Tag Archives: detachment


While the world assumes its focal point to be someplace,

The real events unfurl elsewhere

In the peripheries of eyes, just round the corners

Pitched battles over pitchfork issues

Come to a close when the Sun’s gone behind the lantana bushes

To scorch ground and sinews on the otherside of an ending.


We think it’s over, when it hasn’t even begun;

We think we are dead, when we haven’t even been concieved;

We fear we are losing, when they haven’t even begun taunting;

We decide we are the ones moving, when the Earth turns one last time.

Having to live

Why can’t I decide I’ve seen enough

Of life, never mind I’m just a laughable 23?

What ought to be looked forward to, but

The gradual happening of life…the movie

You wished would end, the pages you wished would

Run out?

The sadism behind every living moment

When I submit to its whims: cry when Life deems fit

And laugh in between for comic relief;

Bear children who are unlikely to see me as anything

But their Indian brown version of the ‘White man’s burden’;

Share “moments” with another, who is set for

An all too similar fate.

And if Death were to favour him over me,

For all my desperate longing

What should I do? Or rather, what can I do?

I’d join the billions, wandering through

An accumulated loneliness,

That was once fervently hoped

To be never gathered.

But like dust, it has gathered over my memories

I would think after all those years

When I try to count using my fingers

The way I must have

Once upon a time.

Not Even You

Nobody would believe my

Dearth of brilliance

Nobody would know my

Set, practiced lines

Nobody would feel my

Lack of inspiration

Nobody would hear me swear

In filthy bursts

Nobody. Not even you.


I walk on feet that don’t
Stop for me to hear
Your words

I see with eyes that fail
To grasp the glimpse within
Your folds

I watch mindless figures
Walking and talking lines
We should have shared

And your faint overtures fill
The peripheries of my eyes and
The insides of my eardrums


I look down at the milling crowd

I see you, that tiny black dot

Standing six feet above ground

Yet, several feet below me.

As you will always be.

Within Sight; Out of Mind.

There were two things,

A window, and a small mirror.

Through the window came,

Your face and voice

Far and distant.

As distant as the look,

My face in the mirror wore.