I'm sorry if I may look rude to you
When I may be cold to you
When I don't show any warmth from me
But you know..

Even if I always act like this
Even if I always look angry from you
Even if you don't see any love from me
You will always be my dad
And I love and proud of you

Preface:
Was it all took a speech?
Then there were the threats, then there were the deaths.
…
Was it all due to S. P memorial?
14 day ago…


“Drop drop’ red rain sliding, 
In the back street during his morning walk.
Father Ian paced steadily, it was a grey morning,
early November.

Imagined dialogues
Occur in mind, 
a rendezvous with himself 
Hauled suddenly from solitude,

'How now,' Father Ian addressed the empty hall
Counting there, 9 times knives 
Attacked marks, smelling of burning anger.
This was how the school hides indiscriminate ******.

“Fight fight?”  against blue pallor,
Of hell, and not the fiery part.  

'Knives knives,' Father Ian mocked with an Atlas shrug,
'Don't I warn you to stop those ridiculous fables.
In silence, they come alive,
Of dusted harps or gnawing fear:  Simply tells

'What mission?', questioned from Father Ian, 
“Mind as the host, what just epilogue 
Would these too hollow to be chased?’
What flawed earth-flesh could cause this saddened pass?

'There sits no higher court
Than man's transparent soul’.

Attack, Attack, shocked, Father Ian cried
'Can‘t they run and hide, to get inside
Like a last storm-crossed leaf?  Best ghost swore to the priest:
Why again knives, carried at Paris and Nice?

I am sitting
My chin resting on my fist
As I'm sad
I not share my birthday with
Someone who had inspired the world
By his work and his skills.

"What happened?" my father asked
As I told, he just laugh
"I know the one," he said
And placed a mirror, to show me my face.

A curious boy
Walks on street
Asking his father
What're those, What're these
His mother, holds his hand
With her gentle smile
And his sister says with a sigh
"Oh God, from where these questions
come in his mind."

I rest my head against the last bottle of squash I had in my house

watching the patches of worn-out paint on the ceiling

thinking about the number of times it had been repaired in 21 years

have seen almost every color of sewing thread in all these years, we have come far

there was a time when we didn't have options

"either A or B"

my mother would ask me every time we were at the super market

A was tomato ketchup

B was green chili sauce

it was hard to choose between things

when you don't know what you love less

but I loved my mother more

I didn't want to be there with my father

so I have to choose

without any escape

mama was beautiful

but she was never hungry

and today when I brought both of the sauces

she didn't want to taste any of it

"what brings you home so late?"

she asks this almost every day now

and I realized it was never about A or B for her

and options were the case for a naive mind

there is a long way to go until I can think of myself as a little wise whenever answering her

to love a person, is a risk
rejecting this risk, means to
reject love -- what does this mean?

i love a girl called milly
she likes her cousin and
sometimes, i'm scared

imagining her soft skin
these hands, touchin
anotha dude; FUCKK!

but i be good, my friendz
cause i called popz
his old voice calmed me

my popz has become a real
friend by now; he's experienced
listen to dem old ones

you be good, too..