Do all heart,
in between puffing up
and crashing down, commune
with loneliness till it summons that fear;
that one that calls desperately
to intimacy;
love me?

You should

in the arms of silence.
You who chase,
till boredom overwhelms
the sun, winds and
running waters through shadows
of yesterday.




…and then there was
no law, No judge,
no fight, no fractures,
no elections, no leaders,
no restriction, no bondages,
no promises, no failure,
no losers, no winners,
no debt, no loans,
no failures, no exams,
no no, no yes

*starts singing*
. . .is this fantasy or delusion

Both hands

They each demand both hands
I have two hands
They each demand both hands
I have two hands
They each demand both hands
I have [sadly], two hands
They each demand both [my] hands
I only have two hands
They each demand both of my hands

I sat transfixed
at my dangling conscience
and desire

They each demand both [my] hands
I [sadly] have, only two hands


never seemed interesting.
be they windy, spiral, cold, rugged,
steep, colourful. They always left me
winded, gasping for a window back into
existence as I gulped more air. The uneven ones felt like
a continuous prank by a builder on my desire for
predictability. I never really liked staircases.
Even when pop culture encouraged me
to imagine them with love gliding
down their descent. I still didn’t
like them.

Most especially
because I just tripped
over one.

never seemed interesting.
Now you climb down. Like tasks
conquered, you rejoice after each step.
The way you let your weight, find spread
over the edges, easing your body gently, and
letting your knees catch you. Each drop is followed
by a gaze at me. I wonder if you wonder if I am there.
I am.
I am amused at your tenacity. Staircases never
seemed interesting. Especially after I
tripped. You have brought it back.
The fascination. Fascination for
Staircases. I love watching
you conquer them. One
step after the other.
My little princess.

That sort

You know
that warmth that guides
the bubbling sensation, which rises
in the heart that finds joy, garnished in
hair; bright and golden, shirt; white like laughs,
jeans; blue as oceans in rest, shoes like clouds,
smile; like perfection. That savory joy,
disguised as you, my dear friend,
has found me.

[smiling uncontrollably]

Rejection is easier

She doesn’t believe me
when I say she is amazing:
strength hiding behind
beauty and tenacity
even gods

I do not believe her
when she says I am clever:
an interesting conundrum
of ideas, laughs and
surprises, even
day envies

We both reject
the colorful pictures of
our existence. I guess embracing
the dark illusion of nothingness
is easier than the possibility
of sunrise.

[insanity is easier]


I want to go somewhere where no one has ever been.
Or where no one will ever go.
again. Somewhere
where when tomorrow
eventually skips it plans, my footprint
will, in its peace, remain forever. Un-brushed

[Dreams of the adventurer]

The inner dialogue of the assured

We have stood too long enough
on this ground where our ankles
sink. Even our, now shaky knees,
are no longer visible.
They have burrowed their vision
in sand filled pits where cool
is the calm. We now wage war against
sunlight from this night. Even the gentle wind
finds disputes when they peek.

The longer we stand, the
further we travel. Into
the depths of my conviction.

I see light beneath our knees:
bright as the morning of wisdom.
I see the bright light, on the crust
of our ankles. Trapped in the caking
of the earth. Leading us to firm standing.

Now discord: gentle,
finds us. We shall not be moved.
For we have stood here
for too long.