Tuesday, December 09, 2014

Winter Rides!

The cold blade
that cuts in haste,
through existence,
is hardly noticed
in the rush,
in the obsession;
as I move in circles,

Its radius is my will,
but... but,
the start,
and the finish
reek of selfishness;
the point, it’s home.

Working up the cadence and pace on a chilly
morning ride to Gurgaon on my Cannondale

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Red Riding

The drop of red
I was drawn to,
between your brows,
while in haste,
through the morning haze.
Ye play hide n seek,
while I just
ride n seek.

Right beside fields,
where dust from yesterday
barely get time to settle,
for they build, obsessed,
concrete storeys for women,
muscle stories for men!

Thursday, November 06, 2014

The Green Signal

Let the creepers climb,
freely, up the walls,
and kill the gloss,
the made up beauty,
powdered light brown,
decked in rouge n blush,
and some fine talc,
the Taj Mahal white.

Damn the surreal estates,
cover it with moss,
till the signals turn green,
till we glow bright and right.
Then we will make love,
breathing hard
the fresh n scented
alien air.

credit: mydigitalfc.com

Friday, September 05, 2014


The fading,
smudged end of
a reality I found hanging
above me marks the
start of a reality check
that awaits me.

This hell is bright...
but tricky, sticky,
a quagmire of excel sheets;
where the morning dew mixes
with numbers and dust,
to brew the brown slashes
of bitter slush on my face...
they call it coffee here!

Photo copyright: www.freestockimages.org

Wednesday, September 03, 2014

Dying Young!

Falling young
for the wealth, immortality,
exuberance n arrogance
of dying young.

For I’d beat time,
freeze it at the moment
I bent will n Iron
–oh, I could mend bartenders too.

I’d outrun rejection,
and the cancer
that would kill the
killer of men I am.

I’d live on,
laughing at the giver of life
I could never become,
what have I become, WHAT?
Pic: bbc.co.uk

Monday, September 01, 2014

The Monsoon Tune

The drops,
transcends in haste through
the once great divide,
to form strings divine
from the Gods to men,
strummed by a southern breeze.
There you go,
a morning concert,
the great Indian guitar
plays a monsoon tune.
Pic: msn.com

Wednesday, August 06, 2014

Pain, Painter!

It shivers, the frame,
which locks within
its rigidity, a reality…
It once was a dream,
born out of a notion,
a hunch, a regret maybe,
just after the young painter
saw blood dripping
from the shaft
she pulled out
from his heart,
made of cold alloy,
forged in hell,
and aptly named love!

Tuesday, July 01, 2014

The Eyes

There isn’t a story
left to write...

But for those eyes,
and the lores
hiding behind those lashes.
Scores and scores of scrolls
unfurl as I loosen
your knot;
you let my trepid
lips doodle on your fret;
and notes rise high,
towards the creator’s bow.

I find my story there,
there in your eyes.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Dusty Portrait

These fine lines
on a black canvas:
Spaced by fate and summer,
by heartless strokes
from petrol-driven
blunt brushes made of rubber.
The sensuous, sexual curves
your lips smudge, erase and shift,
again n again,
through breaths from the inferno,
from the deserted soul
that lies beyond
this rude State
I visit to earn my bread.

Pic Source: indiatoday.intoday.in

Wednesday, May 07, 2014

Mother Eternity

There, far out there,
in the verse where
their eyes meet destiny,
at the edge of the known world.

There, where they walk gingerly,
cutting barriers,
to meet God,
deep inside the expanding
unknown... Their ether, eternity;
and they find bliss!

I, while I walk gently,
crossing a shifting hedge,
to meet mom,
deep into life’s only constant,
her love... My ether, eternity;
and I find bliss!

Tuesday, May 06, 2014


The beefy armoured
love from the infantry,
took on the sharp edged
mystery from a Samurai’s soul.
They all won, but chivalry died,
cursing with his last breath:
Let there be light,
mushrooms, and cancer.

Now we mortgage life,
for our lust,
for mobility,
for insecurity;
and try to burn away
the corrupt genes,
a war we all lose. 
Where the hell is chivalry?

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Home Free!

He measures it all in miles,
the commutes,
the revolts,
the rebukes;
the mad rush
for affinity,
for love,
for creating music
for his muse,
for her amused lips.

A pilgrim now,
he finds his home tiny,
miles become mere metres,
but their smiles are
beyond ’em metres,
or ’em rules, grammar;
for their joy n spree are free, 
like the waves
on a lake infinite

a song in free verse!
Pic by Sreetama Bagchi

Wednesday, April 02, 2014

The Inmate!

There isn’t much
left to munch now.
She cleaned up the
last morsels
of his boyhood,
onto a fresh tissue,
laced it with her breath,
sprayed it with gasoline,
and burnt it in hell.

He has a job now,
they call him a man,
he drives a car;
I call him an inmate.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Lager Than Love

Lightning, then thunder,
the cause n effect.
And the rain, later,
sprinkles its sarcastic will
and leaves in haste,
no time to waste on love.

But tonight,
love turned out stinky,
yellow water,
fermented in phosphates,
seasoned n reasoned 
in lager beer.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Drag Race to Heartbreak

Didn’t my bed this afternoon
remind you of Ujjain?
Or was it the parched,
dusty corridors
of that old college
where I slept with you?
Learning how heart breaks,
how to fix it, tune it,
set the ratios right,
and fuel it to the brim.

Then drive down the aisle
to the local drag strip,
to burn some soul
break some will,
a few records,
and, yeah, some more hearts.
Pic: sfgate.com

Friday, February 21, 2014

Pedestrian Crossing

They scamper across,
blocking my way
on the busy road
leading to ye dream,
and my nightmare.
I sneer, I jeer, I curse...

But why should I?
Those poor creatures
are just scared,
keen to get home
and churn out milk
for greedy South Delhi bastards.

I let ’em live
in my nightmare,
the cruel you,
killed ’em
in your dream.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

The Climb

There, I never had time,
to think, or,
to look back at
what I just left behind:
The shade,
the safe confines of a
heart at rest, away from the
muscle and hustle of love,
on a recliner.
There, I took the
sharp left,
to begin my
erotic slither up
your contours,
your lips, and your
heaving, heavy breasts.

I was defining,
reiterating, like those milestones,
the stubborn life,
and, now,
a stubborn death,
in truth as well as lies.
So, judge me, will ya?
This day, for life...
Lest I die before
I return to your arms again.

But, I better not die this morn,
noon, or at the campfire,
chewing boneless fish,
relishing the formless bond
with boys old
and men young.

Back, on the incline...
I better not sleep,
I better not stop for Facebook,
for a frame in its video.
My movie is beyond you Mark,
just like the beauty
of the valley is to me now,
the taunt from a virgin,
while I scale the
mother of many.

In her beauty,
in the roundness of her being,
I burn, churn...
The turns, the ferns,
passing mites and mates,
gangsters, their families,
good Samaritans,
school scholars,
and finally Jesus,
His house I stayed, a minute;
for the Host, the pure mountain air,
laced with salt, lemon,
and a prayer.
After years I communed,
on my elbows, aged and wise,
hunched over the
drop handles,
as humble as I could ever be.

The final kick,
I searched,
the last three furlongs,
smiling at the amused boy,
the bemused man;
smirking at the
crowded market,
and swearing at the porch,
for it meant the end,
as I felt the rush
shiver through my body
and leave me,
to fly over a misty lake,
towards sunset,
and a brighter tomorrow,
for all of us, fingers crossed.

The lone man
I spent talking with,
hours up the path,
o’er smashed oranges,
past angry apes,
side-stepping haulers,
trawlers and tourists,
had already punched and killed him.
That insignificant
little bastard we call Limit.
(On the 52-km climb up to Kodaikanal, which I cycled last month, on the last day of KC500, the 500-km charity cycling ride from Chennai to Kodai)

Tuesday, February 04, 2014

The Dying Winter

The clearing fog...
The receding moisture
from your eyes;
the sun, occasional,
playing a heavenly hide n seek.
The small drops of passion...
Dew in the morn,
sweat at high noon,
whiskey at twilight,
and sleepless at midnight.