In that moment
I truly felt you for the first time.
Your breath rolling over my neck,
your hands grasping my waist,
I wanted to keep that still-frame forever.
It felt invigorating,
as if you were bringing life to the dead.
You offered pulsating veins
and hyperactive breathing
in contrast to a world
that only desires
to watch its victims suffocate.
I stole and absorbed every moment,
like oxygen to spasming lungs.
I became a maddened catalyst
with an insatiable craving,
driven by my new found ability
to feel this breathless seduction.
I tried memorizing
every pore on your skin
while I took you in.
Inhaling as deeply as I could;
I held you there
in my lungs.
But now that the end has arrived
I only feel distance
and empty space
the product of reality,
and carbon dioxide flooded veins
Too afraid to breathe out
in fear the air
will have disappeared once again.
Possibly forever.


You are ******* unforgettable.

it takes some people

forty years

two kids

a mortgage

and a divorce

to learn that, sometimes, love doesn't mean a **** thing.

lucky me.

it only took me one you.

Flower beds in every nook
was Bangalore's delight
for long long years,
even before the time
Winston Churchill lived there
as a young British soldier.
Salubrious climate turned it then
in to a pensioner's paradise,
full of quiet tree lined streets.

The one time cool "Garden city"
one finds now with a new itch,
in its mad rush to get hitched
with the so called" flat world"
every which way possible,
it kills the symphony of colors,
both willingly and otherwise;
trees fall, monstrous flyovers rise,
technological behemoths,
which fast become dinosaurs
as economic down turn hits hard,
stand daunting us, adding green house gases
now, its all kitsch and concrete **** everywhere.