Category Archives: night

Palolem affair

The gathering night clutches the folds of her robe as she looks out into the moonless dark… an impregnable roar echoes the anguish, the solitude of the sea * Solitary queen In the high castle she craves distraction there is … Continue reading

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Darbaar Sahib

    you have to peel off religion one translucent skin after another * finding god is drawing blood the knife goes in slowly black, viscous, slimy faith oozes out and then it happens as sudden as thought or sleep … Continue reading

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aranya #12: Rendezvous

Under a rectangle of moonlight Qi and Kaththi sit on a mat of leaves Stick falls on stone an eye implores two silences speak Kaththi stiffens nods quietly leaves

Posted in aranya, Could be verse, nasha, nature, night, poetry, Prosepoetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

aranya #11: union

What the forest saw: notes cascade into each other, like the sky dripping into the forest, in a waterfall of desire. And born out of the union is the language of the trees. birds catch it in their beaks, and … Continue reading

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‘I’ll tell you all the news

the ocean froths In the empty ghada a Shrill whisper rises  Like piss in the stream  The fawda picks away at the clod Darknesses converge  Upon the decaying carcasses  The dead stink  Louder than blasphemies  In the sacred chamber  And time,  … Continue reading

Posted in #poemaday, Atyachar, community, Could be verse, Gothamisation, hmmm, I want to ride my bicycle, It is written, middle class mithya, night, One Bad Day, picture abhi baaki hain mere dost, poetry, why? | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


leaves crackle underfoot. Fumes of wet earth spiral upwards into the translucent moondust; twilight rain’s afterthought. the saxophone breath of the night. soft rustle of foreboding. the forest begins to stir. sleep leaves the eyes of trees in little dew … Continue reading

Posted in #poemaday, aranya, City, forest, hmmm, It is written, Lou, nature, night, Prosepoetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

for Cohen

melancholy is a colour. it sings through the cracks opening in the river of your broken baritone. like light high on dreams the cliffs are empty, the sea froths like an angry dog, the window is open, and the lipstick-smeared … Continue reading

Posted in Could be verse, It is written, kaha gaye woh din, Music, night, Ustad | Leave a comment