Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

The Lake Under cold stars, and quiet stillness ahead, amidst faint strains of ancient notes, No words spoken, with thoughts into the sky A porous detachment from looks, feel And the peace of dual solitude Somewhere the cosmos captured in mediocre human eyes, Like two trees waiting for rain.

Finding Fertility Spring is here, the new blooms in wild thrush, The cold has left, the open door, the mistrust and apprehension of faded wallpaper, of broken sleep, will soon become the blueprint for renovation. The seeds are sowed, for pleasant hellos and distant memories, new life in red hues blazing, into long, winding fields Bridges burnt are obsolete and unsuitable for journeys Spring is here, the frost is beginning to melt under soft rays of a soft sun Hidden under rocks, till overturned by disasters unplanned by nature's clever dream

Going Enough Man! Enough of your silly ego, enough of your tiger spots fading into jungle tracks. Enough of your making me feel I'm not good enough for you. Of pushing straws into paper thin funnels Of crying for your touch, your warm, prize touch, which is meant not for me, But that coy, little piece of illusion, her hair of apple shampoo and her nails manicured to perfection, Her breasts like those bubbles you play with in boredom Your kiss not meant for me, But her, to whose your lips are just a conquest, and she goes back home, pulling the threads she's tied to your heart, and her laugh so dainty, like a bird in the snow. Enough Man, Go, go kiss her to death, and set me free, before her jewelled noose suffocates you into more guilt. As for me, I'm free from such superficial chains Only struggling in my red ribbons, longing to look pretty flying in blue sky and floating in green streams.

Obituary 'Trust' is a heavy word. It's also like that last card on the heap. If you can't get that right, you're nothing getting anything right. I'm sad to announce the departure of my dear friend - trust. Call me cynical, scared or a sissy, but sooner or later everyone reaches this stage where they just can't trust anyone. I had a friend who was like that, scared of talking, revealing, making moves, most importantly letting go of the past. Because sometimes the past becomes your identity. Without it's colorful, interesting mask, you're nothing but the burnt man from the house of wax. And I used to tell him, 'How can you be scared? If you never try, you'll never know. If you clench your fists, you'll let nothing enter." I've become like him now and understand why he had lost that trust. It happens without warning, one fine day you wake up and like an ugly zit on your face or a lost tooth, it changes everything. So you hide some m

Song for the week Loneliness Loneliness... It's a place that I know well. It's the distance between us and the space inside ourselves. And emptiness... Is the chattering in your head. It's the call of the living and the race from life to death. And I know- yeah, I know- what you feel... And I've got a longing that's hard to find- won't give me no peace of mind. Something that I've lived with all along. Days and weeks and months and years, fillin' in the time, my dear- tryin' to find the place where I belong. Hopelessness... Is the darkness of your heart. It's the sound of one hand clapping while it's pulling you apart. And I know- yeah, I know- what you feel... And I've got a longing that's hard to find- won't give me no peace of mind. Something that I've lived with all along. Days and weeks and months and years, fillin' in the time, my dear- tryin' to find the place where I belong. And I've got a hunger that's

Doing Okay 'How are you?' 'Doing okay'. 'How's the job going?' 'Just fine' 'And your health..?' 'Okay' 'Do you realise how often we Indians use the word 'okay'?' 'I know.' 'I wonder why?' 'It's just a way of saying, even though I'm not doing that great, my job is getting routined and my health is very bad, I will not complain. It's called Indian detachment.' 'Yeah, but I guess that's okay...' It's this state of unacheivable balance where you want to believe you're doing fine. And if you keep saying this to yourself long enough, it actually happens. The ripples go away and it's stll waters again, running deep of course. But some kind of faith manifests itself in just not trying too hard, but pretending that yes, nothing's wrong. The Westerners would call it 'fooling your psyche'. For us, it's a magic placebo. I went to church yesterday. Stood in