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:

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?

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.