I don’t know how…

I don’t know how it’s come to this,
Standing on the this precipice,
above the nihilistic abyss.

Memories decayed to dust at dusk
we rust in the darkest hours until husks we become

So I’m stuck

Drifting in pools of tears from years of yearning
icebergs cracked by silent lightning
drifting apart like the same blood never flows twice
am I a clot so far from your heart?
congealed in surreal absence unhealed in abstinence
leading only one fate should I reach your core:

In the darkness,
the daunting uncertain maze,
I thought sleep was my only friend,
but then I met a shadow man
ever constant
behind me
beside me
before me
a peer of perseverance in adversity
a hand to hold
a love to know
a new vocabulary for an illiterate heart
in darkness we illuminated one another
with kisses of koinonia kindling
a to-and-fro throw of cutting and healing
pushing and feeling
hushed and kneeling before Him

and where is he now?

Falling from this precipice,
above the nihilistic abyss,
my hand held out for him to miss,
I don’t know how it’s come to this…


the face of the earth…

You are the nose
That protrudes and pokes
Into every nook
Where it is not welcome

You are the ears
That serve all day
Catching the weight
Of other people’s burdens

You are the eyes
That widen with wonder
The dreamer that gazes
Beyond every today

And you are the lips
That whisper gentle prayers
From which I wish to draw
Our rhapsody with a kiss

Each of them,
One day to be wiped

From the face of my earth…?

for the love of lust in the ancient of days…


He is equal with the Gods, that man

Who sits across from you,

Face to face, close enough, to sip

The sweetness of your voice,


And how you laugh your charming laugh,

It makes my heart flutter in my breast,

For that moment, when I look at you

My voice is lost, I cannot make a sound.


My tongue freezes. A delicate fire,

– all of a sudden, rushes under my skin.

With my eyes I see nothing,

And in my ears, the sound of thunder.


Sweat pours down me, a trembling

Seizes all of me, paler than grass

am I, and I appear to be

an inch from dying.


– Sappho, 5th Century BC


Kolkata : The City of the Birds

Oh lofty morning flight

Chirruping clouds of coloured splendour

Circling the new dawn in hopeful whisps

Round and round and up to float

With each loop expanding

Like tiny particles of gassy multiplication

The white winged prophet. Joining

the black winged prophet. Soaring

together migrating from tree

to heavenly tree.

From noisy honking push shove city

To medicating song for broken ears

He has brought me to living lands

Botanic blissful leafy hands holding me

and the feathered angels sing

in Kolkata : the city of the birds.