Monday, March 26, 2012


The conversation at dawn
seemed like a dream
words and love
whirling to an abrupt ending
when daylight devoured our insanity
Passion and hurt
slowly sink in
with the day
and erase
the scorching topography of desires
Love wept against
decisions definite
etched in stone
And how love evaporates
as if
in the sublime process of sublimation
Love that
lumped together
heart and soul
in a mess of throbbings
its language of fires
become tepid gray ashes
even a whimper of protest
One day
my wound will disappear
into a dry scab
and grief will have
a new skin
fresh and ready
for new grievings
You, a spiritless traveller
will embrace another rite
contended to walk
upon beaten paths
discarding love
on a whim
When you and her
share your mannequin kisses
with blessings et al
you'll be peripheral in my dreams ©

Tuesday, March 13, 2012


In my last
letter of love
I addressed you
by name
As if
in a loss of intimacy
As if
your name veiled
a hidden grief
I have discarded
the name I whisper
in quiet mornings
into the pores
of your skin
Our names
all these while
unused and suffixed
Given names and clans
Now, we would
conjure them up
Call each other
by those names
Without even
a bitter tinge
of nectar ©

Saturday, March 10, 2012


It was the familiar din of places that travels without moving, feet that rushes by to expectant arms, feet that dragged slowly to the new fragrance of lonely autumn. I, reluctant to disrupt the delicate momentum of your scent on my neck departed without other souvenirs. Just the scent I took clasped by memory, by intent. I felt the first green sprout of poetry in my bosom when everything else turned brown by autumn and sulphurous garbage. Those towns at the bank of the gray railway tracks looked at me, two fortnights later it would stare at me again, unchanging its cold hard blink-less gaze like a priest to a pagan. And yet, what good was travel when obstinate me carried myself and prejudices to colour new places with hue of death and doom.

I have seen marble inlaid corridors with shifting shadows; corridors where time stood still on the pulse of man. Love once lavished her rusted flames on those marbles and we obstinately believing in dreams travelled to find its trace, fitting our palms into each other. The sun slowly closed his eyes over the sandstone etched portico. My cheeks burned under your lips and I had let your fingers trail under the fabric of the night’s shadows. Nakentha’s dried leaves too had traversed the weary worn out tarmac and followed us hustling like a malicious gossip. I resisted and yielded the following morning against the ravages of oils and kisses. Me, yielded and yours, you left victorious and cruel with the afternoon. ©

Saturday, March 3, 2012


He knifed his way
Through my heart, thighs
Not one, none of it was true
of eclipse or planets colliding
He said
my body
shone and scorched
in his hands
I was
in a world of stampedes
feet by feet
until I was fluid and open
He stabbed the eyelid
of my skin
and wept in the morning
In the language of bedsheets
he spoke to my skin
left me
a thorny wreath of goodbyes ©