Dilemma
I am scared
Of changes that wash away old rains
I am scared of not wishing to relive them again
I am scared that I may perchance amend,
With fuzzy words that others may lend.

Sometimes I would rather sail.
Sometimes I would rather fail
Than having to let go.

But then

I am scared
Of my riddle and sieve
I am scared that I wont retrieve
Few mismatches and fallacies
That shape love’s delicacies


Sometimes I would rather break,
Sometimes I would rather shake
Than be in my placid comfort

I look out of my window and see the world shrouded in mystery. The sun screens himself, as he majestically lets the clouds in. The outside looks like a painting by an artist who has just fallen in love. It has the hue of a lover, like the eyes that glorify the mundanely vivid world.
The faint screeching of the cars and the sound of the horns can be heard as the rest of the world goes about their business. But there is still the paroxysm of light as it enters us, filters through our window with the millions of dust particles looking for a place to reconcile ….. .



I had felt like this one day, many days back..on a cloudy day….

Now, since many days, I have not felt the same

I think about my dreams.
Some coloured faces beneath the sheet…
There’s no place to escape,
Once you are inside….
I freeze, I melt, I run, I hide
The doors never unlock for me
There’s no place u can escape to
Once you are in your dreams

But then often I see the light,
The smile of a child, the smell of the ocean…
And I wake up at a distance.

Am I still there?
And I walk down that same road,
Where I once went searching for you,
Or a certainty.
I had escaped from me into another trap,

It clears as morning comes..
The mist rises into my eyes.
Which was real?
And oblivion waits for me.

Before the day slips off the clock,
My soul leaves me in my space...
Sitting alone, staring at the sun, melting down my window pane.
In smiles so scanty, and yet teasing…
I know it goes away, sometimes for days
I do not dare go with her
Through paths crossed and paths shunned
I come back empty handed.
As always,
Failing to slake her choice of freedom.

Its better, this way then,
Let her come back one day
Through the reasonless blinds of the skies..

We are all alone,
With our pride and hope,
A few lost souls we that we cling on to
And we share the world with sleepless dreams
Though we slip and fall, through each other,
The abyss waits, in silence

II won’t write about you.
It may be winter again, unsettled still
…A long way before she finally gives her prounciamento.
But this time I won’t write about you.


I am searching for a panacea..
I am sure I can find one…
As I walk the varicoloured streets
Spray painted stories,
yet formless, on broken walls.

There is still a life..
There are still smiles…
Levity, chords, and a few known songs.
They slowly land at my doorstep..
With the morning papers..
I read, and yet wait for the
End to my favourite story.

spaces i own

I love the nameless streets left on their own…
Those corners with strange angles jutting out of nowhere...
Unfitting my sense of mathematics.
They always let me be the main character, away from the blare, where legion of lost souls collide with each other…
Here sometimes the ignorance of the municipality is bliss. For once, civilization can wait….!!!
the lamp posts flicker and go out..
There are cars parked in the dark, small balconies with clothes hanging in the line, and one can for once, ignore the ordinariness of it!
And somewhere here, I remember a lost friend.
A page from my favourite book...
Or the words of a song befitting…


Here, perhaps, you can get time for yourself. Here, perhaps, the others can wait.
And here, undeniably I can see myself. All that is mist or all that is trenchant!!
I know now, a thousand nights ago, I had dreams.I know now, after thousand such nights , I still have dreams…..

For here is where they take shapes. Die. Live. Fly.
Who will reckon them?
Who will make them alive..
Darkness, she often gives me light.

THE VITAL PAUSE……………….

There's an easy way of closing the hours
Without care for the incurved lines
It has become strangely forgetful,
Time worn maybe.
A victim of our whims .And undesired suppressions.
It often charmed unreason
And thrilled in small abundance
But alas! Its forlorn now
Quite convoluted, it sighs.
Maybe lost in the labyrinth ofThe yellowed leaves….....
It says we don't have time!!!!

To smear our palms in paint
Often in the colour of the setting sun…..
Or dance without enough room
But enough space for grace

Watch the slow autumn come and go
and still not know when the days condensed…
Or search between the pages
For the dried flowers hidden Or crushed beyond reason.…

A testimony to our wings
Once spread far away..

To all these
And many more moments
Hidden in the cracks of Our half said stories…
Why do we need an author's clarity?
When simplicity, secretly pines for attention.?
For our climax,
And that happy ending,
Often abrupt or well thought,
We just need to pause!!