Quite strange it is
For that which makes us
top of the food chain
one of its kind
king of the world
is also what takes
from us the very ability
to be what we can be
should be
could be.

To think
that thoughts are what make us
and those thoughts then break us
into tiny pieces of fragmented glass
shedding blood of those we once loved

even as they walk away
leaving crimson footprints
on our hearts.



The man who will never admit I was one.


Heard your laughter
After a long time today
I had
Forgotten the sound of it.
The sound
That once used to
Drive me crazy
Still does, like it did today
But alas,
She brings out the best in you now
And I’m reduced
To shadows
Forced to watch
Mute, helpless
Even as you slip away
I see you go
And never turn back.
Perhaps the pain
Would be less
Had it been just you
But she’s in the picture too
And the pain I feel is a different kind of pain.

(Written on October 31st, 2009, everything in this poem proved a prophecy of sorts and came true on January 29th, 2011.)


Ode to sleep

Saucy mistress, she!
Enticing and tempting me so
With gentle, merry, mellifluous dreams
And Keats’ things of beauty-
The young tree, mid-forest brake and streams

Saucy mistress, she
Liar! The embodiment of deceit!
The slightest commotion and away she fled
The dreams, the peace, all woebegone
Left – the death grip of unrest and dread

I waited, with baited
Breath, I waited. Familiar with the gloom
Her virgin embrace I seeked, and wept.
Called out to the Gods, my beloved, the mistress
It must have worked! Because finally, I slept!