Exercise

Willing me 2 write,

I find only nail marks

on life around;

epidermal tissue,

a little blood, n a barbed

heart r feeble subjects,

more so wen farce n

plastic smiles r all u see,

want 2 see…the sham

of it all leaves me

grimacing, flinching

at my own consenting

shallowness.

Sliced

the dance of the sun n  clouds

is far from pretty…

I am blinded by this garishness…

the shimmer and glitz.

The token drizzle

but kindles heat

n I am left only

wid blurred vision   

n clenched fists

The Call

There’s a stranger                          rorrim eht nI

You’re taller:                                   regnartS

Fathomless                                   degnahC

                   Focused                                   dessessoP                     

                Scary,                                      teiuQ                 

   
Narcissus calling,      beckoning:        tnereffid gniklaW

                                         

        You've Hypnotised flesruoY

                                                   

      The new calls -the old             you’re grappling with     
          U try breakin’ free             words tumble out             
            
                  SNAP OUT                    
           
NOW 
         
Did You?

 

                             

Switched Baggage

 On the road

 from eternity to eternity

 we meet and share

 what we’ve seen.

 Eventually,

 we take different turns…

 down my road,

 I see the difference:

 I’m carrying a bit of you

 for the part of me

 I left behind

 with you.

Residue

Inovercrowdedviolatedspaces

I think of questions

I don’t want answered:

about vIoLaTioN and

I   N   T   R   U   S   I   O   N

Strangers prying and laughing

Pretending to know

                  Trying to  R

                                  A

                                  T

                                  I

                                  O

                                  N

                                  A

                                   L

                                   I

                                  S

                                   E   I give up.

                                                        Surrender

                   to the voice within…

                   it’s all I’m capable of

                   amidst this                          

                                                    n                                  

                                            e              a

                                                    m

                                             s      d       s

Old Spaces

   

If

  u can

 read

  between

   these lines

n

    'round them,

    u will know

     jus how much

   remains

   unsaid.

Retrospect

I kno not the difference

(anymore)

I wonder wat

Fidelity, Morality and

Truthfulness are. Ideals.

I broke them all 

much too soon

wen I’d imagined

they’d stay for eternity.

I wonder if

ideals exist at all

I’ve come to think 

they’re only hypothetical

where does that leave you?

minus ideals, minus the one

only sufficient first?

enough was for then…

the willingness and un-guardedness

have gone. In their place

now stands a hardened ,

Calculating Conditionality.

U only know wat u want

Wen u know wat u r…

Wat u ha ha ha

Only an aborted mind remains.

Desperado

this tree outside my window…

it shed its leaves,

sprouted green-brown ones

b4 I fished out my camera;

such a short autumn!

At nite, they throw

patterns on my walls,

these leaves caged by

window bars, plastered

charcoal grey on pale yellow.

I fall asleep amidst these reflections...

My room is no cavern,

nor I a prisoner.

I am in love

with these caged shadow-leaves,

but long more for those

bare branches: uncaptured, evasive, shortlived.

Wat fruit will I pluck

off bare trees…

n wat paper boats will I set sail

on a dry river bed?

I like d tree n d river bed.

That’s all. But,

wen winter’s gone

n leaves sprout,

n rains bring a trickle,

I recall only bared beauty.  

Y Poems

b/coz d art of poetry
allows u more room
2 decorate n redecorate
d spaces in between;
I give u - not just words
in black n white, but
make a gift of my room
2 color it d way u’d like it,
my skeletons 2 flesh out
d way u see fit;
n even if it’s not
d red bandana
n kohl eyes I hav in mind,
ur pink walls bcome ur own
amidst my airiness.
Wat’s mine in my head
is more urs in ur hand.
Nothin altruistic abt it tho...
I leav u 2 connect d dots
that is y i love poetry!

incognito

d winds nip smoke off my face
burnin' my tongue, lightin a parched throat
n i wonder...
how do i tell u
i crave a cold mattress
on d floor by d wall

my skin sings n i cry
empty streets, survey one-eyed lamps
at tree corners in d dark;
i crave this emptiness
while u deny wat i kno

in my red red bones.