The Hatchback of Notre-Dame

As I reached
the climax,
as the cadence of
my sonnet picked up
for the final yards,
I could see the

insignificant cabinet ministers, 
honking and coercing
their hatchbacks to work; 
in sorry solitude, 
moored in sombre delusions, 
secluded from the love
only an early morning
spring sun shares.

Hunched over a

wheel of less fortune,

towards Notre-Dame,

from Tuglak's ruins,

towards false promises...

The forgotten

ugly bastards

of a Millenium City.

Pic: s13.zetaboards.com

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,

concentric.

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

 

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!

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