I had torn open a wound;
Stitches made of gold
Medicine smeared of silver.
When it bled, it bled sounds;
Sounds of old people talking,
Sounds of young ones panting,
Voices of bright and dark colors,
Voices of you and me.

This wound,
This wound was mine and yours,
A depth measured by the words we fired at each other.

It had healed, maybe,
But I had a blade,
A brand new edge,
And I hacked at the golden threads,
I washed the silver away.

Here it is,
The open wound,
The loud, bleeding wound.

…I’m no doctor,
I’m just an assistant,
A slave,
A slave to my mind.


Lessons never learnt.

He said that it wasn’t love
And I thought
“Oh he’s at least honest.”
Another said it was,
And I thought,
I thought I heard it in his voice.
Yet another said,
“Let’s see,
Let’s see.”
He wanted to see “where it goes.”
One more wanted to make me his,
His wife or something, I think.
But he said the decision was too real
And too early, and he left.
Then I thought,
Maybe something is wrong with me,
I should not experiment again!
But here we go,
Yet another face,
Maybe yet another phase.
“Let’s see,
Let’s see.”

The way home.

I always used to think
I’m just a little far away from home
An arm’s length from my nagging mother
A minute from my brothers
A sigh away from my best friend
And a fall away from my love.
I am,
Just a little far away from home;
But every day
I travel a little further inside
The remote dark parts of my mind
Telling me
That I’m almost there
That I’m almost home
It’s just a little far away
A little cut away
A little drop away
A little hop away.


I’m a broken ship,
Sail stuck in a bottle,
Torn horizontally,
Bleeding air.
I’m the drunken fighter,
Brain fogged up,
Punching into voids,
Pain pulsating through.
I’m a fallen soldier,
Gunshots in my ears,
Blood in my eyes,
Death in my mind.
I’m an empty book,
Pages made of plastic,
Blank, cheap.
But then again, I’m me,
A name, an entity,
A wave of calm acceptance,
A whirlpool of rejection.
I’m without a soul,
Tied up in a bow of satin,
A gift to someone else,
A gift to someone else.

Getting Started.

Why are your eyes
The kindest, with the softest shine,
Yet with a blank stare?
Why are your arms
Protective, strong,
Yet bruised with loneliness?
Why is your heart
Calm, steady,
Yet afraid?
Why your lips
Smooth, soft,
Yet closed and cold?
Come share this fire with me,
Palms outstretched,
Legs crossed,
Comfortable with our shadows,
Until the night devours us.

Heart to Find.

One fine morning
I found a stone cold heart
Lying on the street
Blood frozen inside.
I picked it up
In my warm hands
And it melted
Into a violently beating red blob.
I was stained
But I took it home
I put it in a glass jar
And kept it in the sun.
The same day, apparently,
When my doctor checked me
He said my chest was empty
And that I was dead.