A Gaze

Autumn leaves
fall
and turns the sky
Orange.

A Dream

Look !
Feel !
Hear!
Taste !
Love !
Sing !
Run !
run for your life,
freed from everything
that is torn.
Do not look back
just fly free.

The Last Song

A rainy day in my soul,
bleak is the sky of my life
now laid bare.
I walk the uncharted path
of the love that never was.
Birds, crickets, they all sing
to the music I hear all alone
in this tower of doom.
And I cling to this weary soul
like its the last song of hope.
A thousand goodbyes to all those
they have touched my being.

Postcards from Death

So we go for a walk around this strange Crazy city alone 

with my bottle of water to quench the rising anger

and get a whiff of that nameless elusive mysticism, 

street-side food and the looming sadness 

from generations of History-making.

Now there are only buildings everywhere.

The trees don't move, the flowers are fake 

and the rivers have gone dry.

And then there are those 

who are getting fatter by the day 

and sexy by the night, 

never once thinking that words 

fail to convey what they are trying to say.

Eating away in nameless places 

where prices rise,

the quantity falls, and

quality fails to satisfy 

that ancient symptom called hunger, 

wearing clothes in Fashion weeks every week, 

while the farmers die,

their families cry with the Media, 

left to dry,

watching trash and inspired 

by everything they see, say and do. 

Like mosquitoes, they all look 

and act the same, 

torn by their own inner insecurities.

Down there in the corner of that alley,
a little girl weeps
for she has no Mother
a Prostitute in the dark alley of this city
working hard to keep her small family from tearing apart,
and that small orphan prays to God
for a Mother and a Father every day, and he is Silent,
and that beggar sits like a lost wistful Child
who studied till Standard V,
 and can understand
what they are trying to imply
when they throw coins at his old aged tin bowl.

Intoxicated, I listen to music
that tries to make sense as I
drown myself in momentary tears
to find myself turn into a giant beetle,
who can't move anymore, but turn sideways and fall, to meet

Kafka,

a little dreamer I know
who I met on the shore where we built castles
and laughed and spoke about times that left us
and uttered blasphemy, 'Good riddance devil, good riddance!".
Speak now or suffer or suffer and yet speak of the lies that
when injected inside us grows and glows like pride,
burping out in spasms, in moments of hatred,
making you look hideous, and your teeth-
they are crooked while others say they are beautiful, perfect.
While you cheat on your lover, and romp around naked,
you call a whore and tell her she's a whore,
and then go out covered in rich furs with a bottle of wine,
and dine in that expensive hotel,
hoping to divorce your husband
who loves you and you can't understand his language.
And when night creeps in,
you leave your moral sins in your money
to go back to a cheap motel
to make love again and again till he tires out
and calls it quits, leaving you with a wounded ego.

Tell me,
will you kill yourself with your pistol that has only one bullet, meant to kill you and you alone?
for your death will bring a happy end to a sad beginning, and none will weep.
And did I tell you of those crazy nights, filled with those crazy visions when my pen and your gun
made love like a failed marriage?

Of All That Happened

And so, you thought I was friendly
and we shook hands.
Beneath that smile
there lurked those sharp eyes
that could judge
the whys and the wheres
the hows and the whens.
But little could you know
little would you ever know
the simplicity in simple joys.
I spoke of silence
and you thought of arrogance.
Then we parted ways
only to meet again
in some distant time
when you seemed less happier
and me, still a Child.
We spoke for a while
the whys, the wheres
the hows and the whens.
And then we shook our hands
for the last time.
I was gone, never to return
for I was a Pirate,
and you, the wise Philosopher.