i have played
dead
on stage
sometimes

it was hard
not to laugh.

Write
Simple,
I tell myself,
Write
Poetic,
I force myself,
Write
Beauty,
I convince myself,
Write
Imagery,
I encourage myself,
Write
with purpose,
I plead myself.

the last tram passes away

the boy
who is the owner of  every parted-kite
sits lonely on the empty bench of the park

and makes it enlightened

in one pocket
he has few pieces of dry breads

in another
the air to play on bamboo-flute

the night is filled with
mushroom

all the shout within the dialogues
gradually becomes weak
and vanishes  

there is no tangle in the
hair

the bier of the hindu-satkar-samiti
runs away
causing a quake in the locality

some needles
small medium and big
are doing their morning-walk

on the thread-line
that is the secret of a phoenix

Monday's made for yawning,
watery eyes,
groggy headed morning,
takes two hours and some change
before I'm performing
somewhere close to normal.
I'm not fishing for pity,
but it's still dark when
I reach the city,
yet sometimes its
oh so pretty
when the sun paints it's colours
on you.

Freud says tattoos
Are
The Manifestation
Of a
Trauma

Every point
A
Separate pain
We
Have
Suffered

It took
Two
And a
Half
Hours

To complete
The
Diary
Of my
Trauma

And half a million perforations

To convert
Those
Memories
Into something

New

And

Beautiful

To finally
Let go
Of the past