He had no light of his own
He merely reflected the Sun
shining in a foreign country
He was inconsistent , consistently
vanishing at fortnights
He caused no growth except dreams
He was not deferential to a monastery
Nor contemptuous of a whorehouse
Both were free to have dreams
Lovers merely used him for their
pick up lines
Many babies opened their stubborn mouths
to be fed by mothers wanting to
close the doors of a bustling kitchen
We all need an illusion to pass the night
He is the biggest illusion
to all the lonely sleepless eyes


Your smile in that photo
looks like you have never cried
That too at a camera in a studio ?
At a stranger ?
After all the cross examinations
And “Making Hate”
With in the four walls called home,
To smile for an anthology of poetry
of camouflaged truths in symbols
At a safe arm’s distance
to a camera
At a stranger with out conjugal rights
How could I not smile ?
Why would you ask ?
I was never caught in any game
of hide and seek…
I smiled again


Hmm , So you resisted calling me till 5 A.M ? I knew you were tossing in bed …
So , you did not get a wink of sleep tonight either?
I like the look of the night, the stillness , the anonymity of darkness , when feelings step out , I am a nocturnal animal
Bull shit defense, everyone sleeps, Earth mother is tired she wont hold you even if you fall at nights
She never did even during the day , screw her , I know Mixed Martial Arts, I don’t need her, I need to hear you sleep
You are stealing my script ! Holden always runs to Phoebe when he needs to hear innocence to fight phoniness of the world 🙂
Ah Catcher in the Rye Nonsense again
Better than your Frederick Forsyth Day of the jackal..
…Besides I am a man not a little girl, but you need my innocence….? You are that head to toe not me……Groan …you put me on hold again, DO NOT PRESS THE CELL PHONE TO YOUR EARS….I wait to hear your stupid voice


It was a stir in the pond to see
a reflection of me from another time
A hand reaching out to stay alive
Starving for attachment a precarious life
wanting me as the last excuse to stay in the cage
A mere shroud of skin and bones pretending to be a man
Unsteady feet itching for a battle
Blurring eyes had witnessed crimes
A butcher’s parrot that
was wanting to shred it self
I had just one choice
To be a friend
I knew loneliness of hurt pride
I knew self loathing of abused skin
I knew what it was to stay in one
gray shirt not expecting any visitor


I was the innocence
that you somehow always
suspected and were able to seduce
in others
You were the guilt
I had never known
but always resisted
in others
As you transferred your guilt
to me , like many others before
I felt a desire
It was a shock to realise
that I had a wrong label
for desire
It was called guilt
I no longer feel guilty
I feel desired…..


Do you wonder from where
so many poems breathe or
where is the heart
of these poems ?
They were the words
that failed me
when I most needed them
like you.
Now I am making space
in my dictionary
to those who go out of their way
Words weeping with out tears
linger longer
My words do fly away
it seems poems are dangerous
places to stay
I stopped them
where else is better ?
They prefer your arms.
I am alone again


This is the story of a cow named as a doer of million good deeds…This cow with a naughty cheerful calf went grazing too far in the cultivated lands adjoining a forest and encountered a Tiger. The cow wanted to say Bye to her calf before being eaten by the tiger. Though Tiger doubted she would return , he let her go. True to her word she kissed her calf and asked her friends to take care of her calf. The calf asked her “Why should you go?” She said ” Truth is my mother, Truth is my father,Truth is my best friend and if I go back on my promise, there will be no truth in the world” She returned to the tiger “See, I have returned orphaning my calf to keep my promise” Tiger was filled with remorse, jumped off the mountains and died……
As a child it disturbed me that such promises could be made.
As I grew I realized that a cow could not fight the tiger and Tigers kill their prey but seldom commit suicide….


We have a soul at times.
No one’s got it non-stop,
for keeps.
Day after day,
year after year
may pass without it.
it will settle for awhile
only in childhood’s fears and raptures.
Sometimes only in astonishment
that we are old.

It rarely lends a hand
in uphill tasks,
like moving furniture,
or lifting luggage,
or going miles in shoes that pinch.
It usually steps out
whenever meat needs chopping
or forms have to be filled.

For every thousand conversations
it participates in one,
if even that,
since it prefers silence.
Just when our body goes from ache to pain,
it slips off-duty.

It’s picky:
it doesn’t like seeing us in crowds,
our hustling for a dubious advantage
and creaky machinations make it sick.
Joy and sorrow
aren’t two different feelings for it.
It attends us
only when the two are joined.
We can count on it
when we are sure of nothing
and curious about everything.

Among the material objects
it favours clocks with pendulums
and mirrors, which keep on working
even when no one is looking.
It won’t say where it comes from
or when it’s taking off again,
though it’s clearly expecting such questions.
We need it
but apparently
it needs us
for some reason too.

– Wislawa Szymborska
translated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh


You dig the ruins
That I have lived with over the years
The debris accumulates
And you discover a live city
Stones thrown in a wish pond
Few human sketches of charcoal
That bruised your precious ego
Like toppling a pack of cards
You destroyed a temple
You pelted the stones at me
As though I had taken to archery
Now you want to make amends?
Please do not use the same needle to stitch
The wounds you made with the needle
Humans are not weapons
All verses cannot be reversed
I am already disillusioned
with your weapons and you