You

I read your poems in a book,
poems about beautiful islands,
sunsets, dreams, trees, shades.
You were known, no doubt,
spent time with the other knowns
of the city,
far less talented though.
Talented to write songs
enough to make teenagers cry.
You hung around
fell in love many times
heartbroken as many times
But in the meantime,
we wrote.
Though I'd never seen you.
Not that I was alone.
I had my pleasures, my poison.

Your talent, your poems
were getting darker.
We still wrote, you read.
We never met, never touched, just craved
In the meantime,
you were getting your heart broken in the city,
of soul suckers.
One rainy sunday,
I got a letter from your friend
that you had died, jumped into the river
and with you all your beautiful poems sank,
the islands sank
the sun sank
trees, dreams sank.

Contempt

I was in bed
lying on my back.
A phone and a diary beside me.
On bed, powerless, motionless, emotionless.
Saw a mouse on the floor
near my bed.
Was looking at me
challenging me
mocking my slothfulness.
I grabbed the diary
Threw at it
Missed the target completely.
The mice won
and all I was left with
was my phone.

The Valley

The flower turned to ashes,
Leaves fallen down the trees.
I stroll down a dusty street,
Kicking pebbles with my feet.
Her house burned to ground,.
as it lies beneath.

Cant imagine,
Cant recall,
How it's been.
It only stinks of war,
and of dead bodies.
Cant hold my breath,
I feel like going down.

Where sages shared words cryptic,
That temple's nowhere to be seen.
I stroll down the street,
kicking pebbles with my feet.
while its remains,
lie underneath.

Valley's gone without a trace,
Only bodies, no face.
As I stroll down the street,
Holding my breath closing my eyes.
Kicking pebbles with my feet,
The last of the human race...

Dear friend

You love being sad,
Tortured by women.
You like the torture, dont you?
You hate the good ones.
All bad, selfish bitches,
whom you love,
and they wont love you in return,
for long, for more than a year.

You love dreaming,
be rich, be famous.
But every morning,
you get up all weary,
and do the manual work.
You like to dig the past
when the future lies above.
You like torture, dont you?
Kicked, humiliated, mocked.
You enjoy that, dont you?

Oh my friend,
I had to write such.
But now,
when I read it over again,
I suddenly realize.
Is it you
or is it me I am talking about?

The Break dance.

Birth Cry Mother
Milk Feed Possession
Break

Jealousy Punishment Fight
Friends Rules Psychedelia
Break

Desire Love Hate
Pleasure Money Beauty
Break

Partner Problems Lover
Success Failure Vows
Break

Poems Songs Loss
Pain Tears Emotions
Break

Bottles Glasses Scotch
Delusions Liver Heart
Break

Malady Sickness Aloneness
Breaths Illusions Life
Break

Everything Breaks
What does not??

And the story continues....

There was a Traveler
searched woods for air
for food, for love.
Wandered along,
Followed air, wrote books.
Only of tragedies,
of life devoid of love,
feared his loneliness.
Cursed the darkness,
& the beauty of the jungle
all in a book.

One day, Traveler was killed
by the jungle, its beauty, its predators.
With few breaths remain
Cursed more his love-lessness
his loneliness, its beauty.
Wrote last few lines
of his recluse, a tragedy.

Hunters found him dead,
alone in the mud,
Sat with him instead.
He was not alone now,
But dead too
"Leave him be", said the chief.
And the Traveler,
continued the life,
just the way
described in his book.

Dogs and sonsofbitches

I was traveling last week, very light
Alone at the airport
Well, aren't we all?
I saw a lady with a chihuahua,
sat beside me waiting for her flight.
I liked the dog,
Irresistibly cute it was.
Asked if i could hold it,
as tiny little pup it was.

I held it on my lap
played with it for a while.
Fiddled with its nose a little.
Then suddenly felt a warmth
and some trickling and tickling
That sonofabitch had peed
Relieved itself on my pants.

The lady smiled at me contritely
Said its because you smelled good
I smiled and felt not a bit surprised
Doesn't life shits at all those who smell good
Guess I was not good enough
That I had to settle with a pee..

Lunar addiction.

In the night
come out these flying flies
out of the fissures of the doors
like Isis from the tree of life
only the tree is now but a piece of wood
eaten away by mites over the time.

The flies, not able to see the moon
dance around bulbs & tubelights
for a while, an hour or two.
Trying to find "something".
Search desperately till they live.
Then suddenly they disappear.
Like dead bodies they fall
creating a graveyard of filth
yet failed to find the "thing".

But I see them everyday
without any intention to kill
Day after day they come and go
Out of the fissure
And into the soil.
While I just lay there
in the dark getting older by day
See millions of lives perish
in front of my eyes.

strange inspirations.

Have you ever felt
Devoid of love?
Devoid of strength?
Looking at that stranger's face,
Could you ever imagine?
What did those eyes say?
What did that sign meant?

Have you ever listened to,
Someone's heartbeat or no one's?
Or if it ran too fast,
Did it beat in unison?
Searching for those perfect words,
Have you ever found
An inspiration in someone?

Even for just a moment
Could you earn the favor?
To awaken the poet,
To bring out that passion?
And you have to suffer no more
So have you ever found?
Such an inspiration?

All day All Night

I can still see your spirit
In the morning and in the night.
And your skin in the orange sun
I can see in those eyes
My only moments of peace.
I can see those lips
Desiring to be kissed.
The gap between your fingers
Wanting to be filled.

I write you a song
As the feelings in my heart
Has been enough for long.
I can hold you in my arms so tight
Like a dying man, his life.
And defy all obligations.
I like your imperfections
The only proof you're a human.

I was not alive
Not better than the dead.
Till the day I met you
And was filled with flesh & blood.
Now that you're gone
But I still see your spirit
All day all night long.