Wednesday, December 28, 2011

What Is, What Isn’t

It is a sunny winter afternoon
Back looks the ghost of year past
Floats the blind ghost of year present
Front looks the ghost of year after
Misery is in the eyes of ghost past
A thick veil hangs over ghost present
Terror blinds ghost future

It is a cold winter midnight
Back goes the ghost present
Replacing the ghost of past
Front comes the ghost future
In place for the ghost of present
Back goes the ghost past
To fill in for the ghost of future

Their creator says to its creator:

What’s between them is the significant gap

What isn't between them is dialogue

Friday, December 23, 2011

The Hero's Journey

The hero with a thousand dreams

Gets born,

Roll called,


Breaks heart

Gets job,



Breathes little

Gets buried,

Many steps shorter

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

paranoid time sleuth

you may come from distant future, by way of beam travel or strapped to a time chopper, to the past, skim one instance to next, scanning through hard files stacked up and soft, in search, to solve unsolved assassinations and genocides, to mark unmarked gravestones and to bottle unbottled ashes scattered in the winds of time and soon you shall know, leaks or no leaks, that there is a hole in things, and information





the key,

your mind,

cannot penetrate

Monday, December 5, 2011

The Abandoned

‘Guess what?’ he said, with a newborn’s bewilderedness to his tone.

‘Are you cooking our kitten tonight?’


‘The rascal kid next-door?’

‘No, no…’

‘Then, is it a unicorn for dinner?’

‘No, no, no…!’

‘So it can’t be very much exciting as, hmm…but anyway go on and tell me what it is’, she allowed him, with an indulged benevolence only a wife can bestow.

‘I… well… See, I want you to listen carefully because I’m going to tell you this just once, there’s not going to be any discussion, nor any forgetfulness, and two years from now if ever you wanted to recall this day I want your memory to be a clean, blank slate to not recall and utter one word from it.’

‘So what I want to tell you is’, he continued, ‘I’m quitting as a homemaker. In other words, I will no longer be cooking, except maybe for making tea, as and when I feel like it.’

It’s been two years since and there’s no knowing how things transpired and how well it all went because they moved house long time ago.

I’d like to believe they had the baby – I recall they had a quarrel whether to keep it or not keep it, like it was about some toy – and it all went rosy and as planned but how am I to know all that just being conscious and nothing more.

I still hear echoes of the many conversations they had had from the spaces they once occupied, calling each others names, words of admiration and more such.

For a house, I cannot vacuum the accumulated dust off my floor, get the webs growing out of my corners wiped clean, nor can I cement the breaks in my walls.

A house is some good, a sentient house even more so, but an abandoned house, sentient or not, is no good, wouldn’t you say.

Now is that a knock at the door or a creak or both? I hope it’s not one of those moments where I heard it just in my head.

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