Saturday, December 24, 2016

Ode to Jackie!

He turned to me,
and I saw eternity
sparkle from the 
jaded eyes.

My dog, 
he is old now...

He looks up with fear,
his twilight n my shadow 
he loved to growl at,
occasionally smile at, too.

My dog,
he limps now...

The longing remains,
in his eyes,
he wags nervously,
lest I bring love.

My dog,
he loves to be patted, still...

But, I crave his anger,
his young arrogant growl;
he has never bitten my bait,
can never ever, now.

For he is old now,
my dog, Oh god!

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

My day just slit up!

Here comes
the last act of
my work holiday,
I watch the world
honk and vroom into a
melancholy sunset.

Thank you, luxury.
The little mercy,
my gift for a day
—a slit in the
blinds, bloody binds,
it expands my horizon.
From dour LCD walls,
to a greyish, Lutyens' green.

Monday, October 10, 2016

Is the fighter dead?

There, by the red woods,
under a Silicon canopy
that exudes, attracts power,
I saw its steely desire
to climb up...
Creeping along the
bare, brick canvas:
the world as we built it.

Blinded by the lustful flashes
of the one with might,
reaching for the source
of his power,
the upper balconies
of the city
where Lodi reigned,
Modi reigns.

And, in the dark
I see,
lies justified by hope,
I behold a mission,
a questioning vision,
I find the return gift...
A fight still remains in me, but is the fighter dead?

Monday, September 05, 2016

​Teacher, teacher…

The old man
on the wall,
he grins,
he grins at the
young man 
on the cross.

Teachers, both,
displayed on a trophy wall
of a school
meant for life.
But a school built
for barter, banter,
and grey matter takes over
the small matter —
a young mind.

I left teaching,
in haste,
avoiding the crucifix,
a little beyond
a church tower that
rings school bells.

Monday, July 25, 2016

Naked Resolve

The strength in 
his resolve
remains true to its purpose;
it makes music.

Exposed to the 
morning scorn and humidity,
he walks tall,
and naked.

The monsoon's been good,
it floods the lanes
with dreams,
and turns land to
sea of humanity,
sea of hope...
He was always a 
but away from his boat.

Monday, June 20, 2016

The Rain (From my Office Window)

​Words reach out
through the glass pane,
with trembling heart
and shaken resolve
they beg for a dance;
hear ye, raindrops.
They feel the haste,
the receding clouds,
the fading music;
and then, a rainbow
jumps off the million-dollar
skyscraper called hell.

Friday, May 27, 2016

Ode to the Dying Night

Morning, good! 
The dying night 
I cry for, 
it drags away
my dreams with it, 
to purgatory,
where the lust
is retained,
desires n myths too.
And purity?
That's purged 
in a summer bonfire. 

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Fire in the Hall

The wretched hall,
replete with flickering
Super AMOLED minds;
uniform, disciplined
by servers and
a world-wide shackle.

The ergonomic aisles
fuel a relentless
quest for perfection.
But bastard, you,
perfection is a myth,
while our existence
is but a mere conspiracy
hatched by the internet.

Thursday, May 19, 2016

The Good Ol' Trail

Well, the dust settles
over the li'l trail

from home to manhood.
I look back,
the dreams smile at me.
The man beams,
the child cries,

yet again, and again... 

For I write with my
love with my


and fight with my



Thursday, May 05, 2016

The Fighter!

Comfortably numb at
the knuckles,
but the fighter cries...
The pain remains,
of the elusive
showdown with destiny,
with shadows, the reality.

The draw is simple,
but the warrior burns,
for he has forgot
what pain is...
Yes, what exactly is pain?

-- Few lines in honour of Mike Tyson


Thursday, April 21, 2016

A Poet's Audacity

Hey you,
are you mad?

... The audacity of him
to think he could,
in a matter of seconds,
turn life as it is
into words,
scribble it onto
the pad given to him
by life itself.

Sunday, April 03, 2016

Summer Morning

The cold blanket
of haze
I saw in your eyes
has cleared,
replaced by a bright spark,
summer they call it...

But I christen it lust;
I love it
for the bright lights
make you bold;
relentless, stubborn,
annoyingly bold.

Pic credit:

Saturday, April 02, 2016

The Ear Pull

Then she pulled my left ear,
The chiding,
it is, I know,​
for leaving you,
for hiding in their city.

The bloodletting
reminds me of home,
of belonging,
of what I’ve grown up to be​,
a slave to the month
—telephone bills and 96 pages.