So, this happened yesterday. And realizations have been hounding me ever since.

Evidence Lacking Instances

There are birds on the chandeliers over my head
Sunlight lingering on artfully arranged parapets
Faintly comforting clink and clatter in a background now all-too familiar
The beating wings now a thing of reality and not a shard of poetic fiction
Reflections on mirroring panes and the strangers on the other side
Even the persistent flies irritating my coffee are a thing worth mentioning
Crumbs and crumpled paper napkins the only evidence of a hunger extinguished
But there is no proof I can provide to prove
That the wandering ghost has been chased away
Actualized into a moment of nonfiction and pure clarity

Triangulating a Destination

One will cross oceans
One will overcome mountains
And I’ll travel a few hundred miles
All backpacking with a hope
That our unplanned plans aren’t soiled
By a fate that beguiles a fast approaching
And somewhat-uncertain time

One will haul dust in the pores
That have breathed in more stench and teargas than clean air
The dust of a nation rife with turmoil
Of a culture both buried and restructured
By the wrong hands for self-serving intentions
A land so beautiful it’s too proud to grant redemption
To the ones tearing it down

One will uproot the forests and barriers
Lying in the shadows of the Himalayas
Sweat-soaked from the clouds that wait in line to pour
He boasts and groans of his state being the “wettest place on earth”
A few dozen inappropriate jokes come along the statement
The fountain of wisdom will show up crammed
With more facts on mythos than any Google search could ever drum up

And I, I’ll try to pack the humid air of my land
In the frizziness of my jam-packed mane of ideas
The riverine sand and stacks of doodles featuring us 3
Images we’re together in but not quite and not yet
A destination we’re triangulating towards
A meet I’ll blister my feet for, and if need be;
I’ll hitchhike with spicy food to wherever my two stars are

And we’re tragicomic triangles as we call ourselves
The mountain-forest spirit, the equilateral of all things equal
The ocean-crosser, we impose on him the title of balance, isosceles
And I, scalene, the unconventional weirdo
We edge our corners, whetting them for the nearing strikes of wits and humour
The destination we seek is not a place but a moment in our lives

The moment of an image, really, truly… Shared together.


She was a sun-kissed catastrophe
Sauntering about abandoned roads
Heels smothered into sharp confinement
Her drunken mirth echoing off the aging leaves

She spun spinning the world with her
A ringlet of foliage burning and blurring
Meshing the heat of desire with an emerald lust
And the world blended into her formless mould

The watchful gaze of a swirling sun
Braided her existence into a dusty vertigo
This was no one’s land and she was no one’s woman
She belonged to the sun’s fire and the earth’s bed of grass

Stumbling through russet groves of hazel limbs
A sanguine vista splaying the last of its fierce affections
Under the emerging stars she collapses by a winding creek
As nightfall struggled to numb the warmth blanketing her sleep

Sunken Ships and Yawning Depths

Help! I’m drowning
Trying to keep my head out of water
As tentacular expectations wrap around my feet
Sucking the marrow of my hopes dry
Help, I’m falling
Into the depth of an ocean
That shouldn’t exist inside my exhausted ribs
Help, I’m being tugged
By sharks shredding the remnants of my will
And I have not a moment to spare
For the verses raging to rip out of my throat
In a gurgled scream
How do you escape the azure you are trapped in
When there are no walls to break out of?
A sunken ship, an empty-veined vessel
The depths call to me
Do I let the water in?
Blurs of light wink out where hope once lived
An ankle that misses the silver gifted by a tender hand
A chest now too sob-tired to breathe
A loosened braid of attempts at ‘keeping it together’
The anatomy of a well-built mind too cleaved to remain stitched
And I drift submerged
In the mortal opacity of this turquoise space
Stone-cold, bone-cold, there is a nakedness in drowning
It engulfs every inch of flesh and soul
Every hateful, lovable, and forgettable part perishing at its touch
How foolish it always is to think of ourselves as impenetrable forces of will
Even mountains are raw material when waves go sculpting
And I’m merely someone who almost drowned as a child in a 4 ft pool
It tasted my fear then, it calls to me now
The depthless depths yawning far below, exposing its blackened maw
Sound is a fading pulse and clarity is stripped of illusions
Every sphere of breath having made its escape
I am now one with the ocean
And I am too imbued with this sacred quietude
To recall the phenomena called fear
To remember the clangour of hollowness
For the formerly sunken ship and empty-veined vessel
I am just too aflush, with undiluted peace

As Moments Build

Staring at black keys
Blinking lights dot the darkness
Back against a lightening square
Housing silhouetted rectangles

A mattress of discomfort to sow
Forgotten seeds of unanswered prayers
Strumming chords of discord grow
Notes to enchant the thunder

A new day heralding the end of an era
Hours ticking past to the beginning of another
Cracked stones scrunching underfoot
Laying tiles for a new path

Summertime Symphony

Summertime symphony wreathing our breaths
As tidal tantrums wash over us in a heavenly sigh
Grains of anticipation arguing the chilled arrival
An array of castles collapse freckling the seaside

Standing sentry on a night of summerly submission
Bracing against unfazed unions of internal hailstorms
Whirlwinds of brine beckoning the gliding feathers
As starlit canopies caress a horizon of gilded yawns

Beware of the Toxic

I’ve known too many black widows and lions jacketed in fleece
To let the reluctant venom of hesitant attachment sink its teeth up to my knees
I’ve known too many troupes of troubadours and marionettes of every kind
To not instinctively reach for a thread, a chain, any strings attached behind

So heed me well and beware;

Of the friend-faced siren, in velvet skirts like your mother had sewn
Beware, the mirror-collector, the false reflections more intoxicating than his cloying perfume
Moreover, beware of the eager witch, prancing along to glean all you’ve ever known
Her glittering nails vying to claim every unique working you’ve built and  grown

Earth to my Mars

There’s a song called ‘Mars’
It reminds me of my family
It’s a song about the shattering reality of youth lost to wars

And it reminds me of my family
I can jot down points pointing how and why
I assign the meanings to it that I do

There’s a song called ‘Mars’
And it’s a rarity on my playlist
It’s a song I don’t talk about
Much like my personal life

Verses ring in my mind
My interpretation simultaneously playing beside it
The audio to two different movies in the darkened theatre of my mind
The tune and words everyone hears
But a story, a movie  only I can see

There’s song called ‘Mars’
And it breaks every part of me
It awakens the forgotten selves
I so conveniently forget about

There’s a song called ‘Mars’
That echoes in the Martian land of broken dreams
Burying me in the ashes of my stars

There is a song that makes me painfully aware
It speaks to me in the unspoken language of pain

This song that buries me in my stars
This song that laments the graves in my heart
This song, is the dirt and gravity
It is the Earth to my Mars




*this song has many interpretations other than the obvious “..youth lost to wars” that I’ve obviously mentioned.