In vain

Trying in vain
to make a polygon
out of plasticine…

i try to make a
head out of a tail
yet all i see is a circle

i float up steps
that lead to
no nearer
to the edge
yet no further
from falling

i follow a line
disguised as a
dot and for some
reason i know
i’ve come to the
end of a beginning

The Winding Wind

it’s only the winding wind 
that follows the Sindh* 
like weaving twine 
all through the pind* 
looking for its 
mighty kin, 
tributary twin. 

where their 
paths align 
and interwine 
rough and wavy 
trickling and thin 

that wherein 
there is din 
there are certainly 
water-needing den-i-zens 
running along its 
splashing shoreline 
beguiled by its ripples benign 
it returns to where 
the crashing waves 
begin, began and rush ever towards time. 

Sindh – The Sindh River aka The Indus River, India

Pind – ancestral village

i have a soul

i have a soul
i search for it day and night
i seek it in the mirror
i seek it in their eyes
i seek it in many smiles
i seek it
and yet it eludes me
i crave its perfection
that peers out of my dreamt shadows
it murmurs soft in a slept glance
held without touching
between my bewitched fingers
within and effortlessly in all
scrapped clean
cut free
bled pure
of all the tainted intent
of man

Truth once told me

Truth once told me
that Uncertainty
will one day kill me.

So off I set to find Un-C
yet upon meeting him
I could only blame Stress.

Stress addled and full of bile
haughtily stalked towards me
and after a few choice words
told me to go accuse Denial.

Denial of course was always near
I tried as much as I could to look him in the eye
but behind Denial stood Fear. 

life’s passing you by….

life’s passing you by
yet you think towards
an end

not of all the things that could be
but of all things that have to be done

society reins you in with expectations
yet what reigns your heart 
is that obscure
little cliff
off to the side of the road
lost in the mist
and its depths unknown

much abuzz about nothing
for that far off unseen lapse

a collapse perhaps

soon enough all the nay-sayers 
will raise their heads to unmovable Will
and all the gossipers thirsts will be slaked

and once again that soft-misted cliff
with precipice deep and hollow
will allow those who seek
and those who no one will follow…
a bridge.

aged reply

I don’t beg for gold no more
I beg only for the forgotten Old

Their toothless grins
and faces, weathered grim.

“Do you remember me?”

“Why no, I don’t remember me…”

I do not know who stares at me
from my bedroom door…

I do not know who seeks my
eyes in the mirror…

I do not know who waits for me
in the darkened corri-dors…

I do not know who has
crossed out my name
and penned in


Why do children come
to hold my hand and smile?

Why do I string along
numbers just to dial?

“Hello, are you there?
Can you Help me?
I don’t know who I’m calling…”

Multicoloured pills
and purposeful spills
just much
too many

“Do you know who I am?”
“Why yes, of course”
“Why yes that’s who.”

Fight or Flight?
Fight or Fright?

“Why am I here?
Why am I here?”

Why you’re here
to stay.
You’re here to pray.
You’re here to spend
your weakening time
day by passing day.

and so….
I stay where
I am.

for an answer
long left without reply

as to who and why
still am.

I built a house in the sky

I built a house in the sky

I painted it all the colours

of a twilight night.

I came to see it
whenever I could. 

I pushed open
the door…

I fell right through.

Many a time
it locked me out.

And at times it locked me in,
but sometimes it left the door ajar.

I wished to walk upon
its clouded tiles.

To call it my heart…my home.

 A house built in the sky


brace and buckle
crumble and break…

I built a little house in the sky

And it remains…

behind my dreaming eyes.


Why is solace so 
singularly sad
yet uplifting 
in its hushed solitude?

is it not then
we hear the lilting
melodies of our hearts? 

Why is silence
sought out
when the wind
for no one

and whispers
no names but
those we keep
secret and close
to our heart of hearts?

How could it be more tender
in any other way?

Why would I want
a pain loved so truly
by solemness
shared in any other way?