Friday, March 12, 2010


sometines people pick up reputations for nothing
aflazur, the grey haired youth once slept with many
women. love, he says does not teach the difference
between the musky fragrance of different flesh. Inside,
his long nailed companion flicks gold dust off her filter
ipped fag. she thinks it prevents cancer. and else.

you know my love, I feel lost in these wounded roads
that lead to nowhere but the living dead. while you
walk, every stone round the corner comes off as a false
god hanging on to afailing strand of faith. everywhere,
stray thoughts of women asasult me like a childhood
dream my mother says that a woman can make me
go weak inThe knees. little does she know that I cherish
love hate exchanges with ten of her kind. i wish she would
know by now. i would happily eschew all pretensions of regret
i am sure.

somewere around the corner, my eyes twist
like her unkempt hair, on a chilly, rainy day in shillong

Friday, January 22, 2010

Poem published in Gloom Cupboard #115

Here's the link.

To read this poem on this blog, click this

Thursday, January 7, 2010


Empty sounds emanate from
Elongated lobes, like torsos of
Desireable women with plastic smiles
The wind is an unwelcome guest
At this odd hour, shattering any
Hope of ennui on a Sunday night

Candles flicker like half grown
Adults eager for love. Smells of
Fish fry aromas signal the fall
Of some unkempt bachelor’s
Bastion to womankind. Flies
Survey my banal diet with
The pure interest of capitalists

Meanwhile my old gardener
Romances the blossoms to the
Haunting orchestra of twilight


There is no fragrance of flowers
People do not fashion some things
Anymore. Somewhere winter
Lazes around, like an idle snake
In hibernation, refusing to stir
Thunders taunt with no promise
Of rain. Everything is stoned

Crows head home like failed
Clerical missions. The sky is
Crimson with the dying day
Clandestine gazes exchange
Messages in twilight.Only
The street bears silent testimony
To a stray catfight.

Somewhere a lovelorn loafer
Seduces passing women
With a sly smile.

A Poem Comes Of Age

We cannot walk together anymore
Man and woman. These days it
Is not safe to say things in the open
There are revolutionaries out there
And Patriots . Sons of the soil
Who may not like us, taunt us
Earlier no one cared who loved
And lost. Which king advanced;
Or the fallacies of nubile age.

Instead we can communicate
In this indifferent clatter.
I can very well understand
The language of these lazy
Womanly aromas invading my
Nostrils. Another bomb blast
And we shall very soon pretend
To like this banal silence

Meanwhile, while each day recedes
Into a drunken lullaby, I understand
The wisdom of love. Just another
Futile, distant possibility in twilight

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


I never understood these mute chasms
Which separate us in this hopeless exile
These shadows cast by the fire in our hearts
Many long winters have passed and
Yet I brandish this forgotten childhood
Like a talisman to ward off evil

My mother is concerned with rice and gold
She wants me to go to the fields and reap
Hope in this wintry haze. But beloved, only
You and I know the pains of this indifferent
Existence, living like strangers
In this misty rain

Meanwhile, Winter comes like a
Shy widow, unveiling its lust in
The smoke of an early morning fag.

My mother makes tea for me

Wednesday, December 30, 2009


I love the smell of smoke in the mornings
The stony stupor of this vagabond mind
Sometimes in these macabre afternoons
I embark upon a lowly odyssey in some
Scarecrow alley, haunted by some failed god
Armed with this futile obsession to unearth
The ancient pain of this widowed night

I love to watch these hills in winter
Clothe themselves in ragged shawls
Of white. Like old women, these hills
Know things more important than
The fear of hunger or war, or love.

And as these lines die into the sounds
Of this breathless ramble, beloved
Let this evening wind confine you in
The lifeless thirst of our hearts.