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?



I sleep, like a log, no

More like a woman, craving sleep

Clutching desperately,

At the last wisps of dreams, breaking

My nails as they flee

I always wake with a start, sometimes

Like the sky falls down, no

Like I fall down from the sky, it is

painful. Sometimes I bleed

Inside my mind.

Floating about mindless

Recuperates, it

Sticks to the senses, lulls you

To a dream-like state

Blissful, and blue, yet

Never satiating

Why must I always wake?

For duty calls, life calls,

No, what we’ve made our life, that’s what calls

It always calls, whispers like the fiend,

Clings to the skin

Like the nasty smell of vehicle smoke, like

Other people’s sweat, after a long day of work.

Impatient tsk’s

Jut into your gut, like elbows

Patience snaps

Is wafer-thin

At this time of the day

Stagger on cocoon-ward, blood bubbles

Toils and troubles inwards

Dreading yet another day

Darkness falls regardless.



I should like to hold you now

Despite the yawning miles, defy

The gnawing acid of distance, perhaps

Reach out to you in your dreams, but you

Never really dream, do you?

Barred behind that impenetrable wall of sleep you

Wander off on your own, and I

Can do nothing else but wait

Till you unbar the sleep doors again the next morning

Setting those slightly bewildered eyes upon

Too much sunlight and a world that makes way too much fuss

Over unimportant things.

Maybe you will remember to stop

And dream a little tomorrow, at daybreak

In between sips of tea and

Driving to work amidst a

Honk infested city, but then again,

Maybe not.

Remember but of me, of my thoughts

Always with you, early morning

Despite a slumber slurred voice greeting you

From the other end of countless strings of

Electromagnetic waves, coarsely spun

Of unrefined emotions that are

Generally healthier than the synthetic refineries

In plenty these days.

Remember me, of the unrefined caresses, words

Too coarse to be of plastic

In an otherwise plastic world.

Carrying on….

Future smiles with outstretched arms


Run like a child,seeking warmth

Of its mother’s safe arms.

But in my careless haste,sometimes

I scratch myself on the briers that line my way

I trip,feet bound with lies, I fall

In to snares laid with deceit,

Run a stake or two through the heart, I bleed

I cry, I scream,I curse, my trust

It shatters with the fall,sometimes

I cut myself on the shards,I fear

I may never trust again.

Yet I stand,I gather myself,

I smile through the pain,I walk through the rain.

Battle wounds run deep,they sting,they hurt

But they heal

With time. Yet sometimes,

I think I will die, bleed myself to death and yet

I survive.

Wounds turn to scabs, scabs turn armor

Valuable stuff these scars, they serve as maps

Of where I have been,of what I have survived

The blood that I’ve shed is the rouge on my lips

The tears that I’ve cried are the pearls around my neck

I wear my kind deeds,they are the garlands in my hair

My perfume is sweet,it is my virtue that I’ve preserved.

I stand tall,I run swift

I run like the wild black mare unleashed,

My limbs ache,I ail sometimes

Yet I battle demons,ward monsters,beware

My wounds become armor,my scars become shields,

My heart survived blows,becomes stronger still

I am what I am,I’ve braved many storms

My faith is strong, I’ve always

Always carried on.

That flicker of light

Sometimes all you need is just one tiny little thing to deliver you relief from the colossal weight that you are forced to carry around on your shoulder. When all hope’s gone and you are lost and alone in the middle of nowhere, the lost man knows how precious even the feeble flickering of a fire fly is to make his heart soar. Even if your entire life is one big dramatic tragedy beyond repair, even if everybody else is gritting their teeth to mold you in to their models of perfection, there should at least be one compassionate part in your life, one minuscule morsel that accepts you as you are, not having expectations that shall suppress your soul and draw tears from you instead of wiping them away. There should at least be one understanding, forgiving aspect of your life that welcomes you with open arms and a shoulder to cry on. If not, life gets unbearable. Sensitivity is a good thing, but it also makes you sting extra when times get rough.

I am grateful for what I’m capable of feeling. I cherish my heightened ability to feel, whether it be smell, touch, vision, sound or emotion because it takes one to new euphoric levels of conscience that you just didn’t know existed. It’s not easy when it comes to pain though. Just like the positivity is taken to euphoric heights by hypersensitivity, pain is taken to hellish, unfathomable depths which sometimes become too calamitous to the all too fragile a soul. But then, I do not mind pain. Pleasure exists because of pain. But that pain should always, always be recompensed I believe. The soul is a beautiful, delicate thing that runs the risk of being broken, which then shall turn in to the well-beaten deer hide that lies on your couch, incapable of feeling, numb to gentle caresses. And I do not want to become a deer hide by all means, however hard things may get at times. Like I always say, pleasure exists because of pain. And I want to be able to feel everything, in every sense of that beautiful word “feel”. I do not want to lose my pleasure. Nor my pain for that matter.

That feeble flicker of light is really all you need sometimes because it can raise you to unmeasurable heights in your darkest hours. Sometimes all you need is a kiss on the forehead, a warm gaze and a loving touch to assure you that there shall always be at least one person rooting for you even if the whole world boos you down when you come last in this huge rat race of stampeding hippos and trumpeting elephants. But then, I doubt the generosity or the practicality of anyone else putting aside their own hectic, life-draining races for a while and come cheer me on, but I still expect people to do so and get hurt when they don’t in all my naiveness. They are individuals too and I’m well aware of the fact that they all got their own races to run.

But then, if you care enough, you would stop your own race for a while, for somebody for whom you care for so very much and cheer them on, wouldn’t you? I know I have. And I still do. Call me stupid, call me naive, call me a romantic imbecile but I shall keep doing so too. I have always put my loved ones first, even before my own self. And this is no soap opera line. It’s the brutal, bleeding, hurting, stinging truth. But that’s another story.

I know I’m still too green to be strong and durable to brave all my hurdles with a dazzling, unaffected smile on my face, but at least I shall try, sobbing my way through the thorns that graze my still tender skin, bearing my red rose of hope and love. But I learn each passing day. At each scratch of skin, at each stab of knives, a rare and precious lesson shall be etched in blood in the much guarded parchments of my mind.

One of these days I shall learn to look within myself for answers, that much needed self-assurance that shall keep my head above the water without expecting others to throw lifebuoys to save my drowning self on those rare moments of panic and illusion, however rare they may be. I shall know better than to cry over the grazes on my skin and worry whether they shall leave permanent scars on my skin. One of these days I shall be hardy enough to combat my way through the piranha-invaded waters without a blemish but still manage to keep my heightened levels of sensitivity to feel all the good things in life.

Like I said, I’m learning. Still learning each passing day. And each lesson beckons a new era, a new age of self-sufficient contentment, disillusionment and emotional independence that shall set me free. Hopefully I shall receive the class prize for the best student this year, I know I’m making progress fast :)



Whizzed past today

I was

Stuck in a rut,looking up

Slow motion.


Light filters through the heavy blinds

Faint light, sickly light

Hope deprived,pale

and useless.Weak

Lights upon wasted life

The miserable.The tear stained.

Unopened windows guard musty air

Shadows lurk,spiders weave

Their crafty webs in a vacant mind

Insipidity reigns, air drained

Of freshness,of color

Life lay suffocated,muses hang

From their necks,from crooked branches

Wringed of all goodness,happy memories

Dissapointment lurks here,nothing disperses

The loneliness of mind,no intellectual companionship

No inspirations.Life lay


In dog-eared books

Wings singed.