History simplified
Past, like green hues, waves,Waits, not uttering a word –It knows how words changeIf not spoken correctlyThough even silence misleads. But the past patientlyPrefers to remain quietBecause words, it knows,Are engines that hurry awayInto the unknown… somewhere… Leaving severed timeBleeding green, yet waitingFor hustling feet toTo pay heed to what the headSwaying backwards, tries to...
The endless search for a lock
Do I see or just think that I seeDo I know or just think that I knowThat the key with me will let me beTo let me in, be that wily crowMaking water in a bottle riseAnd crown me as the one who is wise? Do I hide this key so no one knowsAnd play...
All writing is pigshit
Note: This poem is inspired by the news about stand-up comedians, cartoonists, poets, and writers in jail.. Bits, chits, chunks, dunks, and bitesGrovels, howls, bursts, busts, and slightsEven vanity-stuffed insightsOr those with badges of rightsEnd up as pigshit. Pigs do not think twiceEven rhymes taste just as niceThey nibble gobble virtue and viceAlso ‘forwards’ rolled...
Knowing what it is to create
See – she said – see what is not there to seeNo, not just behind the billboardsOf feats that swagger in gutsy spree.Even cupboards with glass doors hoardCompulsive reckless momentsOn their knees, imploringThe Gods of good omensTo appear and transform their boringWait for attention. And a conversation.All this is there for all to seeAnd even...
We are all travelers
The soft sound of a pin dropping on a rug. Even the whimper of thoughts as I gently scratch my head as I think. Or the thunderous buildup of musical notes as someone unknown somewhere strange walks in or rushes out or does whatever has to be done. There are no rules of any of...
Travel Idea
‘Will to preserve heritage,’ he read on the menu-card, and then added, ‘an interesting name for a cocktail.’ A nod in the affirmative and he was soon ready to join the group with a glass in his hands. The conversation seemed to be floating on a sea of terms that sounded as intriguing as a...
Politics
They peer at me through a lens. They want to confirm if I am who I say I am and imagine that the retina has the final word. Even the technology resting in my hands insists that I trust the lens. They think my face is my fingerprint. As if fingerprints are alive and ready...
The truth as understood by a child
The mind soars and is convinced it is in the body of a bird. It zips and dives, swerves and glides, and hardly notices its reflection in the sea doing all that it is doing. The reflection smiles and reaches out as the mind comes zooming in. The mind then becomes a part of the...
Voices in my head
My mother once said, ‘Watch your world from above and you’ll be liberated.’ These words have stayed with me for long as I have slowly climbed hundreds of stairs to reach the top of towering buildings in many cities of many countries. There were always others taller than me who stood beside and whispered in...
Every brushstroke is an idea
The strange thing about ideas is that they do not necessarily happen at the right time… but they are there when their time has come. Just like brushstrokes. Or even a single brushstroke. The funny part is that a brush isn’t always smeared with paint. ‘What do you mean,’ she asked and she isn’t an...
