They say demons should be
                                                               exorcised
They say in the dark lurks
                                                               evils
They say in your soul 
should be nothing but
                                                               light
That washed out is better 
than chiaroscuro.
They say all these 
                                                               things
But what do they know,
these people who live in the grey?
My muses are demons
My pen is a knife
My life is much
                                                               better
With black ink in my
                                                               veins
I suppose if their minds were to
                                                               open
We'd all be exactly the same;
A world full of demon filled people
With eyes open
                                                               wide
Drawing beauty from shade.

I’m slipping again.
I can hear them.
Whispered admonishments,
Echo in my head…
Louder and louder,
As I feel fuller and fuller,
All my spaces filled with shadows,
And the demons start to creep,
Clawing up my throat
And through the cuts in my skin.
I can’t control the chaos,
My hands are sliding on the reins,
I wish that I could ask for help,
But they won’t let me.

I don’t recognise the face I see,
Staring from the mirror,
It’s pale,
empty,
An ill-formed shell,
A weak and cracked container
For this maelstrom,
My hell.

They’re scratching at my skin again,
Make it stop, make it stop.
My bones are breaking through again,
Make it stop.

Smile.
“I’m fine.”
Smile.
“Just tired.”
Smile.
“oh, sorry, I’ve been busy.”
Smile.
Smile.
Smile.

It’s funny,
isn’t it?
How hard it is to tell the difference
between a smile

and a grimace.

It’s funny,
isn’t it?
How people are so willing
to swallow a lie,
If it’s what they want to hear,

And you’re baring your teeth.

I look down at the world below
So high, so hidden
  And so well-read
They smile and laugh
Knowing something that I don’t

Like a dream lost upon waking
It slips through my grasp
I feel it, sense it
Yet the memory fades
  Into daylight

The mask I wear hides my eyes
A part I play, a song I sing
Words I recognize
  But cannot comprehend

While I peer from my lofty prison
Imperious, impervious
I discover I am not above, but down below
Waiting and longing
  To walk free

Din!
Your voice envelops me
  Drowns me
   Blinds me
    Encircles
     Confines me
Din!
Your whisper is fog
I feel it echo
   In my bones
    In my blood
     In my head
I gasp for air
   For light
Until the silence comes

Roses are red
Three comes before four
Do you want to know what goes on in my head?
It's an absolute war

Direction can bamboozle me
An autist mind thinks different
As if in a maze, so divergent
Can his thoughts be
Getting lost so often
Every new place seems alien
Looking to trap you
Till you lose yourself
From asking for directions
To seeing shakes of heads
Losing hope due to inaction
Not getting any leads
Especially when it's south Mumbai
I hop on to a bus
As it goes on and on, I cuss
Wishing I were back in Chennai
Predictably I get down at the wrong stop
Greeted by a run-down lane
I was early, now late
My panic rises to the top
As taxi-wallahs say no
Even as I give various landmarks
I wonder where shall I go
I am clearly in the dark
I see a gentleman in a car
Probably my last hope
I plead for help
Thus apparently lowering my bar
The gentleman offers a drop
Which I gladly accept
A big relief in this heat
As the ride comes to a stop
He says we will meet later
Since he stays in my locality
In him I saw a lot of humanity
As my day suddenly got better
I had got the inspiration
For writing my next poem
In such an interesting fashion