family

Dad, there is nothing hollow in the purity of belief!: A poem

O my poor Dad! What is the habitability zone? I gave you Olympus, but how could we have become like clouds dispersing from one another in the torrential rain? I am not going to freeze in such disparateness, I swear! I am not mothballing like an old trainwreck! All the inconvenience of the ages, all the trapezing and walking on Continue reading “Dad, there is nothing hollow in the purity of belief!: A poem “

It is four months into 2026; I want my mother’s help to ramshackle the villains!: A poem

You know my mother was an honest 2026; all over her soul; She was literal, never metaphorical, never conjugated to iambs of satire, mockery, or mudslinging. She had duty and honesty written all over her soul. They have always tried to make her seem disconnected with me; I know she has always been with me, no matter what! You know the maggotty faggotty sharksContinue reading “It is four months into 2026; I want my mother’s help to ramshackle the villains!: A poem “

Dad look at me, rage crosses my mind in my patience!: A poem

Sometimes, I think I can break every moment like a walnut, in the nutcracker of my mind! As if I was some kind of Shivaite entity, the cosmos like paper crunching between my fingers And I don’t need to draw out its entrails becuase at the point of my destructive force, I am disinterested! I am not obsessed with the villainyContinue reading “Dad look at me, rage crosses my mind in my patience!: A poem “

Mother, there is a loud dystopian outcry; must justice die?: A poem

I hear a placenta knocking at my door I always had my lightening amid the vocal sound of silence This is more awakening in the sonne et lumiere Much of it was the love that I had for you! How can I discard the womb of my life for an underbelly of pretentious happiness? Spirituality is much my core, and it is your voiceContinue reading “Mother, there is a loud dystopian outcry; must justice die?: A poem “

Mother, there is a loud dystopian outcry; must justice die?: A poem

All about India and my life in this lifetime!: A poem

I remember those lazy days with slow-rolling bullock carts queuing up on those dilapidated streets. There were more bullock carts then cars, then! Those streets that would be repaired only if totally outworn. And the hazard of environmental hygiene being last on people’s minds. What could be done when there were not enough loos for a fast-overpopulating nation! I didn’t even like cricket, but I sneaked into neighbours’ homes just forContinue reading “All about India and my life in this lifetime!: A poem “

Memory is like your roots, but how far?: A poem

(Could they be still trying to take away my Godhood from me?) Did you think it was only nostalgia And you panged to revisit, in spite of the sadness and pain it caused you Did the eternity blacken out every rock that causes you to shiver as if it thought it (the memory) better be dropped like shells that hide the nut of you, so, but you still retain, still being a somewhat wholesome gift of the past inContinue reading “Memory is like your roots, but how far?: A poem “

If you could all call a Mango!: A poem

Did I hang around the big bang? Was I honky tonk before rock and roll sang? Did I create my sugar and honey? Or did it give me diabetes? Was the singularity more than just a trinity? Did I create Mum and Dad, or was it them before me? Sometimes, I wake up singing at three? How should I know, the Trumps willContinue reading “If you could all call a Mango!: A poem “

I’m sorry, English is not my language; I have my own unique lingo!: A poem

Do you conjecture I only waste words on my blogsite while I am always silent in a manner of speaking? Is that golden? The brashness of putting the truth down on paper, is that it will always be used as evidence against you by treacherous conspirators! So do you think I am baulked between bastions? I can beContinue reading “I’m sorry, English is not my language; I have my own unique lingo!: A poem “

This January, This May, This September!: A poem

When I lived in the northern hemisphere, in a land of spice, milk and honey, I respected the mild-tempered January, the heat of May and the equanimity of September. As if their ambience remained illustratively pervading all through the year. Like a waterless rain of love, and more significantly, a reign. Like childhood’s enchanted chrysalis forming every day. MumContinue reading “This January, This May, This September!: A poem “