The Arrival

Autumn breaks,

And I am waiting, at the station,

Perched by a bench,

Beneath the sign boards, and neon lights,

Eyes on the gentle curve,

Of the rails, 


It’s been ten years now,

Since I wrote this words,

And you are yet to come!



Most well written poems,

Don’t mean anything,

They are but broken words,

Stitched together,

To mirror perfection.


Fear not O angel,

If your wings are cut,

You can live among us, 

As human, 

Only to learn in time,

That we are not so different after all.

The Final Farewell

Soldiers, soldiers, my fellow men,

Why you so blithely sit,

Round the corpses catching fire,

Soaking it’s valiant heat.

Tempt not those circling vultures, 

Feed not those saints in black,

To barter the pride of might,

For the courage we so lack.

Remember, do you, my friends,

The dread as trumpets blare,

When the land is alive in madness,

And the blood is in the air.

Through embers and the ashes,

By the gleam of bones and teeth,

We marched on land and water,

In search of victor’s myth.

Say now, cry not, you brave and bold,

Hold up your head and chin,

The deed was done in battle, 

And in war there is no sin.

Oh god, our father, see how I mock,

Your beloved and righteous creed,

Send down thy prophet early,

We have none left to lead.

O worthy, worthy, men

O brethren of my birth,

How oft have we been blunted,

By truths of this lying earth,

I thus cannot, and never again,

Pick another shield or sword, 

So I can walk this world in search,

Of a blameless, nameless, Lord.

I ask you now, I plead you thus,

To stand now as you stood, 

And find a path more worthy,

In the light of this pyre lit wood.

Go mend your boats, my children new,

Go unfurl your freedoms sail,

And wave long to this horizon,

In a final farewell.

The Cosmic Dance

If only the world would sing a better song, 

I can contemplate dancing,

In rhythm, to watch the color explode,

And the sky rain down,

black and white,

So that when I waltz across the floor,

I am no longer alone,

And no longer mad,

But just another one of those, strangers,

Who fell from heaven,

And decided to stay.

The Search


I did it.

If only to understand,

That pride comes before the fall,

And nothing less, meaningful,

Than my quest, 

To find questions, answerless.

And say, neigh scream, 

In the blind stillness of this primordial night,

That I have come, 

Afore all, and demanded,

My rights,

So that I can, as I did, stand,

At my pinnacle,



Free, of dread and dogma,

Cursed, yes, in orthodox minds,

Marring my divinity, 

Yet oblivious,

To all the visions of heaven and hell,

For he who stayed by me,

In the sanctum of my heart, denied, 


Anointing it a scheme, 

To tame all that surged within,

Us all, us all!

Was I mislead? 

I know not.

Was I wronged?

I care less.

Because the fall, the fall, had been mine,

The same way, my pride and flight was,


Through dream, desire, 

Baptized and redeemed,

With freedom and by duty,

Of mine to me,


The scarcity of words, 

Makes me pause, 

Makes me wonder,

If you, yes you, 

Can truly understand, me, 

Or just shrug and go on,

Passive and restless,

Under the same shelter,

From whence you have escaped,

In search, of … What?

The Silver Eclipse


There, beneath the moon,

Wet in it’s shadow,

The night flowing through your tresses,

Whispering lullaby, 

Forging dreams, 

Of summer and it’s secrets.

Let it trickle, the moonlight, 

So that it can gather in your palm, 

 And see for once, 

Your face, 

O star. 

May, the world still, 

And gasp for breath, 

As you unveil, 

In searching glance, 

Your eyes, the violent petals,

A mirror to search and find,

The side behind the eclipse,


The mirror broke,

And so did the image, 

In thousand, thousand pauses, 

 A violent birth that altered all,

The semblance and the sync, 

By the valleys of crest and the peaks of trough, 

Everlasting ephemerally,

To shatter the illusion,

Restive to change,

Of face and fate, fickle of desire

the ring of truth, absolved by fire,

Sand, silica and stone of lime,

Filling the void, bereft of heart, 

Gathering, gathering,

In ages untold, 

Layers of past and of that present,

Dust and ashes, Bricks of blood, 

Raised in memory, forgotten barrow,

Tombs of today, altars tomorrow,

True to find,

In semblance, of semblance, for semblance, 

A voice raised, in echo unheard,

Whispering reflections, the sentinel erred.

The Form

‚ÄčIt takes but a moment, yet lingers for a lifetime,

Such is the mystery, 

Of dust and the shape of sand,

Of waves and the alchemical moon, 

Like freedom caged in verse and words,

Indifferent to change, still inimicaly altered.

Such things speaks of a nature, 

Adherening to the desire,

That pulses, and reshapes, 

Reshapes and regains,

New meanings, new understanding,

An attempt, nothing more, 

To leave a part, a living part, 

So as to be remembered,

In quest of the flaw, 

For being remembered, is being immortal.

And that is all there is, such is all there shall.