Saturday, October 12, 2019



               Let go,


Can you see time,

Can you

              Be born,

              Be alive,

And die,

In just this present,

A now forever,

Where it all lasts forever,

And then just doesn't.

Are you just a dream?

What if a moment is all there is,

Time nothing but a persistence,

Life, a feeling that refuses to go away.

Can you wake up every day?


        The light streaming in;


The shore you crave is 5 miles away.

Maybe memories,


But now,


                        Be alive.



               Let go,


Sunday, May 26, 2019


There are your dreams,

And then there are mine,

But all I wish to know is ours.

Let me see the stars twinkle in your eyes,

And the ocean sand between our toes;

Let the summer moon cast its long shadows,

On us, and

           Our footprints on this silent shore.

To hold this moment forever— 

Misty car windows, and a slow patter rain,

A wish-lash,


We close our eyes and blow.

Rowdy parakeets on a summer noon,

Chillies, and mangoes,

The sunglasses cannot hide

The laughter in our eyes,

The joy in our words,


In the tip of our tongues,


This is our now—

Hand in hand;

This was our yesterday—

Silent whispers of hope;

This is our morrow—

The stained leaves at the bottom of the cup know.

Sunday, April 28, 2019

The aircon

There are sunsets and numbers that add into themselves,

There are green fields, and sum of parts,

Snowy deserts that stretch to infinity,

Ice that melts like hope on a warm Madras day.

Every 'morrow is a waking,

A day to do your shoelaces and ties,

To adjust watches, and judge the time,

To never sleep, but dream with your eyes open.

Summer lasts forever in my city,

The aircon at twenty-seven degree C is my winter,

My snow-capped peaks, my pashmina,

My Buddha in minus five, smiling with belief.

Saturday, March 30, 2019



Angsty hope of childhood,

A distant memory,

Dirty shoes and tip-toeing

To avoid the check after the assembly.

Angsty hope of youth,

Not so long ago,

Trying to slip in with slippers,

Past the bar-tender high on club rules.

Angsty hope of the twenties,

The morrow stretches forever,

Past summers and winters,

Hope a bachelor, mouldy and grouse.


If magic doesn't happen even with all the believing,

Then there's no point to moon risings or rainbows,

Then there's no point in wondering at the stars,

There's no point in roaming the empty roads,

There's no hope in the serenade of the sleepless crows.


Not all dreams are seen in your sleep,

Some are lived between prosaic every day,

In the midst of a summer drought,

In the eye of a winter cyclone,

In a garden of fallen trees and dead flowers,

The long walk along the road that ever ends,

The yearning at waves that are never lost for sounds.


The clocks show the same time every day,

The long hand losing the race again and again,

Tick after tick, each lasting an eternity.

Time is seen in the wrinkles on our foreheads,

And the voice of your grandfather, now dead.

The embers shall swallow your memories,

Songs on Gods who maybe, and you.

There's no road sign to your street,

None to mark your house,

The memories lurk like strangers in a station,

Forever looking into the distance

For a train that never shall come.


Maybe life is a long moment,

Which shall end for that's how long a moment lasts.

Maybe life is a dream,

Which ends when you wake up to the other, now and then.

Maybe life is a memory,

Which shall fade away into a non-existence.

Maybe life is hope,

A quest forever, a quest to reach evermore.




Thursday, January 3, 2019


தென்றல் வீச , அலைகள் ஓங்க
நீ பாடடா , நம் சுதந்திர ஓசை.

அடங்காதே  , மிரளாதே,
உன் குரல் அடர் உடைக்கும்,
நம் வாழ்வு இனி மண்ணுக்கும் இசைக்கும் .

பாவம் காற்றில்  நடனம் ஆட
மனம் மோகித்து இன்பம் பெற
நம் சுதந்திர ஓசை.

ஏங்கும் உன்னிதம் இங்கு உள்ளதோ
வியப்பும் ஒரு இதம் தருமோ,
நம் மறுவழி ஓசை.

எத்திசையும் உறுதி ஓங்கும்
அகம் நம்பி பலம்  ஓதும்
இனி பாடடா,பாடடா
நம் பரம்  ஓசை.

தென்றல் வீச , அலைகள் ஓங்க
நீ பாடடா , நம் சுதந்திர ஓசை.

அடங்காதே  , மிரளாதே,
உன் குரல் அடர் உடைக்கும்,
நம் வாழ்வு இனி மண்ணுக்கும் இசைக்கும் .


Saturday, September 8, 2018

Nine Paintings

This is a portrait of a dying plant,
It stands in agony, shrivelled;
A drought consumed its dreams,
And wayside it lay, no one to tend,
On soil red, ground for a year barren.

We know not who she was,
But her beauty persists like a childhood memory;
Her lips were red, eyes blue,
We recall- she was beautiful surely?
Five nights you think otherwise, but let her be.

It could be a nightmare, but you stayed awake.
It lingers on for days, and when your red-eyes shut,
You are woken up by the very image.
Your love bought it for you to keep, a parting gift,
And it haunts like a fateful night, the clock stuck at half past eight.

The war ended a few years ago,
But the memory of violence remains still,
The child lies dead on a mother's lap,
The field is red, and the sky a grey,
We can remember if we will. But we can forget.

You want it to be something,
But did the artist care to mean?
There's a riot of colours, a splash of green and red,
This is art we concur,
But our education isn't enough. Maybe despite it, we can.

The king ruled for a hundred years
He was a fat man of red vengeance.
He killed a million, tortured more,
In his name men raped and ravaged,
But he built these temples of old stone, with no concrete.

It is your city ninety years ago,
A tram line runs on Mount road,
Men wear turbans and carry a stick;
There are no other oppressors in sight,
Except for a name board in bright red. Can you read?

Agape, bright pinks and reds, made up and blown,
Neon light highlights, do you want to buy some more?
Maybe sell your soul or your house,
For a scratch of ecstasy, a bit of debauchery,
Or maybe a house built on a lake to drown your dreams.

For the third step there was nowhere,
Except for August on the calendar;
Will Mahabali comeback and stand upright?
There's an umbrella, there are signs,
You note the date in red and decide to sleep in late.

Tuesday, June 12, 2018


There is now,
And this is my evermore.
The clocks remain still,
And the hands that move them have no will.

There's a breeze that blows from the south-west,
The homeless set their beds on bus-stop benches,
And the last bus passes by- no one to get out or in-
You can't miss a bus that never stops, rushing past.

The bats flutter across the sunset,
As dark as night, elegant and intent,
So what if you can't see, just listen,
The world is cat's ball of wool, strings set free.

The horns blare and race,
There are homes elsewhere,
There are midnight cravings, and moments of hope,
There's somewhere to be now, and else on the morrow.

The signals blink amber, look and proceed they beg,
But the blinding light race as fast and as far,
There's this moment where you see it all as a distant star,
You look and chase, and it is still far away, this is evermore.

The dog packs give chase with rage brewed all day,
The tea stalls that threw them biscuits remain still;
There are no masters, there's no art, or other living in the now-
Pulled by gravity, torn by speed, to remain in evermore.

There's a weak crescent moon rising at a distant shore,
The waves never remain still, even in evermore.

The caws of the sleepless try to drown the aircon,
But the summer air is too hot, and the crows too tired,
They try and as they might, to say a bit more,
But all you can do is, live, and hope, in evermore.

There is now,
And this is my evermore.
The clocks remain still,
And the hands that move them have no will.

This is now,
And this is my evermore.

This is evermore.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Write me a eulogy when I am no more

Write me a eulogy when I am no more.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more,
Read it aloud to yourself, my l'amour.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more,
Tear it up and scatter it with the winds,
Let me be unknown, let me be evermore.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more,
Tell them who I am, and the sparkle in my eyes,
That of me which may ever die. Burn the paper,
Wear the ashes, let me never be known.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more,
Believe that I may be in a better place,
Forget your pain in joys that we have known.
Rest a while, reread and rewrite,
Till I fade away like a falling star, that once shone.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more,
Find me in my drafts, bind them together,
Let no one know who I was, or where I am;
Find a place with no breeze, Earth broken,
Lay them six feet under, with no epithet,
No stone, to be eaten away by time, alone.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more.
Close your eyes, and in the darkness see me,
Don't forget, for we are nothing but memories
when long gone; scattered bits of paper,
Fading ink- into a million pieces, torn.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more,
Hear me breathe in the evening breeze,
Tall coconut trees, and rowdy parakeets,
The smell of home, camphor and beach.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more,
Let me go, set me free, but hold on to our memories,
Find me in the evening dew, find me in evermore.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more,
Read it aloud to yourself, my l'amour.

Write me a eulogy when I am no more.

Wednesday, December 20, 2017


A hundred years of Solitude,
A lifetime of Silences,
A forever that outlasts itself,
A time immeasurable and immense.

To hold the world in the palm of your hands,
To count the breaths as if to measure the winds,
To see the world in three steps and no more,
To hear nothing, but the voice- your own.

அறிந்தது உணர்வு, உணர்வின் மயக்கம்,
தன் இன்பத்தின் மோகம் பெறுக,
வடிவம்பெறா வையம் கற்பிக்க
தன் இழந்து தான் அறியும் வழி.

To behold beauty in all you see,
To find peace within, amidst volatility,
To yearn to live albeit the terror and malice,
To seek meaning for itself, forthright.

To be yourself, and be all that you are,
To seek not desire, nor despair,
To hold still the world, unshaken, unstirred,
To let be, to let be, as it is, as it can be. 

தஞ்சம் பெற, தன் குறிக்கும் நீதி பெற,
தன் வழி அறிய தான் மனம் ஏங்குக.
திரை எல்லை கடந்து அகம் அறிந்தோர்க்கு எல்லாம்,
அமைதியில்  நிற்க, நிற்படுத்த, அறிவார் முடிவிலி.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017


There are no words,
Only silences.

There are dreams,
That live till the memory fails.

There is love,
A memory written in your cursive.

There is the nothing,
A lifetime without silences.

There is I,
Upright, and alone.

There is hope,
That lingers as a long lost dream.

There is a memory,
An evanescent winter.

There is Madras,
Home, and all that I know.

There are no words,
Only silences.

There are silences,
Those that I call my own.