Wednesday, 26 November 2008


the marks on my arm have faded
i’m still cynical and jaded
my ride with them pills
hurled me off the window sill
but i have finally made it

a tube down my nose
an iv up my arm
another twenty or so
i’d be in good-bye farm

my innards turning out
my thoughts tuning in
garbled words in my mouth
my blood in the bin

the dance of the dervish
the devil in my soul
not that my absence
would have left a gaping hole

revenge is the rice tube
stay down for forty-eight hours
the sermon the lecture the icu laughter
my painful ears they jar

have i learnt my lesson
hypothetically it’s a yup
till the next time and the next
on an overdose i’ll decide to sup.

Monday, 10 November 2008


the clothesline can tell you stories
that wearers will not reveal
of purple yearning
and blue moods
it tells you everything
the pastel triangles of cloth
a little one is in the world
a mother’s milk stained gowns reveal
pride that goes untold
lace panties satin thongs
a lover has been there
clothes that give away
more than they hide
give way to a penetrating stare
crisp lengths of unbleached cotton
speak of irreligiosity
the opposite softest cotton
speaks of temple visits religiously
blankets and patchwork quilts
remind me
winter is approaching here
eiderdowns coverlets aired prepare
for cold weather
socks towels tennis perhaps
some sport at least
silk sheets tell me of
games that tease
a pristine collar on
a much used shirt
feminist feminine whatever
tells you of a woman’s love
that no modernity can sever
starched crisp cotton
khadi classy silk
no matter what the fabric is
it brings society in its ilk
so this is the story of a home
and the cord that runs through it
you may bond over
or fabric well knit
and when you see
it fluttering in the winds carefree
know that it is love
you see
i’ve started this poem
many a times
to abandon it mid way
maybe it needed time
to soak up the sun
maybe it needed today
warm clothes
the fragrance of
sun kissed laundry
raises my spirits
and sets my soul free.