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.

Humanity, Answer This Call!

Mother of six, she
outlived half a dozen lives,
delivering little handfuls of sunshine.

Suckled them into life,
cooing cries into silence,
steadying feet that wobbled,
fixing speech that slurred,
while nurturing inch after inch.

When they found their feet,
they walked away-leaving her
to feel their toothless mouths suckling
as she sat bare-breasted in bed;
The bed her children had made her;
Among stacks of hay and buzzing flies
In the cowshed.

A mother of six left to live out in muck
A life that reared six souls;
Or were they just human moulds?

Humanity, answer this call
Don’t be deaf to your mother of six.
Lend her a hand, clothe her;
NO, just hug her close
And whisper I love you!

Where Is My Angel?

As I lay, bound to my easy chair
by threads of rain, too blind;
unable to measure the fullness
of the melting personality glass

I look out of my glass jar
Seamless boundaries are what I see.
Maybe it’s a transparent illusion,
(metaphor: a mirage for the truly thirsty!)
willing to break at the pressure of will.

Continents, dreams, jobs, possibilities-
all hanging by invisible attachments.
Bearings or nooses?
I am too confused to decide.

Glass should be shattered, cataract treated-
Even if only to injure or see.
This life is but one and this time-
I’ll dress up as my own angel.

My Morning

You dawned on my horizon
following my darkest hour;
your simple smile lit up my face too
as you peacefully cleared up my sky

Swept away the darkness,
planted those happy clouds,
beckoned chirpy birds,
all with your wisened calm.

I would call you my sun
but where I come from,
the sun isn’t always kind;
too hot at times and unforgiving.

You are my morning
A pleasant time for fresh starts.


Step, a little step;
in a million little steps,
I walked away from home.

Home, now a memory
A vague smell of distant rain
Dark wooden rooms and blooming flowers
Lose perspective in black and white
That airbrushed perfection
Stinks of nostalgia on the breath analyser.

It’s now a drunken darkness
of memories and musings
Consuming and numbing-
Shapeless mind freezes, imagining home.
Legs liquid, point home.

Shouldn’t this be home?
How do I start my getaway?
What am I fleeing?

I am so far away from home
yet it shimmers brilliant
in the streets of my mind;
Peace smiles with genuine recognition

My mind map: reality moulds
a bread trail of it;
Playing games with my faint trace
of smells, looks, words, jokes.

How did I get this far from home?
Will I find my way back?

In Paradise, By Her Side

As her lips form my name, calling out to me through the thick darkness of my sleep, I sense her doting tenor.

I would, even if I were dead.

As she comes close and wedges herself perfectly into the nick of my curled up self, I babble random nothings that she alone can decipher. I snuggle closer, wrapping my warmth around her in search of hers. Smiling that compassionate smile, she breaths in my scent, gently kissing me back to silence. There I stay in that supremely pleasurable lull between wakefulness and sleep, listening to her call me ridiculous endearments. She opens out my left palm and kisses it awake narrating for the millionth time how my soft palm was what she loved the most about me when she saw me first.

Even as I realise that I am smiling a peaceful, sleepy smile at being admired I can feel myself shift to accommodate her. As she settles down, gently gliding her right arm under my neck, her body evolving effortlessly to match my posture, I burrow into her bosom searching feverishly for the safety of a long-lost innocence. As we lay there in the clinging wraps of the early morning, all I know is her illimitable love.

As I savour in the knowledge of being truly loved, I wish to be framed for eternity in this moment, a moment of true happiness, a daily moment of being woken up by Amma.