Weathered staff, muddy boots, broken time-piece, rugged coat, fiddle, pencil stub, yellowed pages, old photograph, parched wine-skin, coffee beans and dry flowers. Yes, this is the place where I scribble all my thoughts in the form of poetry. Monday, March 28, 2011. Apu, the chai walla. This poem is for Apu, this ever-smiling 10-year old kid who sells chai on Platform no. 3 and 4 of the Pune railway station.

Carpe Noctem Quod Tempus Fugit! March 15, 2018. The BeZine has moved to a quarterly format this year and the first issue. There are lots of good reads in this one, with 58 pieces by 30 contributors! One of my contributions. Birthed in the minds of power-mad men,. Forged in the mouth of a dark thundercloud,. My sole purpose to kill,. I make murder a thrill;.

Feel free to share anything you may like or find interesting. Sunday, 22 July 2012. Where did life go? Every moment filled with glee? Some things were good. So a typical day? .

100TPC, 2014 Commemorative Page. Poets Against War, 2013 Collection. Prayer As Action For Peace. The BeZine, 15 July 2015, Vol. IMAGINATION and THE CRITICAL SPIRIT. It is the critical spirit that creates.

This is my world where I can be myself and lay out intricate diagrams, in the form of words. Thursday, July 25, 2013. Today I am thirty years of age. I never thought I would reach it. When I turned 29 I was ready to embrace it. And live life to the fullest. And not allow it to rob me of its valuability. I have found new hope.

Soundtracks on a Road Trip. I was the screaming current of Baffle Creek heading toward the sea. Feeling the rain, feeling the headwind and the dizzy illusions of adventure.

Yet another sun sinks into the sands. Painted Lady, Vanessa cardui cardui. A poem in a bed of dry leaves.

This blog is my salute and thank you to some poets - or rather some poems - that have stayed with me long after I had read them. Monday, August 11, 2014. Look at the blisters on her feet,. Gaze at the smile of her broken teeth,. The world calls her a whore,. Thinks sh is rotten from the core. But no one sees her sick mother dying,. Her hungry son crying,. To buy two loaves of bread,. To stitch a broken heart with a thread. She sells her pride,.