The Child’s Dream

He had a voting card,

Which entitled him to press a button,

And pretend to decide the nation’s fate.


He had a driving license too.

The state recognized his right,

To drive to anywhere or nowhere.


They let him crush his time

Into the seat of his office chair,

And even paid him for it.


He played responsibility at home,

Joining the blocks of his wife’s happiness,

And making deposits on his children’s future.


No doubt he was an adult;

But the brambles from the seeds of a child’s dream,

Kept growing in his chest, and choked his soul.

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The End of Sadness

In the morning, it will all start –
The traffic monster will roar,
Gnashing its teeth at your window glass,
Threatening to crush you in its steel jaws.

The world will breach your senses,
With boulders of sounds and catapults of vision,
And holding you captive in your cubicle,
Will demand the ransom of Civilization.

The impish sun will filter through the panes,
The trees will gyrate to the rhythm of the breeze
And the sad music of the heavenly stars,
Will be remembered, but heard no more.

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Heartbreaks of Grownups

The tears don’t flow,
And the morning arrives on time,
With its urgent summons.
The moments dance,
To the even ticks of the clock.
You smile at work,
You laugh at jokes
You pretend to look learned,
As the slides of the CME flash.
You curse the idiots on the road,
You have tea, and you burn
Calories on the road.
And always within you
Is filling, the deep murky pond,
Where the tears collect undried

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Parting Without Bitterness

No reproaches touched her lips,

And mine touched a ready smile;

When we both agreed that

Our relationship had gone the mile.


“Life goes on”, “Change is the only constant…”

And such other trite banalities

Weren’t needed. Neither of us had ever

Had any use for formalities.


I touched her hand, she clasped mine,

And the embrace was quite warm,

Perhaps a trifle too long. She said:

“May the fates keep you from harm”


And I left her at the airport,

And I waited for my soul to fly,

But that hypocrite was drowning,

In the tear at the corner of her eye.

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Only stones are found in temples
Only words are found in prayers
Only sound is found in laughter
Only salt is found in tears

Only flesh is found in love
Only sight is found in eyes
Only lips are found in smiles
Only breaths are found in sighs

Only desire is found in dreams
Only money is found in careers
Only laughter is found in friendship
Only wrinkles are found in years

Only time is found in breath
Only peace is found in death.

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A cloud,

Not black, not full of charity

To river or to barren farm;

Fuzzy and frayed,

No shapes to engage man or child;

Not coloured crimson by romantic sun

Going down in blaze of glory.

Just lolling, lazy in an empty sky,

Formless, purposeless, eternal,

As my love for you. 


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The Blithe, brown boy

Scrambling through bristling hissing hedge

To catch a falling, wanton kite.


The sweaty, sleepless teen

Dreaming romantic, kindly, sweet qualities

In fallen, wanton silver stars.


The college boy bunking class

To puff out rings of cloudy philosophy

To save the fallen, wanton world.


The man sitting behind the desk

Has drowned them all in a shiny, silver pool

To satiate the moral monster: Maturity 

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