Wednesday, April 13, 2011


I didn't know, that you would be so red,
so strange looking.
so round and little and fat
with so much hair,
and so much plumpness
and such a squishy face.
i don't want to imagine what you will look like when you grow up,
i have terrible visions you know,
but for now i am content to stare at a picture of you
with your eyes squeezed shut
and eyebrows furrowed,
intent on shutting out the confusion around you
and concentrating hard on being asleep.
i hope you will love me as much as i already love you. 

Sunday, March 6, 2011

brown peacock dancing in my mug

as i blow into the tea to cool it, 
a depression for the body 
and a fluttering ripple
moving outward
pulsating rivulets and waves and depressions.

i will kiss the soles of your feet

with their lap-slap slippers
and the uneven
फत फत
on the half wet ground.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

have you ever noticed,
how water droplets
slip into each other?
sliding along a smooth surface
until they find one of their kind
and slide in
adding an arm or leg to the amoeba.
surreptitiously seeking
always moving towards

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

what can you say when you watch someone bare their heart?
all i want to say
i will always love you,
but i can't find the words to make it relevant. 

Monday, February 14, 2011


i did a project,
about the historical context of Noah's Ark.
about all these people,
who claim to have found the remains of it.
the battered skeleton of a grand story
a story that everyone knows
and people troop to these four wonderful places
and stare at strangely shaped, spaceship, mangled bits of wood
imagine a white bearded man with a cosy wife,
with a pair of giraffes nuzzling their necks.

and i dove down to a shipwreck once.
and almost choked, because i couldn't really understand how to breathe through a plastic tube
and i saw something beautiful
the sea is always beautiful, when you look at it through a clear pane of glass,
and there were fish
and there was moldy wood
and so many colours, that i was shocked
and it was an old fishing boat, he said
that had capsized some years ago.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

i'm entirely aware
that when i have nothing else to worry about,
i miss you.
i'm entirely aware that missing you
means nothing more than...

i couldn't think of anything.
that means as little or as much.
nothing can be placed at
the other end of the see saw
its not the same as anything
its my mind playing tricks on me,
having to much to do and not wanting to do any of it

but because i haven't written anything for a while
and because the things i love the most
are the ones i wrote for You,
I'd like to think, for a little while,
that i miss you. 

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Nonsense Verse II

well, here I am. 

how did you come here?
i flew on the black back of the poem bird.
i raced down the burst of lightning in the sky and
i slid into an electric blue, echoing cave
and i walked through the dark white and blue
past frozen souls and thought-skeletons
and i came out
what are you doing here?
i'm finding out
what Here means.
and what does it mean?
simply means that once, you were not.
that is flippant.
flippant, like the wing of a grey dolphin
flapping and clapping in invisible chains.

Friday, January 14, 2011

is it wrong, to have a terrible thing dimmed
by ten second absolute terror
of how much more 
it could have meant to me?

feeling like a terrible person, because in my heart i know how i would have felt with the difference of a few letters. how the fear of something can shell-shock you into not realizing how sad something else really is.

until it hits you in the face. how insensitive you are
to anything but yourself. 
and how admitting that
where people will read it
is hypocritically purgatory.  
sympathy, empathy, 
everything, can be deconstructed into hypocrisy. 
and its better not
to say anything, just feel 
something inside. 

Monday, January 3, 2011

Sunday morning smell, after so many months.
warm sugar browned in ghee
packed into two large steel containers, 
still warm, solidifying into the steel curves
to be carted off to satsang. 
and if i wake up early enough, a little glass bowlful kept aside for me
to slip into the kitchen and nibble at with my fingers, 
oily sweetness and winter morning sunshine.  

Monday, December 20, 2010

Neon orange is eerie enough, 
Neon orange at perfectly spaced intervals 
Gaps filled imperfectly with odd patterns, bathed in 
Odd brightness
Thrown out in a circular net.
And then grass
Neon turns to candlelight 
A black figure
Candles melted into different lengths
Glowing up at it confusedly.
Somehow, so much stranger.
The lights, they were meant to be there
But the candles I could not understand
Who put them there?
Too uneven and human
To be logically explained. 
Buddha, one does not associate with candles. 
And streetlights, we never wonder about.
Where did they come up with streetlights from? 
Did they start off as candles, unevenly n spaced
To light the way for divine feet?  

Monday, November 29, 2010

Nonsense Verse

What am I?
You're the sunshine in the centre of a block of butter
You're the little squishy baby peas,
The tiny ones in a bowl of buttery boiled green.
Why is the earth round?
Because when things explode, they spin into separates little blobs
Spin around in circles and make their own paths.
Where did you come from?
From the centre of the cluster-flowers,
The tiny little middle
Of the tiny little flowers
That haven't opened up yet.
And where are you going?
To the ends of the earth
To bring you a little silvery magic pea...
And what will I do with the pea? 
You will eat it my love,
And understand how important
The little things are
And because I am your pea princess.
And why do you love me?
But that, my love,
Is a question for the ages.

How to lose your way

Spin around five times on the tips of your toes
And blink rapidly at the slightly unsteady world around you.
Then walk two steps north
As long as north is not to your right.
Rub your eyes until you see little black spots that dance as your gaze shifts.
Lie flat on the ground spread your arms and legs out and pause, and make a snow angel in the dust. 
Pick up your feet in your palms and trace your fingers on the soles and tickle until, they are helpless with laughter, and set them down to trip you up.
Try to think of the important things, 
And when you make decisions, feel their gravity's plastic suction blobs stuck to your legs like a million starfish and pull them away with little pops and traces of red circles that only vanish when you ignore them.

Monday, November 22, 2010


Huge eyes on a tiny face, luminous amber honey like eyes that constantly look surprised. Ears like tunnels, half transparent in their disproportion, as if someone stretched them out too big; and a tiny tongue, row of pointy teeth, with a yawn as big as Africa. Tiny, skeletal fur-wrapped torso, warm and wriggly, and a yowl of interest every time you see my face. A rippling spinal cord that struggles to explore everything around it, leather-velvet paw-bottoms and sharp little digging claws that ripped my purple scarf. A mewling, scrambling, little ball of burrowing fur that purrs like a boiling kettle in contentment, and snuggles into my sweater, with a strangely prominent heartbeat and the sweetest half-shut sleep-eyes.  
I think I want to keep you forever.    

Sunday, November 7, 2010

rolling down a hill

grass grazing exposed skin and vague discomfort; the thrill of hurtling like a log onto a patch of flat grass and sitting up laughing dusting off fragments sticking to your clothes.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

sometimes, i hate that i can't survive without you. 

i'm a

blurb of a profound thought.
taste of what is to come.
a shadow of something that could be
i'm a
storm clouds
that never burst.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

woke up thrice to three different mornings. warms sunshine streaming in and groggy phone calls trying to carry the night into another day. waking up feeling like its still morning, and having eggs for breakfast at two o clock. weather smiling and everything feeling like a holiday. reading a book in the sun while everyone did their own thing.
but somehow the day turned into a monster and dread settled in and unnecessary tears and fears and cliches sunk in like the titanic.
different mornings mean different endings and different ways of dealing with things. morning became a three headed hydra that smiled and laughed and made me cry.
but however hard i try, i cant just be crazy.

Friday, October 22, 2010

make you smile

i want to write you something, that'll make you smile. I want to see you read it, and watch your eyes crinkle up, as you glow a little inside, and awkwardly try to smile it out, and mumble a few embarrassed words. i want to see you concentrate on something, and ignore me trying to hold your hand, and then suddenly start and realize you love me; and beam at me and give me the biggest hug. i want you to be here, i want you to want to be here, and i want to lie down, and fall asleep with your breath tickling my hair.

Monday, October 18, 2010

plane magic

the plane descended slowly over the city and bright lights made it look like magic was afoot. streams of traffic snaked along and clusters of yellow and rows of white and twinkles of chaos. and the plane lowered and lowered and the city became grubbier and the lights became a singe row of runway markers. and the reflection on the wingtip outside my window of fuzzy yellow sparkles was all that was left of the intoxication of a city looked at from far away.

Sunday, October 17, 2010


you see, I'm painfully shy.
and a little bit slow, sometimes. 
and I'm very sensitive, things affect me, you know, 
I cry very easily; I'm a hypochondriac,
and I love babies and fluffy things. 
I play the piano, 
and I'm very musical, actually, 
except I just don't seem to practice, 
and I'm not very good. Its because
I'm too shy to play in front of people, 
and the few times I've tried have scarred me for life.  
I'm very perceptive, and a good
listener, and I have the kind of face 
you can share all your problems with. 
did I mention, that I've sung, danced, written poetry, 
and done well in school, and 
taught poor children?
I'm quite lovely you see, 
and I'm almost completely 
lacking in personality.

and did i mention, that i loathe my list of accomplishments?
and that i see through every pretension,
but I'm so scared of my own being dissected
that i will never dream of opening yours up.
and that i was never this daft
my thoughts used to race
faster that i could catch up to
but i was too slow to use them
and now i cant hear them anymore
and I'm too scared to type long sentences and paragraphs
and have to break them up
so that they're smaller, and I'm surer of them.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

i want to go to sleep.

and at the end of the three headed hydra of a day, thats all i want. i want to stop caring about tiny things and unnecessary people and what they did and thought and will do if i don't do. i want to stop taking on more than i can handle and let go of everything i ever got myself into and stop regretting and just forget, because they probably have too. 
all i want, is to find something that i really want to care about. 

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

its odd,
that sometimes,
some words just click together.
and some things that you write
for some people.
and others,
they work for you.
and some poems of yours
that no one else seems to like
you like
because you feel special understanding something
that noone else does?

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

in the begining

in the beginning, there was nothing but a tiny little glowworm of a thought inching around the darkness.
scrabbling fingers, fumbling for a pen in the dark.
a flicker and scratch of a match, the smell of flickering light.
a slight glow, warming cold fingers, puddles of dripping wax, oozing into shapes. a scratchy start, word crossed out and rethought, a glowworm frantically flashing around, to escape being pinned down.
a fleeting glimpse of a person in the candlelight; a yellowed shadow.
people and places begin to whisper around and stale the air with their crowded smell.
befuddlement, crowded thoughts and noisy lonely people and horses and carriages and shiny trains with automated voices that say everything wrong. the remenants of a day dredge themselves onto paper.
lonely worlds echo into the words and lonely smiles seep into the ink.
the candle melts away and white neon light burns into everything, searing it and tainting the carriages and yellowed faces.
and the glowworm inches away
to be captured
by someone else, another day.
when neon lights blind the skies
and inspiration turns into a tubelight on a metallic wall. 


i have cream and mushroom pasta,
and the weather is a part of my imagination
and depends on what i feel like wearing.
i have a sunny balcony with plants
and cane sofas with lime green cushions
and a peaceful looking buddha in the corner,
to keep me company as i read.
i'm waking up not too late, but not early
and i can feel the sun on my face,
and walk into a bathroom
that smells of potpurri and pomegranate shampoo.
is a vague recollection
that swirls away with work and backaches
into a big glass of iced tea.
but somehow,
you don't swirl down as well
and i cant help
wishing you were here.