Category Archives: writer

A better future

Leaving trails,

little pearls of love to unveil,

droplets as we exhale,

with the in breath and out,

as within as without

any time thought patterns intrude,

recognise the feedback loop,

lies we’ve been fed,

waking lives, just like the undead,

do not try to numb,

but still do not succumb,

bear witness, let go,

by watching the ebb and the flow,

all along just know,

that it is only a tool to show,

how little time is left,

so we can become adept,

consciously manifest,

something better,

my kind of trend-setter.





No more colours

Just like an empty Sunday,

We wish away,

The barren moments taking form and shape,

Playing tricks in the light, painting a maze,

a blurry haze,

In between new ideas,

There lie dormant fears,

Colours seep,

From view and we are knee deep,

Wading through layers,

Finding our own way out,

So don’t tell me to smile,

Hold back or live in denial

Till I am ready, and have walked this mile.

Till every stain has been washed away,

and nothing remains.





Inner child

Image result for dreams state

Hey little child,

Everything your little heart desired,

was meant to be yours,

tapping into subtle details and walking through doors,

the cold breeze we ignored,

trying to keep warm,

when the sky hit the floor,

and when they fled from their stores,

simply selling objects became a bore,

what for?

chaos made us crave more,

engaging without remorse,

as we board upon our horse,

heading north,

and without much force,

left it all behind,

but as the clock chimes,

it catches up the tide of time,

sure as light blends into the dark night,

eyes drag south, shutting, we are blind,

sleeping you’ll find,


I guess tomorrow the sun will shine,


Rivers gushing beneath

One at a time,

the ripples melt into the stream illuminated by the sunshine,

the calm of the water looks like a goldmine,

colours and shades to watch as we sip fine wine,

the stasis not too different from the verses of a rhyme,

as the story unfolds line by line,

the story of the hill that we climb,

layers undressed,

as we reach the crest

so very steep,

though tempted as I was to peek,

I did not turn back to look at the river beneath,

the water is not shallow instead it is murky, deep,

…and gushing to the extreme,

quite unlike the setting of peace,

described so well, now my visual receptors have been released,

from that particular spiral, put it safely to sleep.





Instinct reigns in,

as moments keep passing,

the ships fly mile-high,

up in the sky,

reaching places,

these races,

a mass of faces,

there is no stasis,

in the zone,

with something to resist and something to condone,

as we roam,

objectives rendering us alone,

in the circus show

to and fro,

empty spaces between us hollow.

Swayed by the winds of change that blow,

so that preservation is futile, the seeds have already been sown,

and grown,

the first one to cast the stone,

will reap the fruits of the harvest that is to come,

the  orange and red season

we have all but anticipated,

with bated breath,

when wheat becomes bread,

we have already made our beds,

to lie in,

as the veils are thinning,

and the glasses are over brimming,

no turning back these miles,

have been walked and all the while,

the truth remains that preservation is futile,



Wait for it

Image result for Spiritual Path

In a small a matter of time,

this clock will chime,

the hour that spun it’s web has now woven into a tale of days

taken and stolen,

the sun is now setting golden,

a moon takes over the horizon,

don’t act surprised,

that she no longer wants to hide,

because when push comes to shove,

this inevitability is a must,

the iron has begun to rust,

tick-tock on the clock,

didn’t want to rock the boat but the doors are locked,

living like livestock

an age has taken it’s place, and we slowly conceptualise of this maze,

till we eventually erase, what does not need to stay and the simple black and white blindness now softens into varying shades of dark blue and grey.

To make a little bit of sense

of the images untainted by this lense,

a perceptive trend,

…keeping us in this loop that just wont end.




Image result for consumed art

Sleep is stolen from these eyes,

a resolution is not in sight,

logic cannot defy reason this time,

I cannot dim down the fire that I did ignite,

on that fateful moment of ignorance and fright,

I did however get a frost bite,

from the cold and chilly, icy touch of the night,

in sharp contrast to the promise that I made and could not last,

holding out for long did not match the rhythm of the song,

the beat I chose to dance to, committing to doom, ensuring that this ends soon, pact with the devil, to paint all these cities blue,

and with that I let go and let the waves of sorrow consume me whole.