Tag Archives: time


If only people understood
that one can love more
than one with tributaries
running in parallel, without
feeding off each other, that
the vectors of my love don’t
intertwine and dissect, rather
time and space does, and
thus, my mind and body,
but love is not in the encompassing
attention that I can dispose to
one at one space-time coordinate
but the overarching rib-cage
of feeling that melts into one
candle wick whose wax never
wears off – rekindled each time
with words, voices and presence
for the vortex in the centre of
my chest relives the warm
liquid nervousness, and my
body remembers your touch.
There is an eternality to love,
if we let ourselves share it with more
not in the coffin of singular expression
but in the in-between of presence,
that I will always share with you.

Love Song.

The wail of a love song –
I recognize,
I do not pretend to understand
The shifting verse of fluid feeling
The slender twigs oft broken, the
Always that never was.

Yet, in intuition there is
That deep sense of understanding
A moment that holds, in its bosom
Only to lose it again –
The tight clasp, sand pushing out
Grip trembling, eroding slowly
Through the seams of my skin
I pretend to hold, glistening sand
Losing myself in the love I let go.

Tipping the hourglass, voluntarily
Empty now, my chest
For another hand to softly
Tip the hourglass again.

If I Am But The Name You Gave Me

If I am but the name you gave me,

The shroud you covered me in

Mossed etching on a rotten stone

Dusty diary strewn on the floor

Wilted clothes in an aging cupboard,

Frozen and hung on the wall.

Old scar, itching and healing

The warmth of the summer sea sun

A labyrinth of murky stories,

Concealed trapdoors, hurriedly forgotten.

Some remembered on smoky nights

Rest cinders in the rubbish heap

In the brimming silo of time,

Eternal allure of reflections

The trace is eager to find,

Buried bodies, breathing life.

If I am but the name you gave me,

And all that I’ve left behind

I’m gracious for the slumber

In this silent house, benign.

Phase I


If you ask me really frankly, I knew this was a bad idea from the start. It’s funny how things work and things come to mean things and then the things that mean, start meaning different things to you. It’s like someone’s rigged you up with an analyzer that doesn’t wish to stay static, you want to make more of everything, find the connections and connect everything you can. Then you’ll associate things in that connection with each other and say, “Hey, these belong here”, then, when you see them in another arrangement, you realise that their use can be alternative too, and form more and more connections, linking everything to everything, that makes sense to you. You will see these things repeatedly in your life-time, sitting comfortably right where you placed them in your head, and you’ll be like “Yes, I got everything correct.”

Then, BAM, you see something different. A bizarre connection between the things that sat comfortably, so bizarre, that it doesn’t make sense at all. Your mind freezes.

All I’m saying is, accept the new connection. Integrate it. Don’t fight it. Take it in.


P.S : I have no idea what the bad idea was.


Familiarity lies in re-iteration. If I believe in the reality I do, it is so because certain large aspects of it remain unchanged. Yet, if I was sensitive enough to look at the minor fluctuations that take place second to second, and convince myself that the reality I am in, is different from that in which I was a second ago, I wouldn’t believe in a single reality.

Imagine a slide show with slides shifting per second, each slide having a different picture. The difference is difficult to spot, minor as it is, but it is there. Is this slideshow really your world? Or is it the next? Or the next? Or the next….?

Are we really familiar with our reality, or do we just judge the whole on the familiarities?


What have I to lose?

A variable identity lost in a 

Material world…..transcendence

Seems unattainable, for security 

Is hard to find and harder

To lose.

Pain from pain, this pain begets

Pleasure…..time will heal the wounds

My body will be my slave,

It’s wants and needs

I will murder.

Rather, immortality is not etched

In engravings, stones and caves

The hard granite will erode

Set loose, decay and be lost

But the body can be sacrificed,

For the temple, my Soul

And energy will purge my senses

For what it seems, is what it’s not

The difference between I and I am,

Will harbour myself, I will find

The me from me, and

Live in peace eternally…perhaps..



Complications arise from,

A complex clockwork that we

call Time.

We made it.

A name, that moves with

The winds, the tides and the

Descent of death…

The scent of stale air

And pestilence, cycles of

Natural consequences, life

Encapsulated into a rather

Strange comfort.

The words creep out of

Books, as the pages decay,

And histories washed away

As time fades…..and

Time kills time….

The proof of existences

Now lies lost….but time

Moves on,

Patterns repeat, but the permutations

Do not…unique in characteristic

Awake,in conflict.