Monday, June 20, 2011


One day, I will be born in your courtyard,
to convince you,
that I am his creation.
A clay sculpture,
dead in its own right,
but breathing from the light in your eyes.
And then all the vapours from your garden
would conspire to bring the rains,
melting my mud heart
slithering through your vineyard.
A year later, you imagine me as an end,
sipping your wine.

Monday, June 13, 2011


I want to be a participant
in my actions,
an authority in the responsible faction,
My cartel was busted last night,
They declared it the zone of a cat fight.

I supposed to be this fumigant,
marker of your repugnant actions,
for me, mid term polls are more interesting,
than those gaping holes of fake ozone tents.
Because the tarmac suffers under my weight.

I was holding the Queen's baton,
They called it Grizzly Sabbath Revival,
When we raised a toast to the has-beens,
clouds fled her monsoon party,
They were found in a desert, naked and bruised.

I could deal with her polarities
but my verse did not permit,
so I am pouring acid on my thumb,
hoping the kink power shall rise on this day.
Than I flunk your litmus test.