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System: set and reset

3 Sep

Mouth, full of words failing to escape through the gap between teeth and lips, as tongue swells, speech silently swallowed.

Pressed and compressed.

Face, weighed down by the gravitational pull of heavy thoughts, all lightness and youth consumed, cast in a plaster mask.

Drawn and withdrawn.

Shoulders, proud and defiant, try in vain to lift the body to its suit of dignity, limbs eager and distracted.

Dress and redress.

Heart, tender and curious, feels everything at once, bleeding and ecstatic, beating with purpose and caution.

Erupt and disrupt.

Throat, collects and chokes on anxieties, vocal chords parched and scratched, weakly whisper wounds.

Strained and constrained.

Breath, an intake of cold air, calm and focused, steering a chaotic and erratic system, controlling the pace and averting collision.

Solve, resolve, absolve.




2 Jun

Bright happiness of the glistening day, washed in the stark light of the sun.

The decided darkness of the night is illuminated by distant dying stars, hinting at the incomprehensible expanse of the universe, ancient and unending.

Shimmering cosmic skin of Krishna, dyed deep in dharmic divinity, desire dancing and flirting across time to the unpredictable talkative rhythmic language of a tabla.

The moods you wear, from trivial playful disinterest to profound meditative melancholy, changing shades as the sky changes its tone and complexion.

A welcome embrace, wide open arms boldly hold me tight in warmth and comfort.

When I close my eyes a final time, covered in the glorious royal coat of a peacock, I am home, where, as far and wide as my soul roams, there is only blissful bountiful blue.


Temporal orbits

7 Jan


A buzz, a mass, anticipation afoot
Laughter, chatter, unguarded voices excited
Perfect summer night all smiles and cartwheels
The hour approaches every body is pulled
A full moon drawing tidal disciples

Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock
Rigid black hands heading home to the beginning
Tick tick tick tock tock tock, heading to the end
Untrained howls calling out numbers with strange discipline
Choruses urge the determined hands to a triple kiss

Now at the finish line. Struck! Dong!
Jubilation is instant, the future is here
Moment is frozen, coloured fire sparks fly across the sky
Jumping and leaping mimicking the feelings of those below
Ground dwellers with fire and spark in every breath

Steady black hands all three barely glance at the spectacle
Waves of bodies gathered to witness an alignment
A mechanical eclipse orbiting time
The moment is unmarked work is still to be done
Eternity awaits stretching out yet to be noted



Dirty orange sky

28 Oct

Dirty orange sky
Collecting anger from furious fires
Burning and crackling
Emboldened by devious forceful winds
Licking anything
Within ever expanding horizons
Sending signals of
Smoke and haze, the bitterness of burnt air
Stings throat and palate
Filters every view with growing fear
Unready for more
Failed resistance yielding to intense heat
Hiding from its march
Heads turn upwards with eyes fixed searching for
Hope in forlorn skies
Darkened by dull amber hues filling a
Bright October day
Waiting anxiously for night to command
An end to the purge


Between sleep and wake

18 Sep

Suspended in a washed out wakefulness,
heavy head cradled by foggy senses,
trying to discern noises and voices,
the doorbell rings, again, and once again,
its sound is clear, crisp, it rings, rings again.

Birds conspire conspicuously in the
mid-afternoon sun, its warmth reaches through
the window, gently stroking bare brown skin,
happily imbibing cosmic manna,
absorbing this transforming energy.

Sinking into this in-between space haze,
uncertain if dreams or thoughts pass by in
casual, usual, confident strides,
real and unreal merge into giddy peace,
as body digs a glorious comfort.

Between sleep and wake is a room full,
smells and tastes long forgotten nestle in,
strange gods and ghosts come and go, winking smiles,
and gravity descends, wrapping around,
turning this from a dawn to the gloaming.



16 Sep


Earth, stone, blood, bone, bound together forever by history.

Bodies, bent, broken, bloodied by slow, painful, heavy labour.

Offer of sweat, tears and flesh to build solid permanence draped in magnificence.

Pray to painted, petty, impatient and impetuous gods.

Angry deities who do not answer and never forgive.

Lives limp and lost, looking for some magic to lull them into a long final sleep.

Sacrificed souls severed from skins held together for short time.

Cruel glory haunted by ghosts trapped in ancient ambition.

Bitter force hits the heart with intent, unbalancing senses, unsettling nerves.

Earth, stone, blood, bone, ever awe-struck-some-ful.


Mindless rhythms

18 Aug

Auditioning a host of untamed words
haphazardly strung together in jest
to revive my atrophied mind, muscles
weak and in the doldrums, not wanting to
navigate tricky twisting tunnels of
profound problems demanding earnest work.

Dum-de-dum-de-dum taps inside my head,
rhythms easier than exercising
a deflated brain, neglected cells plead,
insisting, use me, use me, give me life,
cacophony of noisy thoughts smothered
by an incessant dum-de-dum-de-dum.


Poison word

31 Jul

A word, exotic, so potent, defined
clinically in the dictionary,
something foreign, strange, flora or fauna.

An idea, romantic, unfulfilled,
alluring and alien attractions,
waiting to be discovered and unlocked.

An adventure, the determined hunt for
treasure, pleasure, mystery, enchantment,
merchants seeking unknown fascination.

A label, wilfully misunderstands
lives, lands, loves, histories, traditions, tongues,
to theorise, write, argue, make judgements.

A curse, of gazes, suffocates women,
unwanted fixations on difference,
disguised compliments mask less equal thoughts.

An accusation, imprisoning men
in distrust, suspicion, fear, ridicule,
disposed and undeserving of respect.

A subject, studied, practiced, distorted,
frozen museum exhibits stripped of
humanity for curiosity.

An act, of power, wields weapons, striking
coldly, unleashing uninhibited
calamity on brave and weak alike.

A thirst, satisfied by poison poured down
greedy mouths relishing each drop of a
toxic brew, disfiguring minds, souls, fates.

A word, exotic, blunted by misuse,
jagged, rusted edges carve deep, raw wounds,
scarring soft flesh, inscribing hardened bones.


Visitors in dreams

17 Jul

I am the one who comes at night to play
a game of hide and seek when you are fast
asleep, dream of flocks of birds locked in full
flight, weaving in and out of unhurried
clouds, keen to nests as darkening skies make
homes for age-old stars, shining ancient light,
tell tales of times with memories made full.

I come in the darkest hour of the night,
pulling you out of dreams of birds and stars,
calling your name in whispers low and cold,
sending trembling thoughts to your restful mind,
jolting awake fear and panic, wreaking
havoc in your slumber, no longer sweet,
nightmares lurk in the midst of happy dreams,
creeping into unsuspecting spaces
of your deep sleep, tonight, you hide, I seek.


birds sepia purple


‘This skin’ re-posted

14 Jul

I wrote This skin for another blog. Posting it here as well, since it’s a creative piece about feeling trapped in your situation and skin, and longing for freedom.



This skin


Always invisible, between worlds, on the borders, in the cracks. Never wholly anywhere or anything.

Always reaching out for the sun, its warmth, its light, its love, its food, its life. Its easy gift of dignity.

Always searching for imagined and unknown places, spaces, faces, that offer a promise of fond embrace.

Always wishing for the stars, the planets, the galaxies, and everything beyond our earthly and stunted understanding.

Always trapped, in this game, in this shame, in this time, in this crime. In the fiction that creates truths to imprison.

Always trying to escape, to resist, to scream out, to be known, to be named, to become visible and whole. To become human.

But this skin, this skin that contains me, keeps me, hides me, locks me, chains me, maps me, owns me, mocks me.

This skin, my enemy, my existence, makes me and destroys me.

This skin, I want to shed and replace, this skin is my life, my mind, my disguise, my history, my unknown.

This skin is at once everything and nothing, real and imagined. A translucent membrane to see me through, an invisible wall to keep you out.

This skin, stands between where I want to be, where I need to be, where I long to be, and where I am.

This skin, will not leave me.

This skin. This skin.


The line

26 Jun

What is this line that determines fates and lives?
The line that separates people, families, communities, humanity.
This line imbued with so much power and anger.

One side is the promise of something better,
Or at least the hope, the chance of that promise.
One side is desperation, frustration, fear and sadness.

A sacred line for some,
Crossing it is to commit unspeakable outrage,
That anyone would dare without the proper condescending authority.

It is a line of self-bestowed superiority,
You stay on that side and we will stay on this side, okay?
We know the right way to cross, not your way.

The line is a creation,
An idea made palpable through imagined morality and righteousness,
Brought into an obscene existence by brutal rules and commands.

A line with a hostile, sparing welcome,
It can be crossed with a trick of papers and data,
Only, if, these paper and data lives fit neatly into tiny squares, maybe.

The line is governed by rules, indifference, paranoia, morality,
Hiding the punishment, purgatory, despair, and inhuman cruelty,
Felt every second of every life shut far away to stifle the heartbreak.

This line is a test,
Those are the rules, this is the game, designed especially for you,
Are you ready to play?


Future musings

30 Apr

Possibilities beyond current limitations
Sounds unheard by human ears
Sights too incredible for eyes to see
Languages spoken by incomprehensible tongues
Knowledge unfathomable to stumbling minds
Beings too complex to name

Art that is unimagined
Spectacles like nothing staged before
Machines and technology not invented yet
Structures made of materials unknown
Nature and elements undiscovered

Stories untold
Passions lying dormant
Histories waiting to unfurl

Time ticking differently

Wondering when it will begin


Tired eyes

11 Mar

Tired eyes, tired eyes, oh I have such sore, tired eyes.

So much to do, my mind is willing, but my tired eyes say no.

Tired eyes are burning, burning, burning.

Nothing, nothing, nothing can be done with these tired eyes.

Tired eyes refuse to read, watch, look or see.

Talking, walking, listening, thinking are a struggle with my tired eyes.

Tired eyes won’t even let me eat.

Trying so hard to fight tired eyes.

Tired eyes are staging a mutiny, taking over my brain.

My senses have succumbed to these tired eyes controlling my consciousness.

Tired eyes will give me no peace until I rest them with sleep.


Cloud dreams

11 Mar

Floating, gliding, silently and carelessly loitering.
Take your time, you have eternity to make your way across the sky.
You won’t last for eternity, but only a tiny fraction of time until you dissipate.

Aimlessly wandering, so you’d like us to believe.
Lazily brewing an itinerary for tomorrow.

To the abandoned metropolis baked by time, and frantic cities recently born.
To the mountain, its slopes decorated with beauty and danger.
To the ocean, deep, vast, blue, frightening and magnificent.
To the forest, the desert, the canyon, and icy lands.

I watch you, ambling along, against temperamental backdrops.
Your strange shapes and slumberous crawl bewitch me.

What magic do you know?
What secrets do you hide?
What confessions do your whispers reveal?

I keep watching.




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