in this pestilence and heartache,
i doth lie here without remembering
an instance where i shall not stay
in this quietly bleeding prison

my hands have groped the air
for a phantom amongst the breeze
but there is no longer a soul to spare
when i am brought back to my knees.

i feel my prayers are but thrown
fruitless pleadings to the sky
my truths to bear, are mine alone
never will they be your plight

you hold your head to my chest
and we dream away the time
this prison feels like a prison less
when your heart is calling to mine

After the funeral, I was sent to heaven.
St. Peter stood at the gates.
“Welcome”, he said, “your sins are forgiven”,
“Go to the Chamber; Jesus waits”.

Jesus summoned me with boisterous mirth,
“How was your short time on Earth?”
“Fairly decent”, said I with a smile,
“Every moment was worthwhile.”

“Starting from the time of my birth,
I did plenty of things on Earth,
I studied hard, acquired a degree,
Got a job and made pots of money.”

Jesus shot me an unhappy stare,
And ordered me to take a chair,
Carefully he opened a slim file,
and scrutinized it for a while.

"You were given the ability to write,
To rhyme, to compose and recite,
You could have been a famous bard,
Like Shelly, Milton & Arthur Ward.
In the quest to earn bread & butter,
You poured your talent down the gutter.
A talented, young Indian Author,
preferred to undergo corporate slaughter.
Should I have written it on stone?
Man doesn't survive on bread alone?
Gifted with wit, spirit and foresight,
You were sent on Earth to write"

Shocked & aghast, I fell to my knees,
"Give me a chance, I beg you please"
"No", he said and refused to relent,
"You have an eternity to regret & repent".

To You;

To you; possessed of such a tempting grace,
moving so sublimely through star-struck space;
Can I ask of you this quiet question-
Why do those sad tears frame that flawless face?

What’s the reason for that careless lesson
that laces your well-controlled complexion?
Have you, through some finally-found fancy
been shown the harsh meaning of rejection?

Maybe, you dreamt of a light romancing
Under the moons bright, fatal faerie-fire
Its sight telling tales of your desire,
Your sad love ethereal- Transient?

No? I didn’t think that the murky mire
That we call “Love” would have you trapped today-
To make such stories of these fallen fae,
As an excuse to perform worn word-play---

Or! Maybe, it’s some other telling tale
That put you into this unjust travail-
And left you with those mislaid streaks
Across a face falling pallid and pale.

Had your plans reached the goal- that high peak,
Then plunged; wasted - leaving you worn and weak
With no way out, no truly clear choices,
No way to gain the happiness you seek?

Did you want a house with joyful voices,
A backyard echoing lilting laughter?
Has some callous event foreclosed that chapter
Filling your soul with some private poison?

No, I don’t think that’s what I‘m after.
You’re not being held by some coarse constraint-
Nor your body filled with some tragic taint
that would leave you so faltering and faint.


Do you long for adventuresome release,
Your daily work having no such surcease-
And staring entranced-so at the stratus,
You dream of those mighty in name and deed?

Those stories, the ones that you always read-
Do they make you long for that single pleasure,
Proof of beauty and things unseen, proof of need-
Proof of some fantasy beyond measure?

The sacrosanct is in those clouds so rare.
Don’t lose faith in finding the forever,
And magic is there, suspended in air
As long as you don’t consider never.

Maybe, I could help in your endeavor,
Together, a meeting of star-bright minds-
Rhyme after rhyme, perhaps we will find
A path that will meld fantasy and time.

So Lady, giving thought where it’s due then,
I can only tell you this plight of Men
And be it my damning declaration,
I will never let you be hurt again!

You will never want for stone or station,
Nor need to seek some other relation.
If the dreary dusk deigned to mar your mood,
To make a Sun, I’d master creation!

To your beauty I would always allude,
(The runic tint to those even-ether eyes)
Only to the lay does the truth not soothe –
No comparison would bespeak of lies;

So Lady, let my love for you give rise,
To the dawning of our sublunary Sun!
For you; My suitors pledge that come what come,
On my honor, my life; Thy will be done!