Unsure of writings

Browsing ruins, cold and damp

Chance of revival?



Tech, bank, security

Faltering partners, cloudbusrt

Fight or flight , dilemma ?



Swiping. Analysis.

What’s the point of this fog ?

Sartre and choices.


(Written during break from January slam , blu jazz cafe , Arab street

When poets and beauty took break for smoking , and the protagonist unknowingly ended up passive smoking under blue neon lights … )

I should probably write something
I should have probably written something ,
I might as well write something

In the hazy smoke that …
That beauty breathes ….
In the blue lit neon,
Like some old shady brothel

Of small boobs
Of large egos
Of dark nights
Of bright smoky joints

Of polluted tobacco haze
Of unpolluted minds
Of ignorance, No one ever told me
Of blink-and-miss poetic afflatus

Of cute small eyes
Of racist dark humor
Of Eyes meeting eyes
Of dark rimmed glasses

Of slurring speech
Of blurring memories
Of shunning beliefs
Of purring fantasies

Of corporate dress shirt
Of artistic summer dress
Of fainting words
Of feigning phrases

Of long awkward silences
Of short awkward pleasantries
Of missed phone calls
Of monosyllabic yea and nos

Of random faiths
Of ardent faith
Of places divine
Of thoughts satanic

Of random books
Of Mormons bibles
Of Machiavellian reads
Of Rand’s objectivisms

Of freckled skins
Of smooth skins
Of mind over body
Of mind over matter



Seeing young guns breathing through chords and smiling in percussions

Balding faces, burned under responsibilities and still not budging, like Atlas not shrugging

Maintaing moral high grounds, no matter what ,for decades.

Platonic and so subtle.

Silent demeanour, extreme introversion yet something in that heart.


Balding moral , cold frozen places , uninhibited and feral

Original brawn , a MMA fighter

She had that uplifting pulchritude, days spent didactic and free,

Soul that was uninhibited and confident, in old ruins and bickering plasters.


Days spent monotonously, and yet faith so strong, so juggernaut.

Upholding morals and responsibilities, unfaltering views

His handsfree bluetooth,

La couture – quintessentially white and pure.


Confused yet so sure,Indecisive yet adamant

Failed but unrelenting, procrastinator yet enterprising.

Perceived troublemaker with purest heart, Original dark horse.

That atypical fleeting smile…

So it was dad’s 60th birthday , and after much thought and arbitration , I put prose > materialistic gifts.
So here it is…

Ode to father
He missed him ,and remembered all those begone days…
Him demonstrating Archimedes Principle,
His keeness, and little boy’s awe at his father
and Archimedes.
More for former.

Sleepy eyed morning walks
Air still dark.
A family walking briskly, across the desrted asphalt.
The cold morning breeze.
And little boy’s assumption,
“no harm could fall for dad’s here”

Son surreptiously browsed ,
through his medical encyclopedias.
Gaping at impossiblly long words.
That medical book rack had its own charm
against the stack of fictions and classics

Visting across religions with same zeal
Intricate embossings in Mosques
the quietitude of Church
and liveliness of temple
Religious tolerance imbued deep within
for those were lessons for mankind.

Now that little boy is all big
Going home in months
Developed portraits from facebook,
they have their own story.
The gadgets, the new age electronics et al
just to skype or hangout.

It must be tough
seeing your own saplings,getting mature and wiser
Only to see them migrate
and settle on greener pastures.

Rising and falling through life.
But the master must be proud.
Impeccable designs
and armed him with grace,wisdom
and knowledge to face this world.

Rise – he will
Shine – he will
Just to feel that fleeting smile
that’s atypical to a father !!


I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

– Percy Shelley

Posted as a tribute to Breaking Bad. It also reminded of Ozymandias from watchemen

Roll the dice

if you’re going to try, go all the
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.


And narration by Bono

The laughing heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.


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