We are bred to be slaves but what keeps us in chains?
There must be something that allows the deranged
The key that locks our flowing lion's mane.
How we ought to say we are ashamed
That in America we talk of freedom
When most are economic slaves;
You're not incorrect to say this.
But what is keeping you enslaved?
Unplug for a while.
Sit in stillness if you will it.
The answers will come to you,
If you ask, and you feel it.

Have you ever felt trapped
As though in a prison?
You may be free to leave at any time
But something keeps you "just chillin'"
What is that?
The door's wide open
The whole world is out there
What keeps you inside?
I think it's akin to a misunderstanding
You're waiting for the perfect party
The perfect girlfriend THEN
THEN always THEN
Why not now?
Go outside.
See what's been waiting all this while.

A quaint little bazaar
In the heart of the town
Tells a story
Of a thousand moments
Dal Bazaar as they call it
Or "Curry Market" for others who don't know.
I have fragments of memorable memories
Deep within my mind
The smell
The intoxicating smell of spices
Blended with the quiescent yet cacophonous lives
Of Merchants and Beggars
Of Buyers and Sellers
Of Bullions and a single calloused rupia
In the hands of the old *****.
The sunlight baking
Bags of turmeric.
Suspending the scent
In the minds of men.

Capering clouds of black and grey
And the sudden squall
Stirring the monotony
Of the customary.
The pirouette of rain
The one that excites the plainest of the plain
Painting the whitewash with shades of grey
The chalky walls
Dust
Moist corriander
And the relief of earth
Conciliating
So rewarding
For the ruins of the bare sun.

This flashback into my soul
Where all my senses seem to be so awake.
The feel of the wooden veranda
Scent so inexpressible
My eyes devouring the sunset
Tasting the heavens
Hearing it all.
Feeling it all.
Oh the plight of poets
The ritual to end a poem.
Painful.

As i lay down
In my own embrace
In warmth of the felt blanket
I allow my mind to wander
Amongst the shadows cast by my soul.

Where dogs bark in their own echo.
Shapes of the aged banyan
And those of the weeping willow..
Dancing in the moonlight
Upon the musty earth
Her softened yet cold heart
Still anchors their lives

I think of him
Still lying
In my own embrace
Wishing it was his
And that the warmth
Came from him
I listen to the rustling leaves
Noisy wind..
The noisy wind..
Silenced my winter heart to sleep.

Bathe me as you did
in your forgiveness
but do not
for it is not what I need.

I cannot say
Hold me like before,
before was never.

I cannot crave the past
because it was never the present -
it was, but not with you.

Digging up the doubts I buried,
always there and waiting
for open air to uncover dishonesties.

Turning my head the other way
- out the window -
locked in by ignorance.

Pretty skies and sparkling waters,
goosebumps on my arms,
pretending your reflection was pure.

Back turned on reality,
choosing to see graceful things,
picking false ideals.

You.
My ideal.
My imperfection.
Fatal flaw, Achilles heel.

They say ignorance is bliss and
I understand,
for bliss it was with you in your
unlabelled silence.
But who knew silence could make
such noise in my head?

Maybe the echo of some
humble truth.

It's all coming down.
That which I built up over the years,
brick by brick
with bleeding hands.

I realise now
what it all meant,
those unthought actions and
unacted thoughts.

And I see it all before me
like the sad endings of the movies
you don't want to watch.
Your face in the mirror just like
you wish it wasn't.
Secrets in a drawer and
you regret having looked.

Each story they tell you is like
another dash
- on the canvas that shouldn't be
painted.

Maybe there's a reason for it all
and one day you'll be given a diploma
you don't really need.
Because they're telling us
you'll learn.

But what do you do when you
haven't learnt yet
and the mistakes are still
being made?

And that which you are hiding from
is chasing you
like the sea at your ankles and
it's too cold
so you're running
and you're scared
because this wave is bigger
than the one before.

Suddenly you're drowning
down and down
until you feel your palms press
flat
against the bricks from all that time
before.

You open your eyes for just the
slightest second
to see them stained red
and you know where that's from.

But they're in your way,
why won't they budge?
And you feel yourself
slipping away from under
whatever it was you used
to shield yourself.

It's all fading
and the bricks are
rebuilding themselves
but only in your mind because
that is what happens at
the end.

And you're wishing you had smiled
at the boy on the swing who
didn't yet know the world
and the girl running out of the
school gates on her last day
and the old couple who
kept on bickering.

You wish you had smiled
before it was too late.