Thursday, June 4, 2015


The first winds of monsoon glide,
Stirring a storm, of birds affright.

Memories fade away;
On the walls, a shadow play of the last rays.

The sun shall set today,
Goodbyes to an aunt, who will lose her way.

The dogs howler at people long dead,
The darkness gnaws, while waxy eyes melt.

I am but a child, still,
In despair, I cry shrill.

The pillars of old are cold,
They whisper fates foretold.

There within it lies,
Secretive little muffled cries.

It grows, as if in a womb,
Bigger and bigger it looms.

I beg it to leave,
Offer it nectar through a sieve.

All it does is just live,
Swallowing every last of my will.

I sway in faux elan,
Tracing the forgotten Orion.

I let it be,
Hopefully it will consume me.


Wednesday, April 22, 2015


A never ending summer,
And the light whitewashes life
In that deep impersonal tinge,
Of new government buildings
And cold antiseptic smelling hospital rooms.

Dawn seems a dread,
And is best not seen, but slept through.
So what if the sun rises in glory,
All that it brings is sweat and stink,
And the aircon. in calculating rattle keeps you alive.

Your insides give up and whither,
Trying to prod it alive,
Is like stirring a stained teacup of forgotten souls-
Is there anything in there,
And do you really believe in all that, anyway?

Time is a blur,
Days move like clockwork,
And no one protests- everyone forgets
Their own cause, and would swing sides
For a glass of seasoned tangy buttermilk.

But people fight- mindlessly.
They make mistakes, and more
To cover up those, And even more
To cover it all, and blame the mosquitoes,
Power cut, and their great grand uncle
For marrying, having a child and not leaving an inheritance.

At some point, you give up-
All that is too confusing. When will the rains come?
They do-
Summer showers are a free test drive of a luxury car-
You wish, you yearn, you feel, but you just can't.

Love moves like those clouds-
And you try to clutch at the vapours
Or be enticed by false petrichor,
But what's the point of a day or two?

Summer, seemingly endless and unforgiving-
Did someone steal its chocolates in first grade
Or cheat it of an inheritance?

Nothing makes it better;
Just the distant dream of the monsoons,
Now linger.

Monday, February 23, 2015


An oblique sky, forced and contrived,
Between painted walls and a ceiling too low.

What you see is not all there is,
And the world at large, looms with gloom;
A fostered yearning for the dazzle and macabre,
The dark side, of puppets' eyes and shadows.

A blur, a despotic tableau,
Of shifting grounds and broken hills,
Of houses upon lakes, roadkill on highways,
And humans, saddled in cemented brace.

Guilt and fear hang like a noose,
Swaying and swayed by summer winds,
Waiting for the prey to step outside,
With a push to squeeze the gush out of life.

To appease,

The innate need to find a path,
That which can give and fulfill,
All that you ever craved,
That grew with you; deprived.

A strange mirage of virtues
Dangles at the places they pray,
And in sins they find a meaning,
To gift away lies and claim grace.


If you don't believe,
You may die. Else die trying.


Wednesday, December 17, 2014


There is nothing to be said,
So we shall remain quiet.

The horror shall never truly sink it,
For those who know are dead. 

We helpless masochist voyeurs,
Shall forever suffer and endure,
As if this is a weighed virtue. 

If only the memory would fail,
And I wouldn't know myself.

Lies, and hope. 
What's tomorrow worth today? 

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Everything is to be forgotten

On a melancholy morrow,
It dawns upon the painted houses
And stray streets, as a weak reverie
Does on tiny mountain streams.

Words are shred, and the eyelids droop,
As the spell catches on much like a cold.
A fear slices the strained muscles to give away,
That hope of better, of the best,
As you dreamt when you were a child, no less.

And they say grow up, and you try,
But there is that you, who just won't be tied.
He seeks, he craves, lead by instincts
Much older, and warmer to the human heart,
Of spirits not bottled up or stored away
In an abandoned memory box.

There is nowhere to hide, and like
A rat you lay trapped, and the sticks prod
If you do stay in abandon- they want a race,
A race down a stickler path,
Apt-suited for those of cliches,
A trope, a tribe, tremulous snipes,
Whose currency makes home a house
Of packed cards- and all else gambled apart.

You witness, you bear,
The tides of alias faith,
And those of a kind, massacre,
Debase, while those of perseverance
Struggle against supposed fates.

But, all is of man, and he is of the worlds;
The verses is all there is as solace.
The rivers shall shred the hills,
And humanity shall prevail,
Not as the fittest or the frail,
But as fossils of its own image.

Memory is short,
While the world is infinite,
The paths transient,
And everything is to be forgotten.

The light shines the brightest

Friday, October 10, 2014

Everything will be alright

There is a certain morning when you wake up,
And everything seems to go astray.
And suddenly, you can't face the world,
You can't remain unfazed. You can't
Look yourself in the mirror,
You can't look at others in the eye,
And then the only thing that seems right,
Is to let go,

To jump,
To slash,
To burn,
To drown,
To drink,
To hang,

An enticing release, a muffled goodbye,
To the world which hurts, a world which hates.

Don't. I ask you friend, not to do that.
Not because it is easy, or that would be cowardly,
But because you are a fighter who has lived till today.
We need you to solider on, to battle another day,
For we would miss your passion and your drive,
In us we find the courage to go on, in your smile.

Don't let the world tell you what is right,
Or wrong for that matter- you have a choice,
You have a right, to live life your way.

Don't hurt yourself,  for you are better
Than that. You are a battler, you are a fighter,
But more importantly you are alive,
And life is what you choose it to be.
There is no shame, there is no wrong,
Most importantly, there is no need to belong.
Forget those words, forget the smite,
Just hold on, soon everything will be alright.      

Written for World Heath Day. See @iCALLhelpline for more on suicide prevention. 

Monday, August 18, 2014

The long road ahead

When all you have is the long road ahead,
Not too high, not too fast,
Don't stop pedaling or rush afar.

Look around to see where you have come,
This far and far away from the places,
Yonder dark with mirthless nights,
Past those shadows, affright.

The endless search, at times maleficent,
At time, as welt as borrowed clocks-
Ticking away till you know nothing more,
Till you feel nothing else,
Till the lamp is lit, to rest.

What you don't want
Is all you will ever know*,
So free yourself to set out and go,
Beyond yourself into limits unknown.

The unwritten is more and more,
Whilst the word is passed on as lore;
There is no right, nor wrong,
Just you, and the way you belong.

The light shines the brightest

*a piece of advice from @mumbaicentral which I have found very useful of late.

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Ambiguous hope


It isn't merely the grotesque shadows of early morning,
Or the Chennai sun's lambast,
But the daring plunge into fear's faces,
For the sake of it,
For the sake of it.


Words seem like stale food
Which even the crows abandon.
Thoughts seem like nefarious strangers
Enticing children with drugged chocolates.

And then there is a sickly deadwood,
A prison within, letting go of nothing,
Holding onto rot, like the Koovam.


But this is Madras,
And you wish to meet strangers,
Who would in rile litany over honking,
Talk philosophy and laugh at the irony.


But this is you,
More and more myopic,
Drawing across the curtains
As if every night is the last act
Of some pathetic play.


This is you,
Lost among the concrete,
Searching for a house with wooden windows.

This is you,
Perplexed by numbered lanes and crossroads,
Wistfully searching for a dead leader's 'way.

This is you,
Looking through the tinted glass
At a medieval city with ancient roots,
Finding spirits cloistered in nine yards
Of unemancipated dreams,
Drying, tied, weighed down and to be sunk.

This is an unrepenting caucus,
And all too none broader,
None to brood,
None to bring home.  


This poem refuses to get tighter,
Or leaner, or meager.
And I throw my hands up
Let it be, for these words are my solace.


This is a journey,
And no cliche is apt enough.


And you want the hope,
You want it to carry you away,
You want it to carry you home.

You want it anyway.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Almost Summer

The light seems sharper, suddenly;
At eight, as you walk to the station,
The t-shirt clutches your chest with sweat.

Suddenly, the music seems to have stopped.
Instead the cacophony of horns and shouts,
Hoarse, shuffles through the windows.

The curtains are quickly drawn,
The blinding noon met with uneasy naps;
The narrow lanes shall lay abandoned.

The old ghosts know too well,
That none shall come to be haunted.
They lie hidden away in nooks,

Stirring, not even; unlike the dogs
Sneaking under the cars for shades
Which the coconut trees can't provide.

Free buttermilk is given out like advice,
And palm fruits and watermelons await
Like birds for slaughter, tighten imprisoned.

Soon, the power cuts shall melt the ice cream,
The tar shall gleam with persistence of weeds,
While a lonely postman cycles to deliver magazines and bills.

Summer shall soon be here;
While years better and worse persist,
The mangoes shall taste just the same.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

The narrative

It doesn't take a morning
To find what you wish for the most;
It just happens.

But you got to believe,
It didn't just happen;
You are special, unique.
In this world of infinities,
Something adds up to this-

Me, mine, myself.
Else, what is the point?

Your self-worth is all you have;
It is your mask; it is you.
You will fight to hold on to it.

You got to preserve yourself,
This is your providence.

But is it so?
Look up at the world.
I don't ask you to care-

But think,
As all this is just happening,
You could be gone right now,
Without a sense, a reason.

You crave to leave an imprint.
Did you? Will you?
Look at the ruins of humanity,
Scattered; dilapidated emblems
Of forgotten heroics, in repair.

You are as significant as you want,
Not as the world tells you;
Only to yourself.

Be lost in the stories,
But don't lose yourself.
Remember to enjoy the narrative,
For you are the lone listener.