Known too well

I looked into your eyes.

There was a truth in them.Or maybe the truth I had known,


There was love.

A reflection of my love?

But there was.A love that scares you.

So perfect that you move back

With abated breath, a heart held tightly within, trembling feet, and closed eyes

Fear of having found just what you were looking for?

What will I do?

I have known the urge, the urge too well.

And this love,

It tells me, right now, to leave you, and keep the urge with me.

I have loved the urge of loving you too long to let it go.

I have known the urge, the urge too well.

Let me keep the dreams,you take yourself away.That is the only world I have known, known too well.


Lady Red

I want silver glitter under my eyes

To hide the circles of late nights

Late night talks, midnight snacks and that half wake act of love

I want the darkest shade of red lipstick on me

To remind me love existed on them until last night

I want sparkle on my hands

To make me feel like I am magic

And bright beads pasted on my nails

And dust everything with glitter

And be the one with eyes open

Tottering drunken steps

A wild laughter consuming the gait

And be the Lady red.

But there is

If Liberty was served on a platter to one and all,

There would be no veins with hungry blood.

If the riches of Freedom clothed every naked frame,

There would be no sensation of cold and heat.

If the keys of Equality dangled in every finger,

There would be no chains and locks of slavery.

But there is,there is,there is.

And that’s why I say, Liberty, Freedom, Equality might our natural-law be,

it is not the law of nature and world of you and me

There are stains of struggle on all pages of history

Stains of blood bled for liberty, freedom, equality.

To be part of the privileged prerogative,

you too must bleed,

you too must bleed.

And when you win yourself those palatial palaces of privileges,

you will blow the trumpet for future freedom.

Thousands and hundreds will follow you in your dreamy-trail,

And many others will do the same.

But beneath the vast citadel of your dreams,

Will rot the corpses of those handful few,

Who could not become what you could be,

Like a prodigious vehicle of righteousness,

That must trample over a few indistinct ants to see the rising sun.

But what verse, art, or story will make a space

To accommodate the hungry vein, the naked frame, the slavery-stricken face?

Just a Number

Opening my eyes, all I could see

were countless happy faces round me,

teeming with a perplexed sense of calculation

counting what I failed to, my fingers.

Six o’ them I had, and I had nothing to complain

but certainly, I felt it’s a happy counting game.

The’ one-with-six’, ‘the one-with-six’

was what on my nameplate they fixed,

I had a name, I certainly did

but seldom I heard it.

When everyone had a name for me,

I called myself a ‘sexy-little-Sixie’

But so happy I grew up to be,

that creamy-happiness made me an 88- kg,


they named me again,

leaving me thinking,

how come extra two I gained?

With confusions, I moved ahead,

gave birth to 5 tiny little heads.

Girls they were, and counted their fingers I,

to save from numbers these angels from sky.

But for me they came again with loud drums


Old I grew, with numbers abound

soul departing, lilies-cards around.

In the grave, came Death from afar,

too busy putting souls in his car.

And then I heard him amidst the hue and cry,

“Time for #6885”