The descent


It starts with the small cracks

pushes through the crevices, tiny ugly blobs, remnants

of unconscious sighs.

Tar-black and reeking

of discarded hope, it whimpers

snuggling into the wounds

like all the puppies you’ve lost as a child.

In moments of loneliness it whispers

Coaxes you to feed, to nourish yourself

From its dark, dreary milk and

You gnaw, half-hearted

Like you do at cold food

A day too old to eat, but too much of a waste to throw out.

It starts from within

Swirls of disappointment, internal chaos and black, black death

And before you know it, you are all topsy-turvy

Too mangled and ugly for anybody to save

Like a mouse hanging from cat jaws

Like a forlorn napkin, held by a single peg

Against a raging storm.






I don’t want to count the stars,

And wonder at those glistening points

Nor wander through the untouched thicket, Pffft!

Who has time for all this!


I don’t ask for much. Never have.

There is

Simply not enough time, nor patience

For self is the centre of it all.

Minutes fall around me, hours roll

Away, like pebbles

From the hands of a child

But do I dare whimper? Or shed a tear?


Thick skin as they say, like cow hide

Beaten down, so many times

I hardly feel the pain.


Those you love the most are the ones who enjoy watching you bleed. And

sometimes you need to ask yourself

Have all that love been in vain?

Hours roll, unfeeling, just as years have rolled before them

With the heaviness of machines, well oiled

Tired eyes, tired heart, spent and alone watch on


Where did it begin?

Where to end? Should it end? Questions

Those painful hooks, tear into the flesh

I don’t wear white, for it shows off the red

Of a wounded bleeding skin.

Haven’t you heard?

Simplicity is the hardest thing.

Less is more, more is less

Who makes these rules, where do they bend?

Can they bend?

Questions. They know

No answers. Life

Is such, as we constantly tell ourselves.

But is it really so? Who makes these rules?

Where do they bend? Can they bend?

No one knows, does

Anyone care?

Mopping up

The city clothed itself in sombre robes

The trees stood silent, leaves no longer

Dilly-dallying in the wind

Respectful reverence, or was it

Petrified fear?

I saw your face through the haze, petrol fumes

Clouded my judgement. You

Touched my hand and smiled

Into my eyes. Cue – this is where I melt, into your arms

Helplessly, aimlessly wander, let you engulf me, liquid

Like water

But something had frozen. I guess I do not melt anymore

It was strange yet comforting, I needed you no more.

Yet words splatter the walls at unforseen moments,

At the absence of a janitor, I am left

Mopping up the walls in silence.

Living inside my head


Gnawing at thoughts these tiny little creatures,

Scuttling all over, pricks sometimes

Those pointy meddling feet, numerous

In composition. Hurt

Comes at unexpected times.

Somewhere drips bleeding, and I

Think to myself that

People are meddlesome insects and I

Find solace only in my thoughts, so

Loyal and so intimate.

Walls have been built and I

Wouldn’t know where to begin to

Dismantle them, nor

If I would ever want to, the

Naive and trusting thing that I am, the

Humble clay walls that I’ve built,

Often misunderstood

For Citadels of pride.


Find my thoughts to be my friends and they

Keep me occupied enough, conversing

In varied tones, I

Live inside my head.

Facing the residual

Oh God! The residual love stings

Like glass splinters in the head, the pain

Lingers, the dolor

Of fading affection is

Bitter sweet, you cannot but weep

From exhaustion, tell yourself

It will all be over soon, but will it

Drown itself in the bog of indifference

That easily, while everything else

Crashes and burns, surrounds you

With throttling smoke?

Love fades, hang on

To its flimsy parting robes, leaving

Deep gashes on your wrists.

Tears are….

Tears are

Heart juice flowing from the eyes, wringed

From the insides, writhing

And coiling like a beheaded serpent

Frivolous attempt

To recuperate beheaded emotions.

Suffocating, stifling

Blood gasps for air

Liberating yet

Asyphyxiating, masochistic perhaps

As one gleans relief from

These painful drops…..

If only it had a mouth it would have smiled

Serpents coil round and round an anemic heart

Choking, throttling

While it spits blood, squirts

Water, for blood has been shed

Many, many times.

Having been ravaged by prying vultures

Having been pinched by thoughtless fingers, needles

Of indifference, cruel, stabbing words

Having been attacked with poisoned arrows, almost

Been sawed apart once, minced and mangled

Being choked now is a privilege,

A piece of chocolate fudge

Topped perhaps with a cherry, or

A juicy looking strawberry.

If it had a mouth the heart would have smiled

For light is just about to fade from its eyes,

And the pain is about to cease, about to stop

Serpent venom lulls the agony to numbness

While it penetrates, explores every aching curve

Every burning alcove

Of carefully kept love and guarded memories.

If it had a mouth it would have smiled

For the anemic heart shall no longer beat

Heart wrenching doleful tunes

For now

It patters out its own funeral march

Never to beat again.