Versed for life

The word is out!

2012-02-16T11:33:00.000+05:30

If it is a word,
be it a slip from
the lips I adore,
or a tip to lull me away;
is a pearl I cherish,
it's a dream in my heart
I wish to fulfil,
it's a promise I wake up to...

Even if it's just a word,
the raindrops it forms
make my day gay,
for they screen rainbows
o'er the highways I take
to keep my mind sharp
and away from the
realities of a lone rider.

The bike saddle keeps
my joints supple enough for
those feature scenes which try
to bog my life into submission,
in a lock-n-choke hold...
Even the Newaza from college
or the wily rolls and vaults I picked
from a market can't save me from it.

Strasbourg!

2012-02-10T16:21:00.000+05:30

Wine red and white, a dinner spread
above the brows of mankind;
came before the toss and turn,
a bid to get comfy in
the bed I'm strapped in
by a tight noose tonight.

The wine kicks in,
not yet tipsy or sleepy,
not by a mile for Caffeine stands up
near a smiling renaissance Monsieur,
who broke a barrier, while I emptied
a bank vault for a White Christmas.

A promise...
That marked time blinking with
the random turbulence;
the low definition screen
flickers too, unknown faces
keeping me awake.

Pipe dreams knock though,
for Santa's date isn't due.
Ho Ho, I wake up
to the Boss blurting out
orders in a tone marinated
in courtesy, his training.

Then comes reality,
a slow and steady crawl
miles above sea and land,
my reference beacon blinks green
o'er the clouds in stratosphere,
Strasbourg it is, the crossroads.

Strasbourg again, and again,
I've never seen her before,
but tonight I'm in bed with
her free will, on her bosom
lay the Press cards
she chose for us, some years back.

The tag I flash in pride
to keep coppers at bay,
to keep gates open, coffers decent,
began its journey from her womb,
from the first flong to
a morning fix for all.

Strasbourg! Her cathedral rings a bell,
one too many times it chimes,
the vision printed in black, on white;
for she kept me on hold
for hours in an unknown charm
within an alloy tube.

- A vision, multiple vision in fact

Added Dimension

2012-02-07T23:46:00.000+05:30

The heart's held in
suspended animation.
In a cryo state
by the variable from
the x-axis;
the frozen, spicy chicken
pieces left for me,
and not for my soul.

While its lively cells,
the red in its frame is kept
safe from a deadly grey,
with burnt fresh coats
by the changing mood
of the sun's smile over me
in Chennai, the Y-axis... Why axis?
I stay put for my time.

All's well, well the third front?
The Z-axis is lined against
a concrete thick smog hedge
which blocks my view
of the green world
beyond the suburbs
of an office made of edited words,
graphical news and cut-out designs.

The fourth dimension…
I need the papers, ‘I do’ need one
to catch the next wormhole from this
known space, this stint within infinity;
to catch hyperspace and beyond.
But the equation is yet to
graduate out of the set quadratic doctrines
forged by these stubborn, mortal variables.

Radio Silence

2012-01-28T14:37:00.000+05:30

It saved lives many, it did...
When Blitz ruled the air ways,
London did shake,
its deep veins frozen,
but still a warm haven
from the rage dropped at random;
the heavens opened,
not for hail or rain
but for cold metal
and its will to rule the world.

It kills now, it does...
For it is the only open
window left for the
weary soldier in urban camouflage,
smoke too thick for even
his bloodshot infra eyes.
He gropes to find the beacon,
dials through the familiar tones,
Radio Silence!
Bang!

The point-blank shot
knocks him out cold;
he lives, in pain,
wound not fatal.

It's the age of non-lethal bullets
and Quad-core androids;
but his core is still soft n mushy,
in need for that paid-app called love.

kerplunkjournal.blogspot.com

My best friend's wedding!

2012-01-26T13:06:00.000+05:30

A room full of strangers,
the talks begin in earnest;
on traffic, on cars, buses
and some writers...

Then the promise, Gateway opens,
handshakes follow in Swiss precision,
time zones merge, their families too,
well set on magic stones.

A room full of friends now,
the bride's smile broadens into
their lips, I'm in;
seat belt is fastened, I'm home.

Wedding, the march to record books,
the rush to catch a
flight of fancy, of dreams n reality;
their life begins, on Skype now!

- A wedding gift for a dear one, a special one

Let it be now!

2012-01-12T21:50:00.000+05:30

Take my hand now,
lead me through
that paved simple maze
once again...

The one we took
in a morning jest,
a rush for clicks n picks
and a hill climb of our dreams.

Wipe my brow now,
catch my breath, its fast n hard,
for I synced my 'run' with your toes
keeping up with your love so brisk.

Let me lean now,
on the hearth made for me,
beside your heart,
for it sings the lullaby I miss.

pic credit: www.free-extras.com

Waiting Room

2012-01-07T01:27:00.000+05:30

Time to switch off the
white light above,
then step out to the comforts
of the shade playing hide-n-seek...

Wow, these shadows dance
to the breath a bit stale,
while another midnight breeze
becomes headwind and burns my legs.

I reach the realms of high yellow beams
that light a dingy waiting room.
No red or green sofas there,
just wrought Iron frames for agony.

Pupils dilate watching time
crawl with glee to mock
the weight on my chest
from the sighs of a heart missing love.

New Year Blues

2012-01-01T02:21:00.000+05:30

They all celebrate tonight,
blind to the past,
happy for the morrow,
when they wake up hung over
to take life full on the chin.
Its kisses, but beware its jabs,
the left hook, its upper cuts,
but worst is the body blow
which numbs the kidneys
before making 'em bleed;
ask Ali, the greatest,
he has seen and done it all...

I was numb even before
this bout - the party at Kochi Fort.
There my pals rush for booze,
here they dance,
and burn the dead year to ashes.
I stand still,
a li'l away from the cheers,
to remember her touch o’er
a fence I couldn't cross,
even with all the will of
a man who has seen
full three decades of life n more...

Return Flight

2011-12-30T17:39:00.000+05:30

I begged, but the

four roaring beasts

didn't even sigh,

or stop a moment or two

to show mercy to a mercenary

in transit, leaving love...

They dance to the command

of well-dressed modern cupids,

who cross time zones

to take love to the blessed;

they are paid today

to take me away from it...

In seconds I'm airborne

way above salvage that

can be bought with pounds, I'm broke!

It's too late now, I lean back to enjoy hell

served in a tray with smiles,

packaged food, drinks and winter chill...

- Return flight from London, leaving what matters...

Security Issues!

2011-12-19T14:37:00.000+05:30

I grope in the dark,
trying to find a few
drops of water to wet
my lips, parched from
the nightmare I'm learning
to live, riding a bicycle.

Ouch, that was my bad knee
finding the stand meant for TV;
yeah, it is off, no light there,
nor life, just some ad gurus
selling gadgets for men's ego;
but I don't have any money to shop.

I just pay my bills
and the rest I waste
on this small white beacon
I wait to blink, night and day,
my only source of light
- a cheap Chinese mobile it is.

It's rays kill my brain,
my memories fade
and I'm scorned for that;
I'm spat at for crying,
but I'm naked,
I can't help but shiver.

I don't have Kevlar protecting
my vitals, I don't have
you protecting my heart,
insecurity is my security,
it keeps me up all night.
for it's my watch...

... At the booby-trapped trenches!
I'm dead; not you, only I die,
if I blink or even sigh,
but tears I can afford,
the one thing I own,
and it doesn't need a credit card.

Street magic!

2011-12-14T09:40:00.000+05:30

The dust settles
gently o'er this large-hearted road,
the widest for miles,
a generous king among commons,
some of whom are spice traders,
narrow but they charm the senses...
Few others are pious,
temples being their life,
mosques their only world,
and some sell churches n history
in stalls on their love handles,
but they're not whores.

A few socially responsible men guide
kids to schools n football grounds too.
Beach is where the Romeo stand,
right by the crashing waves n Chinese nets;
while the local illuminati woo
tourists and hearty fellas
to bay-side bars and
art cafes for Indian culture,
a decoction, forming storms in cups
and tall beer mugs!

Back to the street-smart royal one,
being dressed by drunk contractors
for the year-end parade
where he lets his subjects
dance to the tunes of Christmas
and a New Year of hope.

The beach walkaway in Fort Kochi - the Romeo among streets here (pic credit: hotelsfortcochin.com)

(On the narrow lanes of Fort Kochi and the premier among them - The KB Jacob Road (50 feet road) which dresses up every year for the Cochin Carnival, ushering in the new year...)

Goodnight Kiss

2011-12-08T01:39:00.001+05:30

A ghost! I felt so,
but the door just shivered from
the cold draft coming through the
shaft covered by a rusty net
that hides my dirty linen
from the world out there.

But I don't believe in ghosts,
dreamt it was your breath
which knocked on my door tonight.
Not to be, the blows hit my head,
and found its way ever
so gently to my heart...
It was some lunar-white pill,
didn't even read the doctor's bill,
yet I let some pharmacist's gift
lull me to sleep...
Instead of you n your kiss,
my lips were left to savour that bitter bliss.

Art of Denial!

2011-12-03T22:08:00.001+05:30

To infinity... Spreads this
off-white canvas below my feet;
vandalized to insanity by
the stomps of arrogant youth;
by plastic waste from drunk,
mindless punks straight out of college
and their campus-recruited IT jobs;
guised as hard-working fishermen,
who fight the waves of change
to provide school uniforms for
the smiling ones and snacks for
the smirking, bribe-belied cops.

T'is, the time for my painting here,
but my will fails to power the strokes
across its breadth,
legs fail in the sprint across its length
to my bike parked yonder.
I can only crawl to her feet,
begging her to adopt me
into her depths,
urging her to let her salt
seep into my blistered heart,
cleansing it with burn,
the scars will remain black though;
a dark reminder on pale skin
of my stand now:
Helpless at the edge of the canvas
I need to colour fast.

I had my crayons,
have also seen those water-hued days,
even wax and fabric paints
and 'em fancy acrylic I found in college;
but I wanted just coal,
just black and white
from mother earth,
who always denies me my due.
But I still dared to ask:
Please, a li'l love this day...

AC/FC: The band!

2011-11-24T16:18:00.001+05:30

For once I stayed up;
after all, it was Milan's
honour this day
to host the Band,
but not of the Billboard charts
nor one for grannies or Grammy...

... Still they eased those average teens
from the second third n fourth worlds
to change channels and
their obsession with
tanned beach babes
and their samba;
or the dreams of a night out,
dancing to cocaine with a Sabatini,
a tango under the silver moon
by the Rio de la Plata.

Now they all sway to
the smooth flow from a
Spanish guitar strummed by
a Nou-bred Argentine,
tuned to perfection
in a proud Catalan dream.

3.20 in the morn here,
six hours ahead of
that smile from Xavi,
the Italians mourn;
but the tears thrill 'em all
as the boards sang anthems
in flashy neon:
3-2 it is for Barcelona.

The boys kept their stripes all,
earned a few more,
Milan in Black and Red,
while Green lights adorn
the glittering Palau Blaugrana,
the hues and the many phews!

(Thoughts during the UEFA Champions League classic between AC Milan and FC Barcelona yesterday...)

Saturday Qualifying

2011-11-20T22:56:00.001+05:30

SirStewart smiled,

theknight's many chequered flags

sparkthe V8 that

powershis young eyes,

wrappedin a magic weave

ofproud Scottish sunshine.

Schumidid part his lips too,

sodid Vettel and the young-uns,
at posers with magic drumsticks

andjokers with rusty, septic swords.

... It gave them orgasms!
Hell yeah, it did...

While o'er the counter quotes
eased the pain in their lower gut from
paraphrasing the one-and-a-half minute long
lap dances, the misery and mystery of it all.
And the tycoon chose to eat while
they blew his trumpet.

Night, the city lit up with
headlamps rushing home.
The delivery boys readied
a rich spread on the dinner table.
A li'l more than four hundred
words got laid on the front page
for the pleasure of millions.
Out came whorish squeals on Facebook;
from the dark lanes

itmade its way to the pit-lane

andthe paddock behind.

Threedays of timeout
from rum n coke in a tainted glass,
to champagne in a circus flute.

Thenthere were rumours

ofmultiple pleasure,

besidethe pit-lane exit,

insync with the downshifts

intothe opening corner.

Morea sigh than a cry,

froman Italian lady in red;

asshe climbed towards newer
heights of ecstasy, beyond the second corner;

roundn round, hips and laps.

Theyall qualified for

aSunday party,

whileI made the grid for a hike,
after a Saturday high!

(I was also present at the Buddh International Circuit in Greater Noida forthe inaugural F1 Indian GP. Yeah, the ‘mystery and misery of it all’...)

Oh, I See!

2011-11-12T17:07:00.001+05:30

But I don't see,
it is all so dark for me...

I'm unable to feel the
warm lights that line the lane
which you took to
reach me and touch my world.

Gagged and blinded,
they’ve locked me in a cell,
slowly lining its walls with scramblers
to block the signals from
those small, fine neurons
we stitched as one to make our magic carpet...

Down to earth, we now hold hands and
walk our imaginary aisles,
me at a cathedral here,
away from your steps at a small parish.

I can't see anything else now,
but I see you, always will I,
ever since my heart said "I do",
just after that golden Christmas rise.

An autumn jingle

2011-11-08T16:33:00.000+05:30

In the frozen, lonely world
six floors above a morgue,
I found warmth in the pixels
of a digital click you promised,
of shutterbugs hovering
around us to make immortal
the moment when you nodded
and I gave you my shoulder.

This day, you met two strangers,
and then told me a bedside fairy tale,
how they weighed the anchor of a paper boat,
loaded to the brim with dreams...

A honeymoon awaits them,
then the countless full moons
and its cycles, some offering pain,
some lighting Christmas trees,
while a couple or maybe more of
the lunar tides will wash in li'l bundles of joy,
that would jingle in their woollen coats
as they sit on their rocking chairs,
watching the sun set west;
slowly drawing curtains
to the shortened autumn days,
after a long fruitful life...

Room for more!

2011-11-06T10:44:00.000+05:30

Shipbuilders, ’em southerners
are busy with their hull...
It belongs not to them,
the Iron, nor the hammer
they use to bring percussion
to the fore in an orchestra
conducted by a very tall,
old man in Red tux.

Hey, I too can float,
an airtight skull sets sail;
a few shots down the vein
and I'm on my desk,
making a couple of pages,
before forgetting the stanzas of a
good dream... I never take notes!
Visions never appear on paper either!

Slow n steady on two wheels
I come back to reality,
watching my beloved's concrete bosom glow,
revelling in the attention from the sun,
the naughty old westerner
trying to woo his favourite gal,
a white-skinned one on stilettos,
to spend the night with him.

He fixes the spotlight on her;
sad, so sad, he is setting,
a temporary death,
or is it just twilight sedation
for doctors to work on him
and he comes out again the morrow,
young and handsome to date her again,
the soap opera continues!

View from my sixth floor room east window at Medical Trust Hospital in Kochi

(Thoughts from my hospital bed in Kochi, on the view from my sixth floor room, my trip under sedation and the setting sun...)

Yellow!

2011-10-23T18:14:00.000+05:30

It's yellow, very much,
my two eyes fixed on the far end
of my life which flashed
past like an F1 car;
ever so briefly in front
of my personal grandstand,
right when they lifted their hearts
to receive bite-sized salvation.

It's yellow again,
the stains which filter
in the blessings from
the patron of the day,
who invites willing guests
for the big Sabbath lunch.
I was late for the feast,
those yellow morning signals,
or was it red? Who cares,
I rarely stop at traffic lights!

And it's the same damn shade
which stops my heart
from singing out loud...
For the song should be
within the barbed fence
erected by twitter,
enforced by its citizen police,
and by you. Et tu!

White coat, dark court!

2011-10-17T23:15:00.000+05:30

Healme doctor
for I've sinned,
but just in my deeds.
Yet “banished,” said he!

The hunched over professional,
bespectacled, white-coated
and smiling, walks out on me.
His evening busy; hands warmed
with soft leather gloves,
he strolls to a garden in bloom.
His bed is comfy too
while a cold hospital cot awaits me.

“Banished,” he said again,
for you dared to try singles.
Indians can only play doubles,
ask your Paes or Bhupathi!

Yeah, they've won Grand Slams,
but I have no choice
for I am forced to stick
to just serve and volley!

Thank you doctor,
I shall begin my day
in darkness now;
the floodlights are dead
at the fenced singles court
and they refuse to repair it.

Turn-out!

2011-10-13T19:36:00.000+05:30

This is where itbegan,
the first lines of a poetry
I shall never complete;
forI ran out of words
when she turned away
from my kiss tosmile
at a passing motorist
whose cruel eyes,
just like mydestiny,
were hidden by a dark Ray Ban.

My bad, really...
Ichose to make love to her
beside the busiest highway
known toman!

The Jet Lag

2011-10-03T00:01:00.000+05:30

That kid I once knew
would open his texts
at school this very morning hour,
the first of the day.

Books ain't his pals anymore,
while his brothers in arms
from the soccer days boast,
having left to roost higher.

Much more into time zones,
his days spent now in tracing
the lines of the meridian which
separate the races - black, white or yellow.

His only friend has pasted
hisheart onto the
Greenwich pole;
his whole world lags
waiting and pleading the
sun to rise and kiss him
on the forehead
before warming his veins
with reflected rays from
the two mirrors kept apart;
a wide jet stream with
paid access, the buffer.

Let It Be Dark!

2011-09-27T12:54:00.000+05:30

... Right then my companion,
one of the constants within me,
smirks at my bolt into the shadows
to run away from another
one of night's realities
in this city ruled by animal lovers.

While the other truth, the curse,
an uncontested sentence, chokes the will;
the guards and their lashes
much more relentless than
the pack I managed to outrun...
It's not fair, but world's not a fair.

Still, I've loved beyond my means
and shouldn't love light it all up?
Yeah, it's there at the end of this subway,
but the tunnel ain't ending any soon,
nor will the journey towards salvation begin...
For this train runs on solar cells!

"Let there be light," He once said.
"Let it be dark," I retort now.

Vaulted Resolve

2011-09-20T13:09:00.000+05:30

Yo! My evolved resolve;
you I laugh at for
losing the plot.

From faint murmurs to
hold back a charging
bullshitter in a make-shift ring;
to forging an Iron fist,
stuck to a weak underbelly,
for a far carnal goal
than glory on a Tatami.
But I still can kill a man.

Though a better killer is fate
and she lurks ahead
in that blind turn.

And my bank account,
the fund which helps
me buy groin and gum guards
to cushion her blows,
it has gone east, beyond my horizons,
to a vaulted overseas branch;
access regulated by
a border agency.

Marathon fear!

2011-09-05T21:09:00.000+05:30

Frequent flier sans wings,
whose heavy heart is shackled
onto rusted cots, a cage,
and dragged on polished Iron
to an Industrial town for
this pilgrimage;
the last of many which
began after her pass was
stamped with a borrowed seal.
Ready for a flight
to save our world!
But, who will save me?

I drown, just like my tears,
in the heavy drops
pouring out of the gray,
smog hiding rain's real mission,
a cruel mask on death traps dug for
tie-wearing steeplechasers here;
I am chased too,
fear, this marathon for life.
An year too short for the lucky,
but longer than a lifetime
for the one with just loose change
to make ends meet across the seas.

Club Elite

2011-08-26T13:06:00.000+05:30

Banished, your proud words,
the warning,
to the Night Club elite;
where your pet Cerberus,
and his multiple heads
of self importance,
snarl to keep you inside
the dark cave;
within the Styx, full to the brim
with bubbling Railway grade steel.

The walls lined with lead
to scramble out the networks,
indiscriminately,
or selectively? Plain cold!
... Since your manicured knives
still posses a wizard's gift,
to poke and let in the right DJs
for the glory hymns in techno.

(How people can lock themselves in the modern day netherworlds, keys held in their left shirt pockets...)

Rain Check

2011-08-23T12:35:00.000+05:30

"Yes, yes! Right here mama,
I ain't out in the rain!"

The skies opened
to re-christen the birthday boy,
cleansing his veins and lanes
off grime and some crimes;
flushing his soul and sewers
off original and some duplicate sins.

But all I heard, between the quick
baby steps on concrete, was her voice,
which once made sure I played by
the rules written in the mist, in bold italics,
by the waving index finger
I held walking to school.

But I can't lie, can I?
This grey carries my sin,
sprinkled in between
the fresh shoots you planted
while I waited by the window
for my paper boats to dock.

"Yes, yes! Right here mama,
never in the rain, I play with fire now!"

Rain!

And as I look out of my flat window here enjoying its sudden appearance, I hear my mother call. Many times!

Of course she is nowhere near me to call out my name and check whether I am inside the house or busy floating paper boats in the rain.

This used to be a regular call when I was a kid growing up in Kochi where rain is part of life just like the sun.

As a kid, though I was less naughty than I am now, one of my ideas of fun was rain and the inexpensive, low carbon-footprint activities surrounding it -- like sliding in the mud, making water skis with coconut tree branches, netting tadpoles and tiny fish in the small pond at our backyard, and of course miniature boats.

At times even my grown up aunts (mom's sisters) used to join me. Till my mama intervenes, calling out my name, asking me where I am and reminding me that I am not supposed to be outside.

The call stayed with me.

Later, even now as a 30-year-old, whenever I am left in peace to listen to the rain I hear my mother and her voice of concern and caution.

"Leslie, where are u my son, don't go out in the rain."

And I heard her voice today.

But rain is not my worry now mama. It is fire that I have to deal with every day.

I wish the days were as simple as the ones involving monsoon showers and paper boats. But at least I have my mama's voice with me and her beacon guides me to brief yet fulfilling visits to the simplicity of existence I once enjoyed.

Spring of life

2011-08-20T21:15:00.000+05:30

It was not the smile,
naughty, on my lips,
that made your front yard bloom.
It was not my warm breath
that made the buds
there sway in a trance.

Spring arrived early, it did,
but brought by the song
I whispered straight
from my heart to yours,
while feeling for nectar
dripping in harmony
from the exotic flowers
meant for the purest of pure.

Long before my turn for
the short trail to our hearth
where our little angels
will walk and play, to school and life.
Fueling our destiny till eternity,
after their revelry in the songs from
your pulse, the beats
I triggered with my touch.

Light of my dreams

2011-08-12T14:56:00.004+05:30

I walk, from her kitchen and
the morning stew and brew,
up the rickety spirals
to a private balcony;
to the polished brass frames holding aloft,
in pride, the many-sided mirror
which helps me reflect on
the lines of my face.

The marks, count my decades,
kept shallow by kisses
from the beloved near me,
the spark that keeps
the light in my soul burning;
while I click on the black switches,
to brighten the path of
those sailors heading home.

And then we sit back, o'er supper,
for the primetime soap operas,
stories of love and heartbreak,
projected onto the dark LCD
by the giant torch I command.
The images, changing with every swing
as the beam from my house
tickles the clouds,
making them shiver and move.
The theatre, my home theatre of dreams.

A Lighthouse Keeper is what I ought to have been, what I may become... Spending, with the love of my life, the rest of my days on that isolated hillock overlooking the sea, making sure the seafarers reach their nests, watching the clouds do their transit which began since eternity, while I wait with her for our special eternity to arrive...

The Confirmed Ticket

2011-08-07T23:52:00.001+05:30

Ah, the many pillars
I left, they wither,
when they just needed
was a coat of paint
in the colour of love.
Ah, the many roots,
I left to rot,
when all it would have
taken was some water from
my fountain of youth;
but arrogance, again of youth,
dragged me into a train
I didn't want to board,
damn! I even had confirmed tickets.

Love Life

2011-08-06T13:58:00.000+05:30

I remember an infirm,
early to rise and
wail for her eyes,
warmth from her bosom;
my world confined to her womb
and then refined in a crib;
both I left in a hurry,
running out to the green
football field and the
naughty brats in shorts.

Now, again I open my eyes
to the rainbows
formed from the drops
of longing in my eyes,
for love still,
the one forged in passion.
But the thirst remains,
for the morning dew is due,
and I want to leave the playground
for her arms.

It's my love for life,
nay, my life for love!

French academic painter William-Adolphe Bouguereau's First Kiss

We for victory

2011-08-01T11:52:00.000+05:30

It should've been "We"
from when it all began,
the first light, dawn,
and time - till t'is day n eternity.

It was, until friends
of the time-keeper's son,
drew up the rules
and designed the rites,
self-centred grand plans,
they became lords,
as power shifted
from the souls of the poor
to the kings and knights
and their collection of fine arts.

Day I heard the "we" again,
a call to unite,
to face our devils,
face God too!

- A thought while at church today, at how it stands for the 'I' in all things while it was meant to be for the people, for their well being, for us, for "we".

Smiles apart

2011-07-30T13:00:00.000+05:30

Hay fever kicks him
out of the rented bed
and into a world
of overcast faces.
None smiled, not even
the serene nun.

The smog has killed
their passion for fellow men,
or are they following
The Emperor's eldest son.
Even the sun just frowned today,
n walked, it's a selfish world.

The Isle of Love

2011-07-28T15:17:00.000+05:30

A few pounds are all I've got,
for our sweet little dream.

Will the English weather
wave n smile,
and let us hold hands
to sing a carol o' two.
Hearts, warm, they beat as one;
music for our dance from
the chiming li'l country brook;
while daffodils on our bed
spread the scented news
across the Isles;
love is in the air,
do let me in, let me stay.

A few pounds are all I've saved,
but I can starve to breathe from your lips.

(A bit of love in the British Isles)

Cold-blooded Killer

2011-07-22T08:20:00.000+05:30

It is for dear you
a conqueror went on his knees
and begged for death,
sipping from the poisoned
chalice, opening his gut to
this unknown disease.

But it was love and
heartbroken he died.

A later world, dirtier cities,
some popular general
forsake his will and
opened his guard;
to spend the rest of his
life in an Island prison moaning.

But it was not kings,
this cold-blooded love the killer.

It is for you, and your fancies,
a bard there, he bled;
the void filled by music
from the gushing fountain
he composed through the
many sighs from his little sins.

But it was not wine,
only love could shred his liver so fine.

- The darker side of love

Les Miserable

2011-07-10T18:52:00.000+05:30

Remember me for the times
I've made you smile;
the days when I slid
open the sun-roof,
to let you glow in
the spotlight of my dreams,
the grace of my life,
the only saving grace
of my miserable life.

Remember me for the times
I've made you beam;
enough tears I've shed
for the nights
I left you to shiver,
your cheeks frozen by the icy flow
from the jewels of my life;
the only sparkle of hope
in my miserable life.

(These lines are sort of like an anticipatory bail.
I hope I will be associated with smiles than tears long after my
days here are over...)

Official Prison

2011-07-08T12:15:00.001+05:30

Backs bent to submission
by the bulge of prosperity
surrounding a job in a room
with red-carpeted walls and
a white, life-less ceiling
that guillotines the dreams.

The windows won't let the
world in or the word out;
they are sealed tight by design,
to keep spirits at bay, allowed to dance
only in the rays that the
dusty glass panes let through.

And we look out,
to see purple mist rising from
the rains which give life for many,
while filling the moat around us
prisoners here;
it's official, the sentence.

(Ah! The cell called office cubicle)

La Fem

2011-07-07T15:44:00.000+05:30

Moon boon
Lucky ones, Moon's given
'em the right to make
the dead walk the plank.

Ageless lover
She becomes a teen,
naughty and primed,
lips trembling under his breath.

Great expectations
Great, whose breath inspires
mere mortals to soar!
She, yeah, she is great!

Heart of Worship
Men kneel in that chapel, her heart,
for salvation awaits 'em all
within those painted glass walls.

Creative source
Their guts shaped the world,
after she gave them form,
in her warm gut!

(A collection of Haiku on Women, the fairest of all God's creations)

Death tone

2011-07-04T20:08:00.000+05:30

I dread this change,
the tones, from drum-rolls
announcing life in this city,
it's now a few night birds humming.

Darkness, I fear your smile too,
for you will sneak up on me
from behind to sever the
warm nerves to my heart.
I hate you too... wily, black n slimy,
how easily you got the same drummers
to play music at dawn
'morrow for my pallbearer.

Lover's Plea

2011-06-25T22:39:00.000+05:30

Oh... they want me dead;
so they could write
my orbit in tears flowing
from the pens they fancy
so much in their cute
little world of many.

Please, please let me live,
for I'm just a kid,
I'm in love with life,
I'm in love, with her;
and how will I love
from six feet under.

But you join them for
my blood and I reel
in pain from the second
stake in a week.

Dr. Love

2011-06-23T20:56:00.000+05:30

A kiss, your kiss,
will it mend my broken heart?

No, it will ache more!
Till ye fill my longing
soul to the brim
with dew from the heavens...
Given to man to draw
his clan from the caves
to fight his battles many,
in the war that will
only end with a rain of fire,
or so the Book says.

A kiss won't mend my heart,
but make love to me and I'm healed!

Peek-a-boo life

2011-06-12T21:50:00.001+05:30

Arms up, in full guard;
this the peek-a-boo way.

Looking through the gorge
between the two, the only
brothers you can depend on;
not to wait for that flinch,
or a twitch to land a jab,
or a hook in good taste.

It is just to save the
'kind eyes' from turning black;
only the relentless gloves I see,
already red from many a spots.

Pure plain peek-a-boo style,
sans the knock-out drills.

(A lesson for life from boxing: It worked well even for Iron Mike Tyson in the ring before he forgot his coach Cuz’s "fail-proof" tactic and was knocked out, in life! But Peek-a-boo style does keep one away from a lot of complications...)

THE UNCORRUPT

2011-06-10T13:35:00.000+05:30

Hope in!

The missing links maketh your day,
filling your hours with hope.
And hope drives the universe.

Father figure
The going was tough, but,
the tough was falling around him,
and they Baptized him Father!

Vain blood
An old man at the frontier;
where are the young n brave?
Oh, they bled Blue to death in vain!

Armful Cancer!
Armed rebellion against cancer!
We can't let you amputate
our mother, ye modern sage...

Hold on
Intriguing, the air is still;
for the whole nation holds its breath,
Democracy is in labour tonight.

A nation built on hope, blood and sweat. The fluttering tri-colour -- a dream of the Father of the Nation and the thousands who laid down their lives and the millions who made sacrifices -- is in danger of becoming a nightmare.
A man from that long-lost “age of national pride” has come forward though, to keep the Indian dream alive. But the young are lost in their own little world of self importance, while the nation bleeds and rots. And another “Saviour” tries to cut our Mother to pieces – Armed rebellion!
I see my brothers and sister doubting Democracy and doubting our constitution, the backbone of our nation. These are dangerous times. It’s time we acted and acted boldly.
JAI HIND!

Fret Friend

2011-06-09T16:42:00.000+05:30

I kept my word, watched you

from afar, tucking in your precious
past safe in bed, in dreams;
but I fret o'er an old pal.

Way past midnight, I met him,
he crossed my path again,
his lean frame ignoring me,
but just to make sure his senses
knew there was no trouble
behind my back, the regal guard.
His wet eyes glow in the yellow wash,
deep, they used to love me,
bless me for my tests...
Till he died and was buried,
in a roadside grave;
I didn't cry that day...
But tonight I did,
for he was my best friend!

All in a Day

2011-06-05T22:12:00.000+05:30

Cry Tea

I made her cry,

while she made me tea,

for a good morning.

Bay-by
Evening, I led your
baby steps to a mother
and her Love Bay.

Square One
But, the circle completes,
then transforms to Square One
as my tears light the night!

(A collection of Haiku from a day in Chennai)

Morning Raga

2011-06-03T13:21:00.000+05:30

She begins her worship

of the holy cradle, her hearth
and the source of manna,
in the only way she knows.

Her limited access-key to the
vocal chambers is enough for her
fresh soul to render flawless emotions
in a flowing, free-versed Raga
that tickles a mother
- smiling with pride and joy.

She leans on her plush throne,
while morning glows in her sunshine song.

(My neighbour’s baby's song I wake up to these days...)

Evening Show

2011-05-29T12:05:00.000+05:30

The pixels on the giant screen

dim with each passing frame,
the flick is ending, time for a fare
through black & white lanes, again.

Evening show tickets with me;
I burned the extra cals,
to reach the box seat
reserved for veterans and
the local political analysts.
This neighbourhood theatre is crowded,
screenings round the clock;
action and a few stunts in the morn,
love stories follow post noon and
hope n family flicks at primetime.

The show goes on even as the
actors fade before the horizon.
White dots appear on the dark screen,
a sign of life, but ushering death for a change.
This cue to leave and the white paint
from government lights mark my return route.

Morning Bells

2011-05-27T12:15:00.000+05:30

Debt Call

I wake up to the naughty "student",
here to clean her hands off the debt,
a day's pay in Rupees.

Air Apparent
What do I smell in the air?
Ahaa! The unmistakable stench of
a bad day rising from her silence.

Louder Dream
While some don't wake up at all...
the motorized dust storms not loud enough,
for a reality check, dream on!

(I woke up to these not-so-random thoughts today and penned them as "Haiku")

Fort Bastard

2011-05-25T14:48:00.000+05:30

The fortress crumbles,

under her own fat, neglected bling.

I see her green, black n red
veins protrude out in an evil twirl,
varicose has gripped the pillars
which once held up the lofty
buyers-world in a spell, the seller's market.
They now crumble as rust eats into
the downed shutters of the courts
which once inspired awe, then lust.

Now a haunt where old men sit
and smoke away dreams;
the rush, only from pyre fumes
climbing up the decayed escalators,
to the sunroof that splashes an eerie Neon
onto the alleys of a dying bastard.

Spencer Plaza in Chennai is fighting a losing battle, it’s obvious. A fight for survival as its world slowly shifts to the road across.

The plaza's oval central sun-lit lobby, where one side reminds us of the first Spencer building, which was built during the time of the Britishers

Armour of God

2011-05-23T11:23:00.000+05:30

His armour, forged with the

wisdom of God, written by man,
bestseller down the years,
a gift from a mother.
Battle ready, his power, the will
to trample snakes and lions,
the moment he covers his prone
flesh and soul with a
promise, a Psalm for the
mortal warrior, but unlike Achilles.

Carrying a buckler, made in love
by his woman back home;
shield from an ore from the mines of Luke,
the voice, his holy guide
lighting a right path across
Edom and many more of 'em battle fields.

Heat Healthy

2011-05-17T19:33:00.003+05:30

The warmth from the lap
of an unknown mother,
kept me awake as
stories flashed by in colour.

She, known for feeding
her sons with resolve
from the full, burning breasts;
I met her this day,
after four long years of
hide and no seek!

The game which I started,
with the morning gust,
that hit me with all its might,
uprooting my veins, for months at times.

But today... I orphaned myself inside an
AC cab waiting outside a train station!

The day-time train trip through Tamil Nadu in a non AC compartment: A burning experience, but no time to complain because I was alive amongst the "real" people of this country. Check out my observations during the journey -

http://les-bicyclediaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/trained-observer.html

Chrome Plated Dreams

2011-05-10T12:29:00.000+05:30

The tips of my fingers resonate

this morn, with the music
from her silence, which keeps
me in a cell with no windows.
Only small peepholes,
the eight bright ones offered
by Chrome; they ain't sport
today though, no painkillers.

My eyes follow the plot still,
pipe dreams a few open;
while my shackles are loosened
enough to let me scroll
from one vision to another,
in search of that glare from reality.

Sweat Equity

2011-05-07T12:41:00.000+05:30

The meat of the moment;

reality, the heat of life,
was lost among the humming
birds of a concrete tree,
who huff and puff
to vent their cold frustrations
on the prone men
hunched o'er tragic mirrors...

Women too! Forced to
do justice to a devil's contract.

I would rather sweat, shovelling
love near that familiar tree
whose mangoes once trained
me to aim high and higher, sigh!

Good Mourning!

2011-05-05T15:55:00.000+05:30

The knock on the door

from a surrogate,
paid a lower wage
for her act of pity
on the man who eats less
and tweets more, lately.

Wake up call answered
with a smile, an apology,
and a promise for amends follows;
the employees are happy...

... I rush back to my
bed of nails, mails waiting.

Blue Fever

2011-04-29T22:58:00.000+05:30

Blue, the pools are
full to the brim.
Hangover from four days of
binge on home-made sweet brews
strains the valves;
the plumbing squeaks and bulges.

But optical illusions and
a seven-hour old chart
forces me into a train;
while unshed tears,
a rusted, hard and cold bed
ensured I felt every single
beat of my self till the auto ride
to reality. Back to fever!

Ride and Seek!

2011-04-27T21:17:00.000+05:30

Gentle twists, a schoolboy’s will
to ease the miniature motor
through the chicane from yesteryears.
A right and a left, in slow motion
the bike was urged as an old
family fortress coughed on the left
while the watch tower loomed,
it still keeps an eye on the
blue-and-white teens mugging up
theorems to cut short their heaven.

An open ground and a palace
left in the dust, yellow memoirs zip past.
Ahoy! The market where dreams
were made, pumped with Iron,
oiled and then dumped,
the end of innocence.

(Yesterday evening’s bike ride from Santa Cruz school to Pattalam ground through the road beside the unused water tank, my old school Britto and the Bishop’s Palace, was indeed part of a normal commute home after an evening stroll at Fort Kochi beach. A 500-metre or so long trip which lasted around 30 seconds; but a life-time of memories this road carries for me and some flashed by, in the same pace as the eight or so Sodium vapour street lamps I left behind during the ride.)

Side Story!

2011-04-23T18:49:00.000+05:30

Left, near to my heart,

the cool touch from
a past not so close,
but not so far either.
The summer respite
takes me across that great divide,
to a paradise fenced; just a glimpse,
but it's there, a school yard.

Right, dear to my heart
the warmth from the present,
safe in a cocoon of love;
her open arms send the
great winter out yonder,
it's time for spring and love.
Best from both the sides,
Easter's finally here!

Pain Old Will

2011-04-18T12:34:00.000+05:30

The humid presence I felt,

of the man inside,
with a will to stand his ground,
for "lies" - truth for me,
maybe not so for the shepherds
of the flock, lost up
the mount of no return.
Touché! I'm your man...

For I felt my guts today,
though the revelation was painful,
it shook me... minutes,
the dull burn from
the weight of expectations
I carry ever since I was born.

Flong Re-Flong!

2011-04-11T13:44:00.000+05:30

I cherish them;

but how they never last,
the good Flongs in life.

Hate, the word of the day;
fate, yeah love exists,
prisoned in a lie called life...

But they never last.

Can't escape the mirror's scorn;
the man walks though, chin up,
on hot coal his ego laid...

But they never last,
Flings or Flongs, does it matter?

Sin, dance and sing,
eat merry, the numbered berries;
for you, me and even God...

But they never last.

Dead Man Walking!

2011-04-09T00:24:00.000+05:30

Can u love a Dead Man Walking?
Then find heart to kiss me...

... Else, leave me at my misery,
at the mercy of vultures
across the midnight tarmac.
Leave me, leave me n go,
for I've been killed
by a million stakes,
laced with poison, with lust.
Let me go, no curious sights
in here but gore;
take your flight, lest I may impose,
pray impress ye heart;
the charms of a Dead Man Walking!

Blue Bled!

2011-04-04T21:44:00.000+05:30

They poured, sweat and dough,
within the overcrowded taverns
selling opium on giant walls
that shifted with the collective
sighs, the roars;
taken down after a General made
his strategic final stand in a flash,
Onward across the battlefield.

Kings of the smallest well!
Ruling with less than two stones of fool's gold,
held aloft by silver and gild.
Funny, a world of ten-and-a-bit United Nations.
Tonight 'em jumping jacks n lasses,
they drink as the stake holders
stack Greens in their sewer vaults;
while the pitch bleeds! Blue?

Loser Talk

2011-04-01T15:25:00.000+05:30

The cold, snaking

salted trickle from the
two anxious, dying seas,
bridged the eardrums before
mixing with the sticky summer air;
the vapour lingers, foul to the soul.

Mouthwash can't remove this
stench of decaying dreams,
from the depths of a heart
ready to be loved.
But, truth is a curse, it remains...
Who will love a loser?

Cake Sake!

2011-03-28T23:41:00.001+05:30

Hot n chocolate!
And it will linger in my smile,
the rhyming chime
after the warm knife's
journey deep to find
that warmth locked within
the baked life, primed in
Crème de la Crème - bitter sweet!

Ooh La La!
No cake here;
fake French bakers out,
for ye sake me awake,
to make it last; layer by layer,
seasoned with a lover's touch.

Love Dilation!

2011-03-25T22:36:00.000+05:30

Once they were ushered in by
beats of your heart - young and free.
Scented, every grain of the
small-town hourglass by ye visit;
short steps at first,
long ones later, longings a bit further.

Fattening the prized heart
with your touch, lips;
well fed in your arms,
primed for a kill.

Aha! Seconds to hours,
it dilates, it's a day today.
Love's a pilgrimage now,
to fill your long hours
between the Demigods,
temple, dinner and dreams.

Holi Sift!

2011-03-20T20:42:00.000+05:30

Behold! A corridor of certainty,
between two human indiscretion,
called home by a few hundreds;
while others name them
indulgence of men, whose will
rise higher than the dreams of
even those upper-middleclass gent
in the morning trains to VT.

Blue with shifting silver streaks,
the young sun makes his point,
bringing out the real colours
within the Canyon.
It's Holi indeed for the
specs on the garage floor;
it’s their festival. I slept,
searching for the missing links...

... Two drunk friends, infant summer;
and sounds of childhood
- the thump of waves with
spray reaching my home.

Terrier Terrain

2011-03-17T00:01:00.000+05:30

Whole of heart; wiry,
busy 'em little ones.

Yours truly, these Terriers,
ready to jump n fetch, heel n roll;
spotted fur-heads - yellow n black;
they sprint for you, a whistle it takes.

Those mushy glides in love,
the slow crawls to work;
flight or fight or the higher life;
barking their way round
the charmed maze here called life.
Loyalty metered to the mile,
deep Italian grunt to match,
it's their world, a busy one.

- Mumbai Fiat Taxis: Now, they are something!

Isabel...

2011-03-13T20:24:00.001+05:30

Resonance, for the bass
in her frequency is mine!
My better half in her smile;
our li'l dreams in her eyes.

Her music, flow set by
the tiny doodles of love
we draw on her cheeks.
Our prize, her laughter,
the ripples in our garden;
the bubbly chirps - they reflect
at the fairy pool yonder,
and return to tickle our nerves,
as the pitch matches;
her voice and our hearts. Isabel!

Tearaway!

2011-03-05T19:12:00.000+05:30

The drop trickling down

an old rut, hidden under
a thick brush and worn-out
leather; a man at large.
Oh, you've grown up;
ready to sin, ready to win.

And this water,
yeah; it's his heart weeping,
for he was still taking a
noon nap after mama's lunch,
when the world did many a Mach.
The sonic boom afterthought,
shook him back to reality;
tears ain't virtual anymore.

Question Our!

2011-03-04T10:22:00.000+05:30

Because the miles are miles;

and the roads are parched;

back-breakers here and there,

the spine prone; baby left to wither

on a traffic island; abandoned;

let the world prey, I pray.

Why these questions?

To be sure of the answers,

One, too many I've heard,

the objective nods and nay

to a query of the weary.

Marry me Pain, dear Pain;

for life; and I'll love you.

Our questions end here!

Oh Boy!

2011-02-27T13:23:00.000+05:30

You will remember the
bad boy, leaning onto the
wall next to your window;
smiling with arms
reaching out for words
to fathom the depth in

your eyes: black and white!

The train, red and bleeding,

may take him out of your town;

believe, it's a journey into your heart,

a li'l base camp for life; forever!

You'll find him by the wall; Oh yeah, you will!

Here she is!

2011-02-25T17:37:00.000+05:30

A band drawn by
the smiling Sun;
shade for a son to
lean onto a white board,
and paint dreams in colour;
lining up the memoirs
with the scented mount breeze,
fresh from her face.

The picture he long hid
within the book closed
just after the high school bliss.
Oh, she's alive, after a midday stroll...

Colour Plus

2011-02-15T20:02:00.000+05:30

Plush orange the flower,

blush orange her smile;
the plot thickening to a
happy brew at sun down!

The working-class Valentines Day begins,
the missing morning rays,
a love beyond reach;
and miles of yarn to
spin a tale or two for
a master and his fancy new.

A friend's wish was answered,
after post-noon blues;
"courier love in an African Stem,
across town to a dame for joy."

Messenger boy turns knight;
chivalry the Iron Horse kind, why not?
Damsel stays by her door;
love reaches with the sunset wind.

Just in time for an evening blush;
orange I saw, the blooming smile,
and a chocolate heart,
smooth as silk!

Pain Homeless

2011-02-08T14:41:00.000+05:30

Homeless in a sea-side flat;
his fate tweaked by a Daily ad;
now, life a daily rut,
a dusk-to-midnight swing
with this fancy babe; it's all on print.
In bold, the headlines shout - HOMELESS!

Why wonder, dear friend yonder;
as he fights you again, one for the road,
the final jabs before lights are out;
for a cruel night awaits his soul,
a cocktail of pain, made warm n smooth
in microwave; digest this - HOMELESS!

Away from love and the lot;
even from his 'six feet' cot
near a market yard; jobless he ain't
but homeless he is, in a sea-side flat!

Edit Cage!

2011-02-03T00:05:00.001+05:30

Dog days are here to stay;
bones, less marrow, are thrown
into their cracked shot glasses
by masters of a trade, younger than
the oldest profession this biz,
but filthy more it sure is.

Whores ’em are noble,
for they barter flesh, dignity;
while these whip wielders
deal in souls and breed zombies
to edit the bones - snarling, biting
in greed, caged near the source!

Nap Dance!

2011-01-31T22:31:00.001+05:30

On the tip of my fingers,
I balanced your smile!

The blurry end of the
probe into your heart
you never saw, you felt;
eyes shut, you danced your way
around the vine within the
garden we've named home.

And your lids shiver with
the vision, triggered
when the naughty one,
in full bloom,
emptied his quiver!

The Peace Pat

2011-01-22T23:04:00.000+05:30

Bliss patted his palm,
in a pink frock with flowered smiles,
from an island beyond a lacquered
picket fence of many.

The arched brow above her jewels
questioned his will to play,
while around they all pray.
Man, he chose to wave and woo
her into those naughty,
tiny steps up the sunny aisle,
for a gentle pat; receive he did,
that sign of peace with meaning.

(I was kept busy during last Sunday's service at Santhome, for the little girl two rows ahead of me found me amusing...)

Love Ethic-uette!

2011-01-15T00:37:00.000+05:30

That wasn't pure nor amour;
oh, the one from the east!
For if love had ethics
and you were in love,
you will never elope with
that stranger I showed you once!

Stranger is life still,
capital bliss for you;
in neatly trimmed winter days,
and on a warmed bed made out
of fallen branches from the
tree of life they once named honour;
in real haste it's down to a stump,
But all's fair, indeed it is!

The Write Key!

2011-01-10T23:04:00.001+05:30

Baby Steps in happy Garten!
Firm, her gentle grip led
me up the magic stairs
to where rivers silver stream
amidst lush green life;
the Eden of Words.

Morn, I knocked for a voice!
It rhymed with the artist's hold
on my sword, the one I swish
at will for bread, love, for sleep;
in awe I froze and
she stepped down, an altar!

It indeed was one, a temple!
Lambs tiny, soft and naughty;
given candy and songs
to nourish 'em into 'solid men'.
Wait; easy she saw through the
smile of a Christmas kid.

You little one of many?
I leaned to my name,
for a kiss, wine and a high.
These jingles for her ears;
a gift for the key
I used to unlock my world.

(An Ode to Yvonne, my first teacher! She used to put me on her lap and hold my hand to guide me through the contours in the copy book. She taught me the alphabets and the many words I use now so liberally to make a living... Yvonne and Uncle Willy live in Canada now and were in Kochi this year to celebrate Christmas with family. The lines were written just after my visit to her place, the old family house in Fort Kochi where I used to run about singing rhymes as a three-year-old...)

Wait Loss!

2011-01-07T22:21:00.000+05:30

I sweat for I foresee the wait;

a forenoon at the deserted

City station for a yellow bloom

and your evergreen smile,

which would take me home to love;

yes, I will stay...

My shadow a fix outside

the glass windows of the coffee hub

where you let me mark the soft spot

I caressed to slowly open

the first window to your heart;

yes, I’m sure to weep...

The pillar by the gate which

you’ll cross, after walking the aisle,

will be my watch tower;

my scope limited by the yards till

the end of the narrow concrete lane;

yes, I can only wait...

Evening Count

2010-12-27T20:53:00.000+05:30

My life remains coloured,
this season by the tired Sun,
who smiles on party mammals
warming up, merry indeed.

But the gold plated evenings
are not for me, never any more!

I was dragged out of this feast
a fine day, when my uncles
were not watching my back;
for I had a beard, and gloves
to fight, but I never could
punch the thug down and
now I sit in pain as
evenings turn to night and boys,
they laugh for they have
a new morn coming.

Alas, I have only tales of loss,
of those numbered pics in paradise!

Toddler's pride

2010-12-17T21:16:00.000+05:30

He did seal the door tight,
before the toddle all high;
groomed n dressed for the
feast - the one he earned
with tears he tried to stop
in vain, even with sunglasses!

His fingers burnt a bit,
but rewarded with a gut full of pride;
for he obeyed a mama
and a dame, he loves 'em both!

Don't go into deeper waters,
his mother had wished him best,
a li'l after the kiss and a
good-luck lesson from his lady afar!

The Clog!

2010-12-11T13:19:00.000+05:30

Oh dear, I ain't fine;
I come to thee
a broken man;
with the love song we
danced once, and its bliss,
lost with the fog rising
from the numbers in my mind;
which help me sweat
out the sins I happily
stuffed into my veins.
But, I do have you,
for here I am in your arms,
panting for your breath
to ease my clog...

Scent Percent Christmas!

2010-12-01T22:33:00.000+05:30

The wise ones float and get swept
into a cone by the shallow winter,
letting the old watchdogs of
this Colonial Fort light
a bonfire to keep the native stings
away from their cubs, near the bay;
but the smoke signals usher in
a time for love…

Glossy ones on the beach path
get eclipsed by late noon;
for the humid Queen glitters
in a mat-finish; her powdered cheeks,
a gift with kisses from the Highland Lord,
whose songs let the bells chime
for the Anglo Choir and their Hallelujah;
it's time to rejoice…

And find joy in the blend from
Desi chefs with foreign rum,
the grains fermented with plum;
sweet enough to make you plump,
but kids, we swarm the baker's pride.
A slow jog and it's hard to miss
the dancers burning Santa, they're high;
a new life! From the ashes it's born.

A time for life with all its charm;
Christmas is here; ah, the infant's scent.

Bass Choir

2010-11-28T21:00:00.000+05:30

Singing with pride, hear ye;
'em gay lot, fresh out of their
flooded flats near that
National Park where deer
cross roads to meet sleepy kids
walking their talk on strings,
stretched to its limits by silly calculus;
while men rush to get warm.

Their choir, led by fat ones a million,
the Bass, who can wait hours for food
and dive deep to stay alive,
then jump up to breathe and make love.

Tonight they hog the lights,
with extra spark from Sopranos,
who we never catch on TV;
the playback singers, feared
for they hum for the ghosts.
The Composer's proud - look
at Her streaks of joy shimmer;
the very tears that made them sing.

Emote Control

2010-11-22T14:45:00.000+05:30

I can't sigh or close my lids,
lest a drop escapes to betray
the pain within the four walls of roses
I find rare pleasures I trust.

Dew out of love would betray my pain,
and the breath from split lips
would lay bare a perpetual thirst.
I can't sing nor can I find peace
through an easy sin against my temple.
For the contract binds me tight;
while she has a knife on my heart,
the world I cherish is the quick ransom!

Child's Play

2010-11-19T22:25:00.000+05:30

See! Led into this flower gorge,
afar I hear the falls and smiles forge,
from the fresh clatter of drops
on seasoned, polished rocks.
The spray tweaked my lips,
and the mist rolled my hips.
Lights! At a middle-school ground,
trees in uniform, a church West bound;
the papal's man rests in the South aisle,
while kids play ball, their tones a Nile.
A granted gift for they're loved,
it came back this noon, I'm wowed.

She! Her voice binds hearts in its charm,
and pulls 'em into a flow so warm.
To the window down the aisle,
where coloured frames bend for a smile.
The portal glues worlds four to one,
as I take that plunge and I won.
Innocence! The trip in speed of light,
through her pitch, on His glory and might.
I sob, then smile and run out wild,
into the field where glory is mild,
and comes packed in a vanilla cone,
laced in soccer n salt in an evergreen zone.

(It was Children’s Day and the service at Santhome last Sunday had a surprise - an innocent voice that took me back… to a playground near the Arabian Sea)

Gift Box

2010-11-14T00:24:00.000+05:30

A box, full to the brim
with dreams; to keep 'em
cute ones, fixed on me, sparkle;
while she turns just
to sigh in my arms before
the ready clinch, the gift.

A box full of jewels, the memoirs;
wine, the cakes baked in love,
in our kitchen. Cooking,
brewing a small crystal
world under a thatched roof
of lily, vine and blue rhyming bells.

A box, the biggest she touched,
full of kisses, her treasure... The rest
would glow from our lips, locked in love;
and around will a garden grow,
nourished by pollen and dew
from our hearts, fertile and full.

Cherish Wish!

2010-11-04T16:41:00.000+05:30

That's the snap I wanna save,
right inside my velvet purse.
Of you, in your moonlit stroll
in that garden with fairy flights.
Your eyes sway left, ah they flicker;
a tango, in sync to the
myriad lights flashing brisk,
within your happy soul,
you're firm and gay near my heart.

A dream for you,
turns a chance for me
to palm that crystal world,
to nourish with cologne,
and breathe away the mob
from your blush marks red;
towards me, an easy bite.
But in my lap you will remain.

Your bed of roses here,
ever so fresh under your curls;
firm in love; this is the snap.
Clicked in a sepia frame,
with fading Neon from worlds beyond
lighting this open yard where
all journeys start. Yeah, the snap
I will cherish all my life!

The Opera!

2010-10-29T22:44:00.000+05:30

A vagabond; I did crave
for that vacuum!

For that magic swish;
and waves, in a mech trance,
rose high, higher... Whiff; gone!
Silence... I could hear my heart!

During that divine buffer
within free-flowing amour,
the heavens opened for the
drenched to get wet again.
Linger it did, the sensual tickle
from the lips of one senorita,
red; fermented in vintage wine,
bottled in blue, in history.

Straight from Alps - the breath
which promised her caress,
but ended in clatter. Reality, nay,
villainy from the concentric hedges in
full bloom with fools of an higher order.
I did leave, a sad man!

For I couldn't let the swell
fill my lungs with life before
the drops trickled to a stop.
And those jokers, they torched
the stage, then cheered
the flames; plaques followed;
love as gift, a just barter for
"alien" love! Now, when did men
become guardians of justice?
Aha! Here guests are Gods.
And today Gods showered Manna
through a Tenor's smile.

Slow Notion

2010-10-26T14:59:00.000+05:30

I have eased the beats
to let the trickle roll
down in a pricking glide,
than skid off my cold
cheeks to join the many
drops from the sky tonight.

I have moved aside to let
the young hearts zoom past,
with lips locked in love,
sucking breath and life out
of each other; li'l do they
know they are three feet under.

Soon to be 'dead men cycling',
down a midnight trail; towards a
late dinner and a bed among
gourmand worms, ready with their
silver; a service, to clean the rot,
off this world; Green Peace!

I have slowed down to let
the grains turn to cancer and
finish me before 'em in-laws
could start pecking at my prone
eyes, withered as the last drops
from the glands turn red.

I have indeed backed down
slow into this dark corner,
letting her knock out
sanity with steady blows,
all under the belt; old man,
I sure had the chin, you were right!

Shallow low...

2010-10-22T23:07:00.000+05:30

I wish I was lost, playing
in that field way below;
breaking shackles, and the
rut from dreams of proletarians
and their bald-headed run
to office each morning.

The dark depressed pitch,
a gift, in a silver platter
by daddy dear to the
bastard, brought up
by pay-roll husbands,
canned milk and man toys.

I could only touch, just;
the manicured grass
and skim a few lines out
of it to feed my manhood.
For I have to leave, to scavenge.
Aye aye, boss I'm hungry!

Nitro Fix!

2010-10-20T22:16:00.000+05:30

Laughing gas; yes, you!
A dear of the grim reapers
of those tiles of bonded lilies,
lined to nourish man.

Why don't you stop
the boost from ye cousin;
the blast, powered by
that NOS trigger down left.

She pressed it this morning!
A burst of pain from
the hyper-active burn of
a solid state fuel.

The chassis shudder, feel it twist,
and screech on well-watered
grey concrete; turn off those valves
or send me your first wife.

The one with the coldest heart!
For a frozen yet silvery bliss;
she will waste my bones,
but she could save the veins.

Marilyn and I!

2010-10-18T19:20:00.000+05:30

The Caress! I felt her dreamy eyes,
a twinkle in the blue wash
at the French window near my heart.
She the one, a Norma Jeane,
framed in her virgin flight,
smiling behind the gloss of
stainless glass. Goodnight,
her whisper a lavender whiff.

Norma! I hushed onto the
mist from her breath on the pane,
before I touched her finger
for a fleeting pulse; life's brewing dear.
Yeah, she let me blot wine
from her parted lips,
naughty; red from love,
black-and-white by birth.

Twelve! her soul opened
in my dream, in a skewed
sequence, one each through
the dozen ports of bliss my
host, the rolling stone,
gifted beside a warm bed
in his penthouse world
of cars, books and pals.

Marilyn! Indeed I cried;
for she faded as the shallow
quick sighs of Cupid turned deep;
a slumber near the queen, whose
knights left her squinting at the
selective lights of a silver world;
and prone to the sedative pains
of that mansion between dunes.

(An Ode to Norma Jeane; a tribute to Marilyn Monroe! Special thanks to my pal Sid for letting me peek into those twelve, strategically placed, time portals.)

Husky Nectar

2010-10-13T13:22:00.000+05:30

These beggars few,

were spared when the rest

were shackled and banished.

These, a class apart from

the forlorn forms, kidnapped from

their home outside the metro stops,

a few days before the burst

of colours from the bellybutton

of a dressed up whore,

now abused by one and all.

The spared souls are back,

on the branded streets;

instincts from a fermented ego

driving them to communal bliss.

And then the boost by a kid,

caught in a time warp after landing

in college for words, then sex,

and smokes, but no love.

And she fills their bowls with

sweet, a bit husky, nectar.

Mist call

2010-10-07T14:50:00.000+05:30

The pistons jest past
the rustic walls and
the old gate which
leads the hungry beyond the
red stones of the Mughals,
and to the red meat and chefs.

The drive turns the
vultures of the hot day
into vampires, who mix
blood with water, before
the chilled gulps, thinning
the flayed nerves further...

... Till that sleepy merchant on the
east wall start shedding light
into the happy hours; the soles stutter,
a slip here and a sway there,
and a surprise! A glide
through mist, an early winter call.

(A typical night out in Delhi after the rigours and figures of Commonwealth reporting)

Voluntary Flicker!

2010-10-06T11:16:00.000+05:30

Ever-crescent her smile,
with a voice which quenches
thirst in measured drops.
She, the gentle one, lighting
the busy alley with a candle;
the voluntary flicker, a couple of yards
from the pigeon holes
where just numbers roost.

(Her smile was what caught my eye - a wary one, this volunteer, stuck in between work and pushy journalists at a Commonwealth Games venue . She manages both though, in her own pace, her own world - a world I only watched from afar...)

The Pain Barrier

2010-09-25T20:11:00.000+05:30

The drop on his relentless wrist
as her bell chimed, the laughter
behind his back, her jests in life
forces the best in him into
doing time within grey cells.
A torture chamber with two
windows to let the flames in,
two again for the blaring horns
and two to let out the stink
of the rot from poison
fed through a fortified watering hole;
sure the heart is in for life.

Fever from the angst boils
that drop, leaving white crystals
of Sodium to burn the blisters,
pushing again the best in him
to cry out to the guards
and the guardian angels,
who are in pain too.
From child birth for one,
while the other's womb bleeds,
not willing to bear his seed.
Barriers built with pain,
keeping agony within Adam's apple.

The cheat is on

2010-09-24T23:45:00.000+05:30

Ah, she walked in smiling;
for a casual peg at noon; with a bag
bulged with new-world pseud and
torn jeans, aye, that's old world charm.
The fall guys lined up fast, chairs,
coffee and then a dinner date.

Ah, the persona slips in frowns;
in an opera grand than Broadway here.
Hundred words her belly's sore
with sin of love; the cheat is on.
Till that day the screening moves
to bed; with the lover of daddy's girl.

Split Orgasm!

2010-09-23T18:44:00.003+05:30

Somehow it all fell into place,

love and that bloody sense

they call belonging;

which pulled you under

that warm blanket one winter

before nourishing with dew next spring.
But somehow it all falls apart,

a heavy heart after that bloody

buffer they call orgasm;

which drains the rights and vows

down that split; as sweat

in a brute sauna of words.

Sick Reel

2010-09-18T12:44:00.000+05:30

A drunk since morning,
sipping from her chalice
of solitude; the gift from
a lover who has left
to account those ledgers
filled with unknown names,
strangers to her and me;
this wine burns my gut.

Before numbing my vein
during her wound trip for friendship,
the reeling head keeping
dreams steady while the
lego crumble all around.
Love life? Sure I'm drunk!