Old Friends Are Young Friends

Waved down an auto
negotiated the fare;
Tuk-tuk it sped
With us in its rear.

Skipping over potholes
rocking us snug;
Delusional in its abilities
it raced speeding bugs.

Hopping across lanes and
scampering against one ways;
We toured the little city
forgetting our morose weekdays.

Years had passed;
Changes were many
Some of us even
had some pennies.

We three sat talking;
Three we sat mum.
Moronic trio in a blast of
our selves from the past!

I Dwell In Possibility

I dwell in Possibility–
A fairer House than Prose–
More numerous of Windows–
Superior–for Doors–

Of Chambers as the Cedars–
Impregnable of Eye–
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky–

Of Visitors–the fairest–
For Occupation–This–
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise–

-Emily Dickinson

Delusion Angel From Before Sunrise

Daydream delusion,
Limousine eyelash,
Oh, baby with your pretty face,
Drop a tear in my wineglass,
Look at those big eyes,
See what you mean to me,
Sweet cakes and milkshakes,
I am a delusioned angel,
I am a fantasy parade,
I want you to know what I think,
Don’t want you to guess anymore,
You have no idea where I came from,
We have no idea where we’re going,
Launched in life,
Like branches in the river,
Flowing downstream,
Caught in the current,
I’ll carry you, you’ll carry me,
That’s how it could be,
Don’t you know me?
Don’t you know me by now?

My Many Aborted Babies

Thoughts hit me in a blinding flash
Of sublime pleasure of knowing it all
In the store room measuring out flour
In the bus looking out of the window

Beautifully strung words strangle
Stunning, choking, numbing
Mind like a mirage beckons
To that elusive paradise

Paralysing in its intensity,
taunting lingers momentary.
Softening into oblivion like suds
Gifting a mélange of glee and gloom

A mesmerising drama of conception
and annihilation;
played out for me by me.
They are my many aborted babies.

I’ve never known bliss
I’ve never known that that was it
But in the numbered moments of reminiscence
I know that this had to be it.

The Hen Story

Not to worry dear
cheer is near.
Pick up a pen and
draw out a hen.

Colour her yellow to
make her mellow.
She is just a hen so
she couldn’t fight men

If she is red
she will cause dread.
Do as you are told or
you won’t live to turn old.

Sure they stared
Both pen and men paired.
Tell them Ben—
what colour is your hen?

Out she came,
glad and game,
purple and pink
no time to blink.

Think, think.

Queer was Ben’s hen
what say the men and the pen?

The Name Is Shadow

Seated in the mighty throne
This sun, singularly potent like the other
Giving and taking lives at His will
Fortune and Prosperity mere fair weather friends.

Brave were his choices;
He acknowledged loneliness
Accepted his part of
being understood a tyrant
And played it to perfection.

Alone the emperor performed
In that supreme stage of power
Lone in his decisions which lurked
Faceless and terrible, eluding spotlights.

When clouds of grey showed themselves
He rose-regal and elegant-off his throne
Among the silence that rained down like silk
With his only aide, the name was Shadow.

Smiling Violets

Smoke deludes the terrace around me
Wish I could be simple again
Like Mario in Il Postino
Wish I could write like Neruda

Violets peep into my horizon
Smiling simply; peaceful
Beckoning the day
Wish I could smile back as simply

But work weighs me down
Insensitve music confuses me
White patches in my head
All the time, pointless

Smiling violets
How I wish I could smile back
Simply, happily at you
Like I could a while ago.

It’s a grown up feeling
I hate the nonchalance
Impassionate adulthood
Why blame a phase
This is who I have become.

Warlord Of My Freethinking Club

‘Warlord of my freethinking club’,
I dreamt of you again-
snuggled against the rain-
Of unkissed kisses, unbared bearings.

Possessive, Complication meows miffed;
denied entry into my dream,
but I’ve never cared for cats.

Here you become an easy lover
simple, smiling and spirited.
In comfortable company
our tact is quick to join the cat.
Perfect for kissed kisses, bared bearings.

Dreamer wakes myself up
longing for a lungful of reality.
You were a mean moody mess
and I’ve loved all versions of the
warlord of my freethinking club.

Unlike the sycophant version loyalists.


When I fell from the sky
Air took out Thought with a vengeance.

When she recovered
I was floating.
Ground, an unreal obstacle
Impossibly far like death seems to youth
Spread limbs scare my scream away
And weightless, stretch-
my moments of uncomplication,
As life unties its knots with adrenalin.

I live in that moment
As a heart that beats
An absolute, a perfection
Free of baggage I glide;
To the tune of the earth called Wind.