Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The Red Pen

I felt his hand shiver. The same shiver that run down my back. Every time he wrote on the page of my life, his hand shivered. The same shiver. The blacks, the blues, the greens – all were beginning to look dull on my page. Their lustre was wearing off.
Perhaps that is why he wanted to write with his red pen. But his hand was shivering. Again. He stared at my page. I thought I saw him stare. I definitely felt the pause. A barren phase. A morbid stagnation that halted me, my life.
All of a sudden, I felt the friction. The philandering of the nib on paper. On my page. But words did not form. Not even letters. Instead it blotted. A bright drop of red ink, spreading consciously, stubbornly across the page. The paper glistened in red.
The lustre had returned.
Only, in a different shade.

Friday, November 13, 2009

that flower...

She shivered in the wind,
And fell.
A sudden, long fall.
That stole an entire
Second of my life.
I picked her up.
Stared and stared and saw.
A four petalled wonder,
Reeking of the stench,
Of my decayed childhood.
Replaying tales of old shadows
Running barefoot,
In the garden of my past.
Over the withered leaves
Of my once blooming dreams.
Reminding me to live,
Through her death.

Saturday, November 7, 2009


Your breath still lingers;
Whispering in me.
And this dreaming night smiles
At the beauty of death.
I stand and stare
At my world you conjured.
And all I hear,
Are the echoes of the fears I know.


I can’t sleep.
The bedside lamp is warm.
Yet, the faint glow
So cold,
So heartless.

The head board groans
Under my heavy thoughts.
I can’t sleep.

Growling beasts
Blacken my dreams.
Darkness creeps
Onto my bed.
The echoes sustain.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t sleep.
I can’t drift away.
Thinking cobwebs
Tie me down
To this stagnation.

So that,
I don’t sleep.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

my old photograph

she smiles at me.
I smile back.
the same smile.
she is calm,
the blissful calmness
of knowing nothing.
she hasn't changed.
19years later,
her rattle still
a vibrant yellow.
but changed, I have.
from her to me.
all that remaining,
is the yellow alone.

Monday, June 16, 2008

the take off

the engines screamed.
i heard them.

the rubber scarred the runway.
i felt the pain.

the pain of letting go;
of meaningless longing.
to stop.
to return.

the trees are running;
faster, faster.
the mountains flying;
they can rise no more.

what i know
what i knew.

Friday, June 13, 2008

the blackrose

in the petals of the blackrose,
i saw a crimson mouth to kiss.
her slender stalk - all lush green;
i was caught in eternal bliss.

deep, dark and lustful, there she stood.
shamelessly, i drank in the scene.
had she blushed deeper still,
further enchanted i would have been.

"wats in a name", he once had said.
"a rose is a rose", it may seem.
why then this scarlet beauty is black?
what could in heavens be the theme?

is her tale of long lost love?
is she burdened with mourning?
or is 'black' the serenity of night?
its mysteries- that keep me pondering....

i felt her move, saw her beckon.
inching close, i heard her whisper;
the dark tales of her dark past,
of dying love and dead hearts that linger.

velvety softness i reached out to feel,
beauty priceless in all the pelf.
seduced by the touch, i did forget,
the guarding thorns upon her self.

a prick, pain, a drop of blood.
the same red as that of the rose.
it trickled down her crimson lips,
she too bled as i held her close.