Poem 52#

He’s here, but he’s truly not,

I don’t recognize him,

In fact I never have and never will,

He babbles and abuses too,

His eyes, don’t see what we see,

It sees a world that keeps opressing him,

His mouth becomes a flame of lies,

Of pain and hurt,

betrayal and crimes,

His past surfaces in and he becomes the same old boy

With khaki shorts and torn shirt,

With worn chappals and lost eyes

Who’s father beat him, to hide his lies,

To hide his affair with the woman he loved,

Who wasn’t his wife.

It all comes back to him, at times in episodes too.

He remembers the time his purple hand was beaten black,

The times his father thrashed him

Left him away and ignored his plight.

But oh he forgets the time he left us away,

Instead,

Says I am a burden,

And my siblings are no longer his children too.

He slurrs and slips,

Fumbles on his own failures, oh he falls.

And when his tired eyes and calloused feet hurt a lot,

He crashes his stout body on the defeated old bed,

Mumbbles a “I hate you, you’re no longer my child’

And goes back to sleep, soundly, every night.


Poem 51#

I didn’t know what I’d write today,

For hasn’t life become so mundane?

So monotonous, like the clock,

At every interval it ticks and tocks

Prompts me, it’s alive today.

I wake up to my mom’s atypical voice,

The news broadcast, tallies the death tolls,

The uneasy cooker keeps fretting too,

With each whistle, it gets louder and louder,

Until it’s left to cool at its place.

Dad works on his laptop grey,

With his tea cup beside his ashtrays,

His weary files are out again,

He enters the data,

fiercely stabs the fatigued keys,

Oh this damn old laptop, types ‘he’ as ‘eeee’

Sweety then chirps a loud meow to me,

Oh! she’s awake and is famished

She wants to eat the loaf of bread.

Along with the her favourite peanut butter

And chocolate spread.

Alas this short poem comes to an end,

For sweety’s wrath is inescapable,

When she hasn’t been fed.

PS: Sweety is my 10 year old baby parrot.

Poem 50#

She remembers crying late that night
Praying for dad, searching for him among the gloomy skies.
Her mother handling her a tiny gas lamp,
Empty it felt, weak it was, to survive the night.

Yet she waited for him silently,
Her stomach beseeched her dad,
He had promised her, they’d both eat dinner together,
Then he’d read the Princess and the knight.

She protected that perishing light,
Kept praying to the God unknown,
With weak words and trembling hands.
Just please let daddy be all right’.

And oh, he was all right,
he bought the frigid winds alongside,
Entered abode and gusted in,

Her dying light, fell right into her sight.

But did he care?

She asks herself the same thing, every night.

Poem 49#

They ask me how I feel nowadays,
I tell them,
Like the full moon, in a sombre sky
Surrounded by the stars and the grey clouds,
Solus, all night.

But he still happy and whole, they object

At what cost? I ask

They never reply.

Poem 48#

They all love the red rose,
Tell me,
They are allured by his aura so bright.
His soft petals, they adore,
It’s vibrant hue, they match with their core.
But his thorns they pluck aside.
For it pins the wound, they wish to ignore.

Yet I can’t stop loving his thorns,
The sweet pain,
It makes my numb heart, alive.

I hide him away from the world, undisclosed.
He rests,
In between the crevices of my grim diary,
One filled with dried ink and lost hope.

For,
Mum told me,
That one day I shall throw him out of my sight,
Will stop loving it’s thorns.
Stop checking up on him.
In time, he will die.

Yet everytime I try to keep the rose away from me,
I feel like the naive bird,
Who flutters in the direction unknown,
Until her debilitated heart can no more explore,
It aches to go home,to her abode.

Mum found my diary, tonight,
She threw him away
Out of her sight.
For she said
It was
for the best,my child.

And now,

We both die,

Little by little,

Under the moon’s glint light.

Poem 47#


I end up sitting by my window grill tonight,
Listening to the silence of the night.
The owls trill and warble a sad melody.
I look over my own shoulders,
Down my hand, they wish to hold the droplets that fall,
Alas, my loose wrist fail to hold them, they all fall to the timid ground.


I stare at my own shadow,
Rusting under the neon moon light
Feel the melancholy of the glum leaves,
They persuade me that they are free.
Yet fear the loathe of the rusty wind.

The unattended concrete road, shines under the street light,
Yellow gold, lit like the sun,
Yet no one lurks around this street.
Apart from the unruly dogs,
That break into a furious gallop to chase the ghosts and the cars.
The clock by the wall,tells me to hasten my pace,
For it’s almost midnight now.
Every normal being must be asleep,

With cold feet I reach my bed,
I lie awake where darkness lurks.
The monster under my bed,
Sleeps soundly, as though hypnotized.
But leaves me alone,

As it opens,

The Pandora box tonight.