Words fly in fly out
was there ever any doubt?
words fly out fly in
fall down wasted in the bin

Lying in a trance on a rocking chair,
In the living room of my quiet home,
The buzzing sound of a fretful bee,
Woke me up from my pleasant reverie.

Again and again the droning hiss,
Fell faintly in my vacant ear.
It came so close from the window sill,
Fastened tight with glass shutters.

On looking up, I chanced to glance,
A little fly that reeled around,
Trying in vain to find its way,
Through the narrow slit, into the open sky.

For the poor insect trapped inside,
It was a matter of live or die,
Again and again it beat so hard,
Against the glass window that lay ajar.

I watched lazily its poignant tussle,
To get away or to stay asunder.
Desperate between life and death,
It mustered all its remaining strength.

Try hard and try again,
Was all that what it dared to do,
And every feat converged on –
Getting out through the window pane.

Alas! Across the room, quite close,
Lay open the door it never did see,
With hurdles none to block its way,
Or hinder it in its forward flight.

Had it taken a different course,
It could dart out into the world it sought,
And spared the strength it burnt in vain,
In the frenzied move to set it free.

By treading through the beaten track,
We might perish like the trapped fly.
For reaching out into wider skies,
We may take as well a different route.

The waterlogged lands have long gone dry
The soil is lying cracked and parched
The frogs that crocked in shallow pools,
Nowhere on land or water to be seen
The once full river has thinned and narrowed
Into a greasy smudge of faded stain
On the long yard of brown earth
The road is a burning stretch of black
Sure it can make the water steam and sizzle
Quicker than in an electric ***
The sun is seen a flaming ball in the sky
Darting down spears of smarting beams


Heat like a spiteful scorpion’s sting
Burns the flesh and the bared scalp
Watermelons or chilled buttermilk
Cannot douse the midday heat
The fiery tongue of humid summer
Licks up the last residue of green
The woods dread the fall of a spark
That can ignite an inferno, anytime

The cattle stay still with frothy foam
Dripping down from their drooping tongues
A thirsty crow beside a dried up pond
Looks around for a drop of water
(But alas, not as lucky as the parable crow
That finds a jar of half filled elixir)
A line of black ants carry a carcass
Clambering up the cracked stump of a tree

The brown grass sings
And the Etna seethes!

through an open window
when a bulb burns out
a sliver of moonlight turns
tiny eyes red
and on little feet
the dimmest of dreams
from a corner
comes crawling.

when the night comes
through eyes closed
the room turns inside out.
the heart pounds away the seconds.
the edge moves closer
and the clock smiles.


when the night comes...

on the corner below my window
shadows whispering gather.
broken clouds
rolling dice that will never fall...

and on my knees
praying into the void
the toilet don't flush,
the toaster won't pop...
i grab the smoking toaster
and throw it out the window
the corner boys look up
the corner boys
are rushing up the stairs

me and the rat
waiting for the cops to come,
me and the rat
when the night won't leave
at 3 a.m.
eating donuts.

i'm falling into walls that appear to be rising above me

just ask any waitress
in the diner
still sane.

ask a businessman
locked behind a desk.

ask a cop in jail for theft
or custer
or van gogh

or a child in harlem
foodless and cold.

ask the grey day
evaporated by the sun

just ask.


we all want to burn,
to dance and sidestep
through are own private hells

to hang
upon
a church bell
high above a cathedral
in notre dame
laughing,
in love with the finality of fire.

the fire
is a man with shotgun
standing in a savings and loan

the fire
is a 16 year old girl
in a
short
short
dress
with oh
so
long legs

the fire cries like snow geese
warm
so warm
into this cold winter's night.

this life we love
is but a hawk on fire
flying
flaming
into the sun of our existence...

we want what we fear,
i want the sun


i am burning.

You want someone to fix your life,
Forget it, take some advice,
You have to fix it yourself,
Move your ownself,
Or it will rot on a shelf.
Be your own boss,
Earn your own money with no loss,
Have your own powers,
Don't be obligated or intimidated by others.
Don't turn to be validated by any one,
All these will happen,  
People will learn to respect you,
Your dear ones will be proud of you.

I was drunk,
Lying on the Delhi Street,conked,
I was thrown out of a bar nearby,
I can't remember why?
I woke with a start,
I found myself in a cart,
Pulled by a shabbily dressed man
With a tattered turban,
And a ragged **** cloth round his waist.
Was he here to collect waste?
Not to ask I thought best.
I threatened him to stop,
Or I would call the cop.
Immediately he put the cart down,
He thought I was gone!
We had a long talk,
His sorry tale made me baulk,
Made me sober.
He was a corpse collector,
With a six year old daughter.
For a few miserly rupees,
He collected corpses,
From the alleys and streets,
And performed their last rites.
The corpses were mostly of those who died of cold,
Their stories untold.
The man had no home,
Come rain,cold or storm,
They lived under an old building's  dome.
The little girl with him tagged along,
Looked at life as a song,
Never a complaint,
The little grubby saint.
On cold frosty days,
To stay warm,the only way,
The corpses became the child's blanket,
She cuddled amongst them as if in a basket.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
This was reality, not lies,
The strings of my heart broke,
From a lifetime of dreams I woke,
I have to turn the hands of the clock,
The Almighty had cleared my vision,
I was sent here for a reason.
I made up my mind,
Gambling and drinking I left behind.
I adopted the pair,
On the same street,I opened a Shelter,
For the needy and underprevileged,
And a Home for the aged.
In life I found my mettle
With wife and children I am settled.
I also work with other NGO's
For the betterment of people's lives.

He saw me in a coffee shop,
He liked what he saw in one go,
He found about me some more,
He started me to adore.
He told his mum about his feelings,
Asian women! With joy she started singing,
Two days later he came to see me,
He was smart,educated and handsome,
More, he did'nt  want any dowry,
awesome,
My parents asked my view.
I had liked him on the spot
I said,"Yes, why not."
I admired him a lot,
The strings of our heart played the same tune,
Love would follow soon.
It did,
As soon as we were married,
Our love blossomed from a tiny bud into an beautiful flower.
With children a flower became a cluster.
But, the exotic fragrance is still there.
That is arranged marriage,
Each passing year our love strengthened  with age.