Monday, July 14, 2008


The lines of life on my palm,
formed so hard in a fistful
of neo-natal agonies,
altered faintly through the pen-holding
keypad tapping days,
faded a bit through the hand-holding
tear-wiping phases,
destined to speak of my identity
beyond all invented categories...
they remain so certain, so well-marked
like a road-map that will lead me
one day to what I haven’t seen,
dreamt, of my ultimate mis/fortunes.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008


My Albatross soars
in its dream battles
of green hopes
for a sweet while
and wakes up just in time
to be back
to the stormy times
of blames and stares,
hanging blissfully dead
from a silly neck.

Wordless Worlds

There used to be a time when bodies
did the talking. An eyebrow raised
in queries above noises, a finger
rubbing peace to the small of one's back,
lips pressed to grief galore,
an embrace that melts all doubts.
The wordless worlds we pass through
in silent ritualistic heavings leave us
cold. We refuse to see or listen
to the needs of mindbodysoul flailing
helpless limbs in the void. Time to
stop blaming the things we built
and think of the hands that lost
the magic. Or, let us just lie
facing each other like fish out of water
shaking life out in loveless sighs.