Monday, November 29, 2010

Little Things of the Flesh

Was there music
that night
on the
balcony floor?
I barely remember.


Heaven lies
not in the sky
nor in the books.
You can't approach it
using something
as simple as your mind.
Sometimes I laugh
at the idea of religion.
Heaven was never
hard to find.
It's there,
when you look at me
like a problem
you need to fix.
It's there,
when you cup my face.
And refuse to
move further away,
than two lips.


I can't sleep.
Because you're not
here, in my bed,
keeping me awake.


I used to be calm.
Still water
a crescent moon.
The Goddess flung
you in me.
Like a rock.


Where you watching
me pray?
My trembling hands
my wavering lips?
My eyes that kept
looking back at you?


I dreamt of you.
Today I need
to dream a little
of me.
Let me.


When you're here
I'm barely breathing.
When you're gone,
I can't breathe at all.
There's nothing blessed
about this suffocation.
And the difference
between them.


Even my words
Whom I love
most of all.
Love you more
than they
ever loved me.


My hands used
to be gentle.
They used to be polite.
They used to dance
on canvas.
They loved to sit and write.
Now they itch
and twitch.
For a body like
scented loam.
Now they wait for
you to return.
Like for a parent
coming home.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Dissolve Me

You dissolve me
Into the water of you.
You stir my soul,
slowly away,
until nothing remains
but a murkier you.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Listening to "Love the Way You Lie" While Trying to Write

"On the first page, of our story
the future seemed so bright.
Then this thing turned out, so evil,
I don't know why I'm still surprised.
Even angels have their wicked schemes,
and you take that to new extremes.
But you'll always be my hero,
even though you've lost your mind"

(From "Love The Way You Lie II" by Rihanna Feat. Eminem)

I'm lost without you, baby, come back to me.
Don't slam that door, don't you dare walk away from me.
I'll only chase you down, turn you around roughly. Only
So you can shove me against the neighbor's door
and scream at me that I'm never sorry.
I don't deserve you, I was lonely, I'm an ass, stop crying.
Can't you see that I'm dying but that I can't speak
Without lying through my damn teeth. Please at least,
Tell me it's okay that I cheated. Wait, hold up, tie me
to this chair so I don't hurt when you go off on me.
It's you that I love, she meant nothing, really.
I only slept with her to keep you from taking
me, for granted like you've been doing lately.
It's okay to feel something, baby, go ahead hate me.
Just stop running away all the time, I'm all you need baby.
Who else will love you when you're hung over, fed-up, lazy?
Overweight overbearing over the moon crazy?
You tell me I'm going bald, getting fat, so damn ugly.
Then when I turn away you dash into my back, hug me.
And say that "You're the only one who's ever loved me".
Then you take me to my room, push me down, make me
Forget everything I hate in this whole world, except the
way that I treated you these last few days. I pull you close
to me. You touch me like a nurse, wiping me down softly.
You whisper, "I love you", and I tell you that I'm so damn sorry.
Maybe you like to watch me go berserk, break shit and burn.
You like knowing how easy you can melt me down, make me churn.
You like how it feels to stick a knife in, smile and twist and turn.
How can we treat each other so good, and have the best time,
Then drag each other down to hell, before the next clock chime?
I make loving me seem like a crime don't I?
And you're guilty everytime. I say I'm sorry but I'm lying.
I don't love to watch you cry, but I get a sick kind of high
Watching you smile through your tears as you believe every lie.

Psychodramatic So and So

You ever have those days where nothing seems to be going on in your life? Really, you wake up and for some strange reason, your skin feels like it belongs to someone else. There's no great tragedy, no overwhelming crisis, no drama, just an overbearing...nothing. You brush your teeth staring at the stranger in the mirror wearing your face. You have your breakfast, you read the paper full of the usual shit that rains across the globe. Your email account is empty. Your facebook page has one or two notifications but nothing sent to you specifically. Just people who have commented on things you've commented on in the past. Some of them, well, most of them, you couldn't care less about.

You step out of your apartment and the Sun is unhappy to see you, so ups the heat. The wind, that was blowing so sweetly a moment ago, decides it's time to go blow elsewhere. Even the dog in your building that usually leaps into your arms and licks the entire side of your face is strangely subdued, barely managing a single wag of his tail at the sight of you. There's a sense of malaise and lethargy that seems to squat down around you, making everything appear as if seen through a heat haze.

You sit in your home and look around at all the things you could be doing and do none of them. Or even if you do, it's with such a sense of futility or dissatisfaction that you decide it's better not to attempt anything at all.

I've sat at this computer intermittently about six times today. I've refreshed my facebook page, my email about a dozen times. I leaped at my phone when it rang only to have someone attempt to sell me some hair brained scheme to invest in shady real estate in Ghatkopar. I've scrapped at least three pieces that I've been trying to write. One of them was so bad it made my eyes wet with boredom just scanning the first line.

What's missing? Yesterday I was happy for no reason. Today I am not. Am I, are we all, at the mercy of things so infinitesimal that they can affect us so profoundly without even announcing themselves or leaving any clues? What moves beneath the ocean of our thoughts that sends these bubbles up to mess with our surface? What behemoths swim beneath the brine, unnoticed save for the wake they leave behind?

Maybe what I really need is one tight slap. And luckily for me I have a number of people in my life who would love to give me one if they saw me like this right now. Maybe I should just call one of them. There's nothing quite so comforting as the righteous tirade of a loved one towards all your bullshit. I love it. Everytime my mother, or sisters, or girlfriend, or friend starts to lecture me on topics I deserve lecturing, one part of my brain is paying attention, the other is fighting to keep the smiles of joy from my face. They just wouldn't take it the right way were I to beam at them mid-tirade and thank them for loving me enough to slap my ego and sense of self-loathing around like they needed to.

The problem I've come to realize, is that when I get left alone for too long now, I start feeling bereft. See, I'm a psychodramatic so and so. I work my issues out through high drama and play-acting. Nothing rejuvenates me more than making someone laugh with the way I relate my woes with much mimicry and high elocution. I used to be a loner. I used to like it that way. But I'm happy to know that I'm not anymore. I like people, and they like me. And I think I need to stop writing and get out of this house and just run into someone somewhere and make them smile, with me or at me, doesn't matter. Today I need to feel a part of the human race. I can go back to being a misanthropic so and so tomorrow. Ciao!

Monday, November 22, 2010

Silly Rap Song

I need you now I need you
Quiet chaos in my soul let me feed you
let me drive you right up the wall
and make love on the ceiling
you don't understand how I'm feeling, I'm like
Marvin Gaye rewriting Sexual Healing
i'm a puppy dressed in white linen pants
out my mind out the asylum out in your hands
silly rap song this is a silly rap song
stomp your feet pull me close keep clapping along
I'm feeling frisky and when I am I'm full of frisky demands
Shankar Ramen said my love is like a dog understand?
I need to train him not to bite
But I'm off the diggity damn chain tonight
Thought i told you that there will be times
the poet pulls a trigger and my inner tigger rhymes
I'm in and out of my schizophrenic minds, I need to
be in and out of you, filthy damn but it's true
Normal is for normal people baby, me and you
are crazy orangutans caught in a psychotic loop
You were the one that made me this way. You
Can't complain now, baby doll, or train me away
I'm a cannibal out for your flesh, God Lord Jesus Yahweh
This world's full of sinners and I'm its truest Son
Moral as a viper, tequila steady loco with a loaded gun
I have what you may refer to as certain lust issues
Hacchoo! Did I wet you? Let me let the Devil bless you!
Or blow your irresponsibly held wet whistle?
Who let this crazy motherf@*$ guy next to you?
You need an exorcist, girl, to take this tall hex from you.
But for now let's push this whole home to crushed rubble
Let me kiss you on your neck, pick goosepimples off your flesh
with my last shaved, god-knows-when, who-the-f-cares stubble
Tell me you hate me, I'm a frustrating ingrate then hug me
Let the world judge me wrong, girl, you just smile drug me
again and again, do it well do it well, then we do it again
We're going to have a lot of furniture to rearrange
In the morning, for now let's come together deranged
Erotic arranged chaotic massive crises created congrats
Let's make like rabbits skating along on a rollercoaster thats
about to fall off the tracks onto all these other rats
Splat there goes your ex-boyfriend and that other patsy
Hats off to you for getting all my bullshit to move past me
You want me, you want me, I can see it in the way you shiver
cupid ran out of all the love arrows in his usual quiver
so reached into the other right quick, hit your heart your liver
and all the other parts that made them other guys run away quicker
I'm here to take it all girl, even your inner Loch-ness monster stress
I'm here to tell you I need it all, even your need to obsess
about all the ugly little things this world has in excess
but I digress I'm just trying to go half on thirty babies, unless
I am plain crazy and you're not even a little complexed.
Oops there goes the bell, to be continued next recess.
I guess. Yes?

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Moving to Argentina

There is a place
where the tango
never ends.
Where the mountain
comes down to play
with the sea.
Where the sky
remembers what it was like
to walk upon the shore.
A place where you and I
have yet to come.
To sands that have never
known the mysteries
wrinkled under our feet.
Where the air moves
ignorant of our scent
but waits for us
nonetheless. Patiently.

There is a place I
wish us to be.
Full of secret sunshine,
nights thick like honey.
Mosquito nets moist
from our tango,
the other one.
The creak of palm trees
standing watch,
and the glow of the Moon,
trying to get
a better view.

Friday, November 19, 2010


I have forgotten
where I was,
when they came for me.
I remember a beach
and an ugly sunset
over a lifeless sea.
I remember the children
smiling, and running up
but never into that sea.
I remember wishing
they could.

That was my crime,
that foolish wish.
And then they took me,
to the edge
where the ocean
comes to surrender.
Where all the violence
trapped in every wave,
powerful enough
to defy the Sun,
and shatter the Moon,
sputters and gasps
and crawls cowardly
up the shore,
and licks our feet.

This is where I am to be.
At the edge of things,
looking sideways.
A broken harp
in unfamiliar hands.
An empty cup
waiting for an
endless sea.
They struck me
with hammers
and left me
cracked enough
to let the Light

They made me burn
down everything I was.
Until all that remained
was the hollow sound
at the heart of every scream.
They broke my throat
and poured in the fire.
And told me the truth.
The words will always come
but never to the strong.
Poets must learn to fly
with broken wings.

I wept for joy
at all the pain,
that I turned into
mobiles of words.
I stood frozen,
upon that shore.
I spoke with the
water at my feet.
And it smiled at me
and gathered itself
and rushed back
into the sea.

My heart broke open
and out galloped
all the horses.
Never to return.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Taking a Breather

Taking a break from writing poetry, or rather trying to write poetry. Everytime I start I think I'm going to crack it finally and come up with something as stunning as "Intimations of Immortality" or "Idea of Order at Key West". And then I start writing, with all the usual distractions littered around and in front of me : coffee, books, newspapers, playstation3, new DVD's I haven't seen, internet, fucking facebook! Only our generation could have invented a disorder like Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. No wonder it was us - can't sit still long enough to finish the least time-consuming of tasks without wandering off into another. It would be amusing if it didn't actually mean that a lot of good work went undone or not even begun during all these periods of pointless and fruitless hyperactivity.

Then I finish a poem and read it back to myself. Most times, I have to put the computer aside before I smash it against the far wall. Other times, I kind of smile, and tell myself it's not really THAT bad. I'm getting better. But every time, every single time, I feel like I've written something just barely good enough to be rejected as the lyrics for the next Taylor Swift song. All my poems sound a little too Pop-y to me. (Note, between the previous sentence and the next I checked my email twice, my facebook page the same, and watched the video for a song I like on YouTube. The prosecution rests).

But when I thought about it, pop music, and started to list all the great songs I've ever heard, I took a little heart. I wish I could write like Shakespeare or Hemingway, and we all should wish for that level of skill and intensity in our work, whatever that work may be. However, it is far more important to discover your own true wavelength. I shouldn't try and write a poem like Wallace Stevens or Charles Bukowski. They had their experiences and their education and their points of view that colored the ink they wrote with. I have mine. And that's a good thing. To mine own self I am true. Plus if you've ever really listened to the lyrics of songs like "Edge of Desire" or "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" by John Mayer (Yes, that's right! John Mayer), or any Counting Crows or U2 song (barring some of the new stuff. Sorry Bono, you've kinda gotten a little too pop for me), you'll know that there's some real quality poetry out there disguised as pop music. And I'm just giving examples from the really popular stuff.

This entire week I've done more writing that I've been happy with than ever before, not because I've been inspired or moved or anything so cliched. I've written so much more just because I've taken the time to sit down and write. To not wait for some faerie dust to be sprinkled on me, rather just roll up my sleeves and start digging. I know most of the people that know me find my pieces quite "iffy" and hard to get through. One of my dearest friends told me he checks out about line three, everytime. But then there are those who tell me they liked what I wrote. And those very few who say that they understood what I was trying to say. That means more to me than they'll ever know.

Because I don't want to, and have never wanted these pieces to be private or hidden, or about things I don't feel strongly about. These are little pieces of me that I want you to see, because I know you have these same pieces in you. These maybe exercises or literary challenges for me, but they describe things I know more people than me have faced or dealt with or laughed at. I re-evaluated why I actually started this blog and why I've continued to post here. I want to be heard. I want to share what I know and what I see, with whoever takes the time to read it. This is not for me, these words are for you, and they always have been.

So this long ass rambling piece, was me taking a breather. Hopefully by tonight, I'll be playing percussion on these computer keys again.

To everyone who reads - leave a comment if you can. Let a brother know you hear him. Even if you don't like what you read. I'd actually appreciate a good critique.

To all that read and comment - I'd hug you if I could. Thank you.

Now! Where'd I put that damn cup of coffee. Aha...there you are, you saucy beverage....

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Everything You Are To Me

Everything you are to me,
Is a blessing I'll never deserve.
It's that surging swell of desire
That hides in your every curve.
It's the way you move when you're happy
All the singing and dancing too.
It's the way your eyes grow softer
Than mine ever do, looking up at you.
It's in the way you smile at me,
Like a parent to a child.
It's how I feel when I touch you.
Like the end to my long exile.

Everything you are to me,
Is the fuel that pulls me along.
It's your face that I see
Listening to the silliest song.
I know somedays you hate yourself,
When you can barely look in the mirror.
And the world tells you horrible things,
Your dreams evanesce in a zephyr.
I'd break the world for hurting you,
Smash every hateful face I see.
But you would only stroke my cheek,
And whisper, "Just let it be."

Hear my words, Morning Star
and know them to be true.
I'd break all my rules for you,
Just the way you are.

Monday, November 15, 2010

The Heart Rain Sonnet

I was walking along
Another dirty street.
Feeling a little riven,
Cracked, incomplete.
The kind of day you felt,
Sick, lonely, and in debt.
Like a hyperactive
Locked in an oubliette.
If this were a business,
This business of life.
I'd probably get fired.
Come back with a knife.

Then I hear it, my favorite refrain.
First peals the thunder, down comes the rain.

November Rain

The rain came back
For me.
So did the Blues.
Why won't they leave
me be?
The fools.
I open my windows
Pick up my pen.
Open my heart.
I listen to the thunder
Enter my bones.
Open my heart.
Blessed are the weary.
For at least we tried.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Too Late to S.O.S.

If you look closely,
Even stars stand lonely.
Burning holes into
the vacuum around.
Signifying everything
but what they are.
Just fury, no sound.

If this is really hell
Then at least we're together.
Except when I look at you,
I keep thinking of her.
Is it just me
Or are we all just crazy?
Love's hard work,
and we're all just lazy.

These aren't love songs
But beggared breaths.
Taken in this city
of quiet deaths.
Puff puff pass,
This pain can't last.
Leave me alone.

Leave me alone.
But be waiting in my bed
when I get back home,
with nothing
but that smile
and that lingerie on.

The song says
You give and you give
and you give yourself away.
But I think we kid and kid
and kid ourselves away.
Lie in little ways.
Settle into familiar
Ugly little days.

This was a happy song,
Then the blues came along.
Like cold, bloody jazz.
Guitars as blue as
Muddy Waters,
Howling Wolf and
his troubled daughters.
Etta James and
her Demons too.
Little light,
Just me, no you.

This is not a cry for help.
No plea bargain for parole.
I don't want you here tonight.
It's too late to save my soul.
You'd only come running,
Ready to face my unknown.
That's why I locked the door.
And turned off the phone.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Bandra Bachelor Party

Some try to dance,
Some just stand.
Some dream about things
They'll never understand.
Some don't have the heart.
They linger around my Saturday night
A crowd of people, standing apart.

There's a girl here who wants
To dance but hates all the music.
She moves like an assassin,
Duck your head or you'll lose it.
Every thrust of her hip
Every toss of her hair,
Layered thick with seduction
Barely masks her despair.

There must be people here,
Happier than they seem.
Or am I lost in the fairy dust
Of my own little dream.
We laugh at all the jokes
No matter how bad.
It seems our responsibility
To at least pretend to be glad.

I'm too tired to write now
and much much too lonely.
Saturday night lies dying,
Sunday doesn't want to know me.
There's left nothing to do
but crawl into my empty bed.
And dream of all the lives
I'll never touch, before I'm dead.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Why aren't I asleep?

I convinced myself I knew how to swim
and haven't drowned yet.
I told myself I knew how to love,
but was proven incorrect.
Love isn't a white horse, or a rainbow
or chocolate desert
or a mid-day naked dance.
Love is love. It is not like
any other thing.
Nor would it want to be.
Like a rock is a rock
Your love is your love.
What freaks me out,
Is discovering that,
My love is your love too.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Watch thrown into a closet.

I have no words,
I spent them all
Far too cheaply.
On a dirty corner
near a cigarette stand.
You never came,
So I let them drop,
One by one
Into the gutter
Yawning at my feet.
Are we happy now?
I waited. Me
and my watch
We waited.
My watch told me
to walk away.
But I wanted to see you.
And thought it was
just jealous.
But you never came.
Now I don't wear
that watch anymore.

Solitary Refinement

There are no echoes here,
No wasted breaths
No misunderstandings nor arguments
Neither pleasure nor pain.
There is only me, and my pen
Practicing our old dance again.

One two three, one two three, one.
Quiet is my home, and clean.
Clement is the wind, and cheerful.
I know many words, and learn many more.
I smile even lost in traffic,
In the crowd outside an audition,
Or in line at the grocery store.

I light a candle for my Goddess
and incense for her pleasure.
I smile and touch her feet and
Ring a silver bell to tell her I love her.
I am as wise as the crows,
and still from within.
I light my lamps to mirror
the orange of the Sky,
and let the Sunset in.

There's a perfect cup of kahwa
steaming beside my book.
I no longer have to search
for reasons to be happy.
I've lived in Bombay without crying
and learnt where to look.

I think of all of us
Abandoned in this city,
I know we'll all make it
If we learn to like the jazz.
The Sun rises in our eyes,
It always, always has.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Another Silly Song

Winter rain upon my terrace
Watching bats flit through palm trees.
Like dreamers who like to dance
Like a flower in a field of honey bees.

These days pass by so slowly
But in a blessed langour.
I dream of her even less now
than I ever did before.

Although I dream of her still
a little.

But this poem isn't about her
This is my song for you.
Because you never walk away without looking
to see me looking back at you.

And everytime you touch me
Your soul takes a hold of mine.
And every time I pull away now,
Separation leaves a bloody sign

When you smile I see it all
Even what they seldom see.
I see the sacred secret pain.
That you wish to share with me.

I see your weaknesses
I see the scars on your chest.
I see the tremble in your lips
and that you hate this damn dress.

We're all broken bits of pieces
My baby, you, and me.
But we are what the angels envy,
When they force themselves to see.

Prophets don't come from paradise
They are born bloody and screaming
They don't come to sit in quiet rooms
But to stand surrounded, broken and bleeding.

You say you want me baby,
What else could I possibly do?
You go your way,
I'll go your way too.

(*Last two lines are "The Sweetest Little Song" by my Prophet of Poem, Mr. Leonard Cohen)

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

My Kind of Love Song

I may never be what you needed,
Just as you needed it the most.
Or be even remotely what you dreamt
of walking beside, upon that coast.
Hand in hand on perfect sands,
Watching sunsets parade into the sea.
I could never be all the answers
Just imperfect, insensitive me.
I knew all the words I needed to say
and all the right places to touch.
I knew every little ticklish spot
and all the songs you loved so much.
But you don't want that now
There's no glamour to be had.
You can't sit in quiet rooms with me
Somewhere between angry and sad.
There's no perfection here baby,
Nothing like that at all.
I will let you down, sugar
Or be sleeping when you fall.
I love you so much sometimes
Sometimes I can't quite manage,
Sometimes we're making love
And doing nothing but more damage.
I could tell you I'm gonna try to change.
But you'd know I'm lying through my teeth
Who the fuck are we kidding here, baby?
This is a test we never meant to complete.
I can give you days without joy,
Days you feel ugly and sick.
Days I wipe away every smile,
Days I cut you to past your quick.
Somedays I know you hate me
And could sell your soul for a brick.
I'm sorry for everything baby.
But we both know I'll do it again.
You see I love you, baby
I just can't to do it without the pain.
But I make you laugh don't I
Dance, and giggle, and leap for me?
I can be anything you need me to be
You know your soul pleads for me.
So think of me tonight, baby
Because nothing else seems true.
I'm not God's gift to anybody darling
I'm the bargain He struck, for you.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Back in Bombay

My first night back in the Big Stinky Bombay City. And I'm a happy man. How'd that happen? When I moved here from New York, I remember sitting in the plane as it touched down and thinking that I was being exiled from paradise, cast down into Pandaemonium. I stood next to all the people in baggage reclaim crowd like a weeping seraph amongst the other Fallen. What had I done that was terrible enough to deliver me this fate? I carried a fear in my gut that was heavier than all the bags being dumped on the carousel. How would I be able to walk out the airport with this weight?

I knew no one in the city. Every sound it made frightened me. Every smell that came, came to me with a violence my nose was unprepared for. The Sun beat down on me like a judge's hammer, counting out the years I was being imprisoned for. And I wanted to be an actor. A choice of profession that seemed right only to my inflated sense of my own magnificence. How naive and cock-sure could I have been to think that I could make it when so many other equally worthy or more, smashed their dreams to dust upon these raging streets?

I didn't sleep properly for a week. Every night I would paint fantasies upon the ceiling, only to see them all burn. Every night I would lay awake, unable to take a deep breath, like something stood on my chest, right below my ribs. This city told me nothing, it only glared and screamed. It gave me nothing, it only took my dreams and knotted them in the small of my back. Every gaze seemed dismissive, contemptuous, or at the very mildest, gauging. No one looked with softness and serenity. No one bothered to smile truly. Everybody had an angle, and ace up their sleeves, and a big knife behind their back.

It's hard to find love in a city where it's considered a weakness. Hard to find softness in a jungle full of predators. Where does one go to stand in the light, when even the Sun seems a tainted tyrant?

You go within, that's where you go. You dive deep into the heart of you. You find a pool of Serenity you didn't know you even had, in the quiet spaces between your dreams and your tears, fed by neither but sweeter than both. You go within to see the light, you go within to be quilted in shadow against the cold dark.

It is here, in this city of obsessions and despair, and ambition and lust, and hunger, that I found my quiet places waiting for me. It is here, in Bombay, that I learned that I was equal to the task. I may never like Bombay for all it's filth and cracked roads and indifferent officials, and awful weather, and an unwelcoming sea, but for making me a man, finally, I will always love it.

Now I sleep like a baby and laugh like a child. I am what I was looking for, all this lonely while.