The SEA

Hey, fellow traveller.
Collapse. As I have. For there is no sea. It is only the mirage of a sea.
Do not get fooled by the sea in the conch. The conch of desert is not lying.
Yes there was a sea once in these yellow dunes. Blue as the sky is.
But today there is no sea. There is only the mirage of a sea.

Once I too believed there was a sea. I too travelled hard like you.
But I was betrayed by hope. As there is only the mirage of a sea.
Fall down brother, your legs are pleading to you, your skin is tearing you.
The heat of your will cannot conquer the deserts rage.
There is nothing you can do except to fall. As there is only the mirage of a sea.

There is no depths in that sea, no hidden treasure, no pearls,
There is nothing that would come to solace you in her lair. It is only a mirage of your sea.
Break hard. O, hope in those eyes, learn it from me; it is better to die in despair than in hope.
Even this wind is chanting of the barren lands which lay in front of you. But you are stirring.
You are going to walk again. O what a fool! It is only a mirage of your sea.

Dear brother,
You called me by my name. Traveller. A passion which equals beauty is everyone’s prayer.
And mine is this journey. Journey to this sea. And all I need is the mirage of the sea.
I can not collapse. The conch has been my compass, its sound my peace.
It is this journey that quenches my thirst. And all I need is the mirage of the sea.
Hope can’t betray you. Only you can betray hope. My will is not afraid of failure,
Know it from me; I live in a world where failure is feasible.
But, Doubt of failure can’t poison my veins. My skin will bear, my legs will pardon.
For they know what this travel is. What this traveller is.
To fall is for people like you who want the sea; all I need is the mirage of the sea.

Treasure you say, depths and pearls. I wish I could understand their meaning as you do.
You never reached the sea, how do you know about the solace her lair gives?
No, I will not break. I would rather die in hope than in despair.
Every pulse of my being would trumpet back to the chanting wind,
That all I need is the mirage of a sea.

Behold,
THE SEA.

Monsoon's Offspring

I do have memories.
I sure do, I have destroyed them, rebuilt them,
And destroyed them again.
Yet the phoenix rises from my heart to sing it’s beautiful
Song, on a rainy day of monsoon.


The rhythm of the rain had sung its lullaby for me,
As I was born in monsoon.
I never heard my mother’s voice.
Her body was cold, but her blood was
warm on me when

It were the new born touch me not of monsoon,
That taught me the fragility of nature,
Futility of life.
Innocence , which left me ,
Was so tender as of those touch me not.

It was the smell. The arrival of monsoon.
That conspired to whisper, the word I conjured for her
“Forever yours”
The evening that was drawn in grey made us cry.
We walked in the rain.

The sky turned creamy black
And the birds were heading back.
It was at that moment I remembered ,
I too need to head back. Monsoon was coming.
My attic will leak, fungi green will eat up my wall.

Wasps were flying from the damp ground,
Circling the yellow bulb under which,
My father was laid still and erect.
I understand that, monsoon took his life to
Give some others a new one.


I have memories.
I sure do, I destroyed them, rebuilt them,
And destroyed them again.
For the phoenix to rise from my heart to sing its beautiful
Song on a rainy day of monsoon.

From the window of my death bed I can see
Rain pouring into the brown river.
And down the memory lane, everything,
I had felt and every thing I was, It was because of monsoon.

Now, I would like to name me as Monsoon’s Offspring.

About Che

I will not wear Che,

I will not make revolution a brand,

rebel a tag.

If Ihave to wear Che,

I would have in my thoughts.

For he is no God to be framed,

To be kept in every street corner.

Not an idol to be worshipped.

He is a glaring thought, which should

Peirce into deeds, words wont suffice.

The thought being :- " When Injustice Becomes Law, Resistance Becomes Duty"

The Proclamation

With no further doubts in my slimy, exhausted throbbing body,
I,the prostitute of shameless senses, of flamboyant pleasures of world,
Hereby proclaim.

To the stranded traveller in the realm of pitiless present,
To those who know it, how to crave, how to wonder and how to die.
Here I proclaim.

What comes out from the depth of absurdity, stench of logic,
Thread of `conditioning.
I proclaim thus,

O! Death is born out of beauty and beauty alone.

Victim Of A Dream

And here falls the victim of a dream.
From the undiluted silences of nature,
To the solace of madness.

This memory would be the sperm that would penetrate your conscience,
to give birth to ten thousand days and nights of sorrow anger and anguish.
It would be from your breast that you would feed remorse.
You would caress the spike of smite that rests on your lap.
When no power yours can triumph over the growing tangled roots of emotion,
Remember this victim

The victim of a dream you nurtured by night, between your thighs.
Squeezed with all your might to the height of completeness.
And then you left. Leaving the carcass for,
Loneliness and time to feed.

And there fell, the victim of a dream,
From the undiluted silences of nature,
To the solace of madness.