartbroken. But won't say it.”


don't make believe that
liking is loving
or loving is to act upon
or to feel is to define
or to define is to understand
or to understand is to experience
don't ever make believe that
to love is to dignify it.
don't be such a man!


is demorphed humanity
constructed; but constructed on wooden planks and stainless steel and iron rods and plaster and concrete and timber and and plywood and bricks and glasses and smoothness and straightness and vertical and horizontal and parallels and perpendiculars and blue prints and masterminds and the accumulation of architectures together called culture.
And order; solid, permanent, inescapable order.
All manmade.

the smell of sweet lime

I am captured by this zone of purity.
A purity that does not allow in
the smell of sweet lime
that penetrates
pungent, putrid, reeking with obscenity
unless, of course,
you know of acquired taste.
And know also that the thing to eat
is not the fleshy juicy inside
but the coarse and bitter rind.


Red pen
black rim
And a nib that colour cannot ordain
Steel, silver or eye
Not colours
But marked by glint, sparkle, shimmer and shine.
What is written
is black block letters
blackness in colour.
Not blackness – the absence of light.
But black against white
as silver shimmering adds to the glint in the eye.


I am transparent;
I'm like stained glass.
I cannot
do anything but break.
Glass: there is so much drama in glass.
Oh! That it shatters.
Into cold colour coordinated pieces.
Cold brilliant sparkling icicles
On the floor.
Flat fraudulent floor.
It lies
So desperately it tells
all the secrets
of the glass that ought not to have shattered.
The glass that breaks of its own volition;
how is it blasphemous?
It falls and breaks
But not to fall prey to gravity.
Awkward shapes
incline, recline, or stand on their tippie-toes
Always, there is poise
In each broken piece
That cannot be put together.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

the afterthought

whenever i talk to you...
i feel like i'm slithering down a rainbow laid out with banana peels.
i feel like i'm trickling down a cloud in the afterrain.
and the moonshines. and the sunsmiles,
and happiness is a creature i can hold in my palms.
it crawls. it lingers.

i think you're the ribbon that makes a bow around my universe...
so red...
and so lovely.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

why, yes!

we must have been made this way
so that love could be possible

be water (ii)

and while the mind neglects,
water flows, on the other side of the glass,
unable to wash.

be water

For a moment,
I was a song and I lay beside raindrops
And while they heard not a sound,
Pearls danced in my eyes.

But here this fume,
And chaos is imprinted in my soul.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

error #256

"You're living for nothing now
I hope you're keeping some kind of record"

Yes, dearest, I am.


if you want to talk matter over mind
lay your cheek against mine
feel the crisp pulsating rhythm
of silence
as heartbeats build up

not as sounds
but as insurmountable experience
piled one against another

i am
and there is a voice in me
and everything i speak is a lie
a lie!
i am

and as i go farther from you
i witness my own truth vanish
diminish first
but gone, eventually

am i a flake of your life
am i the darkness that almost surrounds your light?
as i let flake fall into darkness

no, it is not emptiness i find

everywhere groping, grasping
these lies...

Tuesday, April 14, 2009


I'm back out of track

the tragedies you breed in the farm of your heart
keep me alive
amidst the songs of L. Cohen
in between lines sung by a voice
that almost wishes it had not spoken

You send me regards
I send you regrets

I'm always glad you stand in my way

the clashing of gold and diamond
produces no metal
no stone
only music
that sparkles like a diamond
and glistens like gold

Wednesday, April 8, 2009


what is a blog?
is it a log with wings
can it sing
the thing
that makes me cringe

since when did the blog
the thing
without wings
or song
or silence
confounding all senses

the thing
that is always 'in'
when it comes to written words on the net

what is a blog
a noun
that is no use
to a clown
like me

i mean what do people write
when they write a blog

and when they blog
(a verb it is)
what is it that is being done

the blog
is my ultimate blockage
serving no good purpose
abundant, profuse
proliferation of ideas
the unleashing of all creativities
earlier clogged
gooey journalism - an arm's length away
sticky, smelly, messy, slimy

a blog
is a weblog
is not the coming together of two constituent parts
but of

and yet, all the time, we blog
not knowing what means the web and what means the log.