Each night I bleed a part of my soul to her beauty, Silken words awaken to fill up the hole to her beauty. A lone moon is treading forth the liminal dust of evening, The dying sun has hitched a…
Wet Charcoal
The Icicled Bosom
Old lesions fester and seep in the cavern of tonight, Dark thoughts gather and weep in the cavern of tonight. A high wind is swaying the maimed tree of deodar, The parched lips of tippler look for tavern of tonight.…
The Man Thing (II)
(Click here for Part I) It is a bit unusual for rains to strike Mumbai in the beginning of November but what surprised me more was the rumbling of clouds. I wasn’t sure when I had dozed off yesterday in…
The Man Thing
As I lie here on the dewan pushed against the window, gazing absently into the impossibly yellow canopy of the Amaltas tree, my thoughts race back once more to the field of mustard I visited on a mellow winter afternoon,…
Teach Me To Dream by D P Dash
Just as I thought I was done with the ash-berries tossed at me by the departing year, suturing up my tattered ego with a ghazal in the reigning obscurity, Mr D. P. Dash ruffled the quiet of my languid existence.…
Years in the Ash
The old year shrivels like a dog-eared calendar in the ash, Days fuse into dust, hope into hungry tinder, in the ash. For a decade of scribbling my heart out on Internet, The façade has imploded in all its splendour…
’Oumuamua
My muse is a furious fugitive from a foreign galaxy, not unlike the ‘intergalactic interloper ’Oumuamua’, who having orbited the fuzzy nebula of my brain is now poised for an exodus to unknown dark matters. In the years now a…
