Sunday, January 06, 2019


It oozes out of my skin these days.
Tempered by age, forged by years
of suppression.

It lives and breathes on the tip of my tongue.
Tangy in anticipation, bitterness churned
out of its core.

It undresses, feeding my voyeuristic gaze.
Wanton in want, hunger stoked on fumes
rising off naked flesh.

It is devilish, it is sinful in my heart.
Blessed in bliss, and blinded by a force
of ancient kin.

It is falls, hardens, it rises in my self.
Uncontrolled in words, unconquered
in death.

Tuesday, January 01, 2019


She walked up to me
looking dissatisfied,
Hair impeccebaly held straight
A gait, tested and tried.

She wanted to say something
and not appear rude,
My greys bristled with my black
when she didn't begin with, 'dude.'

Her skirt didn't know where to end
White on black, her cropped top did,
Eyes that laughed, lips not so
Smiles or sarcasm, all under a lid.

Before I knew, she had turned around
Pirouette, and a wavy hand,
A curvy back walked away
Taking my gaze, from where I stand.


Last year was dismal for my writing.  On the blog.

For everything else, it was quite nice.

Let's see...

I learned a martial art. And I have not dropped out yet

I travelled. To eight states and two different countries.

I met, talked to and befriended some amazing women.

I stayed financially solvent.

I got myself more work than I can handle.

I tried to not get angry. Did not always suceed. Still trying.

I am a five year old father now. Amazing.

I had great sex.

I  started and finished the Wheel of Time - all 15 books! Robert Jordan - incredible.

I bought more books than I can read. I bought more graphic novels.

I sketched.

I ran. 10km. More than once!

I swam. And now I can do a respectable freestyle.

I saw Spiderman - Into the Spider-verse.

I wrote impromptu poetry. And prose. Not much of it has made it here. That should change.

I discovered Sarah Kay and spoken word poetry.

I am sure I have forgotten some stuff, but that's ok too, isn't it.

And here we are again, luv.

Here's to a fascinating year ahead.

Friday, June 15, 2018

I am not writing to you anymore

I am not writing to you anymore

I wrote in words, in verse
however terse,
or out of shape, I opened up.

I gave us names, in hope
let my ideas elope,
into fantastical lands afar.

I painted hues, in time
borrowed, a crime,
from others who demanded more.

I dressed up, crossed cities,
booked a bloody restaurant too,
just an okay, so few?
what gives you the right!

to be miserly with words.

I am not writing to you anymore.


I breathe a sigh, heavy air
sit on a rickety chair,
look up and look kind.

I want say, slow and less
is a caress
of a different paintbrush.

I did not write, or fly 
a solitary, mundane, hi
I agree, is a weak stand-in.

Though in thought, and in mind
of an uncountable kind
you have lingered 
like clouds on the Kanchenjunga.

seen from valleys of Darjeeling.

I wish you do not write to me anymore.

You make me write, for you, instead.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Gaaner Opare

Dandiye aacho tumi amaar, 
gaaner opare.

A sea of shame,
A prayer gone awry,
Silences, shouting, the same.

Amaar shur guli paaye choron,
Aami payini tomare.

A path across time,
Hesitation. Doubt. Dust.
Stories told in mime.

Batash bohe mori mori,
Aar bendhe rekhona tori,
Esho, Esho paar hoye mor,
hridoye majhaare.

Born to her timeless touch,
Old. Soft. Incessant.
Indulgent, sometimes too much.

Tomar shaathe gaaner khaela
durer khaela je
bedona te baanshi bajaye
shokol bela je.

Elusive, yet incandescent,
Alien in my reality,
Threaded, mending my every dent.

Kobe niye aamar baanshi
bajabe ko aapni aashi
aonondomoye nirob raate
nibid aandhare.

A bridge across my heart,
lined in bloody thorns,
every day, prior art.

Note: The Bangla verses are by Tagore. The dry English is mine. Nothing more is to be said on the subject.

Friday, September 15, 2017

तो बेशर्मी होगी

अगर छुपी बैठी हो
शर्म की चादर लपेट कर ।

और झिझक रही हो यह सोच कर
बात करोगी
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

अलफ़ाज़ जो बह गए
उम्मीद के इंतज़ार मे

उनको सन्नाटों में
डूबने से न बचाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

नज़रें जो उठी नहीं
इशारों के बहकाने से

उनको आगोश में
ना सुलाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

हाथ जो कांपते हैं
छूने की याद में तन्हा

उनको तन्हाई मे
गले ना लगाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।


the sky sings in drops
of dripping pain,
come, get wet with me
in this boisterous rain.

the ground coughs in fits
of squelching mud,
come, get murky with me
in desire's sultry crud.

the skin murmurs in fatigue
of ceaseless want,
come, get in with me
for a dark, lusty jaunt.

the mind mad in quiet
of revolting cries,
come, get down with me
in a valley of muffled sighs.