The Guard

queen in her isolate room
her waning life, capsuled
been long, she stepped out

pictures of her vernal bliss
framed to calm her fading sight
mirrors condemned
queen scorned
they are mean

Man on the door
trades her world…
his watchful eyes
on the young queen
strolling in the palace gardens
first day of his job
since then…

she knew it all along
but prefers the sanity
of unspoken madness
Her antsy heart, pounds
for a trivial reason
and he awaits
outside her walls, uptight
“when will you call?”


Harmless Cruelty


there are things
you never quite understand
answers you’ll never find

go figure
scratch your head
of course, dumb-head
it’s got to do with either god or women
they are alike
and I am talking about women
god is not my genre types

she knew it all along
like a fool, I’ll stare at her every night
fancy we’ll meet again…
wicked in black and white
call it monochrome?
alright, I’m a poet
please give me some respite

tall, high cheekbones, sharp eyes
she came to me
i was on the other side
“come with me” she said

now don’t ask me why I didn’t ask a thing
and followed her uptight
my brain gave up on
sweated out
i walked half a step behind

“can you drive?”


“you got a cigarette on you?”


“you smell of booze”


i never lie
to God or women
keep my advice

we reached her car
she gave me the keys
asked for a smoke
she lit with her lighter
my match box she didn’t like
she took a drag and said
“i got a busted tyre. replace it with the spare wheel”

Can you believe that?
i was in shock
rage ran through me
“don’t mess with me lady”

i didn’t do any of that
not a word I said
did as told

“take a picture of me”

i took a picture of her
then she drove away
and I look at her picture every night…

The Ideal Brain Tonic

Do what you like. Express-Explore-Consume-Innovate.
A few decades from now, our time will be termed as the Golden Era of a digital world – Swami

Good Night- A Poem by Swami

She scratches her nose
Rubs her face
And turns away
When I caress my princess in her sleep

White horses with wings
Chase a lone cloud on a cliff is
Her frequent dream

I wait with longing eyes
But soon it becomes unbearable…
I gently tap her hand a few times
She babbles, I don’t know what?!
I frown for as long!
Finally, she turns back
Throws her arm across me
Grin runs across her face
When I snuggle her tight
Good night 🙂

* In case you don’t who Swami is, he’s my friend, a very dear friend and a ace blogger. After much persuasion he agreed to do a guest post on my blog. Your likes and comments are much appreciated.
What’s below? Ahem! 😀

For centuries, scientists strictly indulged in gravity, space, locomotive, energy…
Only with advent of capitalism, focus was evened out with emphasis also on tooth brush design, stain removers, instant noodles…
However, the most noteworthy evolution has been with brassiere. Just a few decades ago they were miserably dull, over protective and discouraging.

Good Morning

It’s time
Sun is on standby
Good morning
Another morning
Empty roads trigger into a freshly drawn battlefield
Honking, marching, pacing, racing
Locomotives chase
The invisible Ferrari of happiness
Red-marked lipid profiles
Crop up on the streets
Brisk walking to survive another day
Reporting rapists, murderers, filthy politicians
News bundle lands on my courtyard
It’s time…
Electrifying red transcends upon the sky
Devours the stars
I pull in the curtains dark
My eyes droopy, exhausted
Good night

Fate Sealed


Pulp of the heartwood
Embeds my poems
Laddered with the stench of pigments and dyes
Ink rollers and the water rollers
On the plate round
Inciting the offset
To impose
His ignoble authority
My imperious puke in blind uniformity

I won’t be I
No more
Shuddering amongst the bestsellers
Discounted, pleading for attention
Your fluttering slave forever
The heartwood grumbles its forsaken fate
Brahms performs scrupulously
Stop rewind play


a guy on the phone
outside a bar i was in
he was relentlessly pleading
obviously to a girl
the barkeep and me were convinced

he walked in athirst
with tears in his eyes
“a double please”
and on the far end
a voice drumming the dead-end
our guy had reached

he bolted down the glass empty
fade out, fade in…
phone landed near the toilet door
and a lover at my feet

i rushed for the phone, gave my ear a check
“hello hello, what was that?” She bellowed
a familiar voice, i kinda felt

“gimme the phone”
the die-hard lover was back on his feet
“it’s still on” i asserted with a smile
the barkeep too smiled
he’s my friend
and i’m a gentleman
you know that

he grabbed the phone
“i blacked out”
she disconnected

Dedicated to Bad Writing


All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

Woke up this morning and No
I had no hangover

My spirits never betray me
Unlike my wicked conscience

“Oh! You pathetic lousy worthless compulsive drinker…
You are doomed, doomed, doomed”

“What the hell, I won’t drink tonight
Just let me be, will ya?”

I log on social sites
No likes, no comments
On WordPress,
Facebook or Twitter
Stumble upon, Pininterest,
Google plus
Everyone’s got so much to say
And no time for me

Alas! My idea to start a peaceful day
Is doomed…

Swami smirked “Why don’t you like a few,
Make comments on their post?
They won’t like you back but sure will reply….perhaps!”

Swami is my dear friend
He never leaves a chance
To pull me down
He scores followers with such ease
That self-righteous prick
Writes mushy stuff
Motivates losers with borrowed quotes
Can you?
Not me…

Before I react
The doorbell screamed
I received my credit card statement
Marked URGENT in red
I flung the envelope
It landed in some corner
We’ll find it
Not before I get endless calls from the bank

I click on reader
“What’s wrong with people?
I have no clue
They update about spring
Spring and blooms
Look, there’s a bloom!
A picture
Look, here’s a bloom here!
A picture
Look, no bloom!
A slideshow
And they think street photography
Is all about walking on the street
Taking random pictures
Infringe upon people’s privacy”

Swami said, as matter of fact
“That’s what street photography is”

“No, there’s more to it”

Swami retorts “There’s more to what they do”

“Whatever…It’s time for my siesta.
Marquez recommends it in times of cholera”

I crawled to my bed
And dozed off…

When I woke up
The sun was gone
Swami was gone
I looked around
Cracked ceiling
Grouchy fan
Peeled off walls were closing in on me…
I need a drink

I finished a quarter
Do I feel better?
Do I feel better?
I don’t think so…

Something pissed her off
Something I must have said
I stare at the lit hollows in the dark sky
Some call them stars
Her voice is all I yearn for
I just want to hold her and cry
She’s all I got
I’ll do whatever she says
Should I call her and plead?
What if she yells
Bangs the phone on me?
Help me please!
My anguished heart needs respite
I service my soul with another quarter
And dial her
I hear her sweet voice
From the machine
She left town for a week

She left me dry
In misery and pain
Swami is right
Women, they just love it!

Where do I go?
I got no place to go
She’s all I had…
Swami…Not again!
My voice dialing
Not equipped to handle my slurs
Hears Swami’s name right
That’s a sign
Swami is my true friend
He hurts me
But he never lies
I should not be mean
In fact I should request him
To be my guest blogger
That’s a smart comeback plan

I hear Swami
But from the machine
“I’m off for a week,
For a long pending assignment”

Human Science

1 (3)
Einstein’s lesser known work
But a masterpiece
A handbook
“How to become a legend”
In this book, he researched
Thinkers, scientists, philosophers
Listed a pattern to their behavior

Highlights are as follows :
You have to be an idler
You’ve successfully reached the high points
Of excessive indulgence and self pity
“No one loves me, none understands me”

One day, you wake up in a gutter
Shaken by a pig
And you ask why?

A strange curiosity takes over
And you decide to resolve it
Though by now, it’s obvious
You’ve got nothing to lose
– A keynote to success

You figure it out
You run on the street
What do you expect?
You’ll be beaten to pulp
Of course!
Thrown back in the same gutter
Where it all began…

Don’t be sad
You are dead, better off
There sure is more…

A few decades later
You begin from the beginning
Born again
Oblivious, that a son of another mother
Has reclaimed your findings
Twisted a few squares and triangles
Here and there
The Noble man

And you
Ignorant of the greatest revelation
Will play with trashy toys
You know them from before
Sleep off,

But I pray
You never encounter
A paedophile pig
Rocking your cradle…
There’s nothing worse than that.
I’ll find a gun and kill them.

A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints


Metal detectors blare
I walk on through
Guarding men ignore
A frenzied mind
On the loose…

The signal blinks green
I climb on the train
To find a schmuck
In my window seat
I clench my teeth
Let out a bellow…
He finds his middle seat.

Obese jerks around me
Not a hard guess
Who’s to fart or snore or both
I bemoan
This is my refuge
I deserted the town
That was my home…

A young lady in her 20’s
On the berth facing mine
Married for three years, is on a trip
Alone this time.
How do I know?
She makes two hundred and sixteen calls
Half of them to inform
She is fine, aboard, missing them already
The other half to hatch her shenanigans
For the next five days
Battery died, Oops!
“I’ve few more calls to make”

She pulls out her charger
But the single plug point is engaged to mine
She looks at me, I drift away
She rambles
She gets on her feet, starts making her bed
Her arse dangles before my face
I ignore her, drop my head
She pursues, bends on her knees
Shoving her bags underneath the berth
Tonight she’ll sprawl
In front of me.

I turn to the glass window
Only to see myself and her in the reflection
Gimme a break!
I speak in silent words…

I ain’t going to see through her valley
However deep and sublime it seems
I shan’t endure, appraise my senses
The color of her skivvies.
Her long legs are a piece
But look at her arms, not waxed
She thinks she’s a blonde?!
Two out of ten
That’s all she gets
I can score better than that.

Lecherous bastards do have a few
Leftover mortal morals!

Air whistled
Engine blasted
Bukowski screamed
I bring on the reading light
“Ham on Rye”