Travel and you would have travelled the world.
Read and you would have travelled the world.
Sit down and listen - you would have travelled the world.

-

A moth lives and dies for the flame.
Amidst all the flames that blazes,
Its heart sets out for the worn out, flickering flame
That has a story to tell, a love to envelope
This fly whose flight was all about you.

-

Rusting from torrid rains
Yet never learning, these
Ignorant rods keep climbing.
The concrete they believe
To hold their childish goals
Has no base, or if there
Ever was, it's gone.

Their goal, to map out
The whole of cosmos with
The rules of their language,

But the language of nothing -
They refuse to comprehend -
Created them, the ground
And the air they breathe.

They carry on, climbing,
To what end?

-

I once met a man who believed in ghosts.
He had to - his wife was dead,
His sons and daughters, too.
Since he believed in no afterlife,
In ghosts he put all his trust.

-

This body breaking to be let out -
A certain kind of cold in the palms
The pit of stomach, the joints
Join the nervous heart.

The mind waiting for the fault
So it can be punished and be
Done with or hoping for an escape -
To somehow survive the day.

It begs the question.
Did the rot begin at the shoots?
During the first monsoon?
Was the spring so poor?

That life has become an endless winter,
Interspersed with autumn and
Monsoon and spring sprinkled
Every now and then?

-

I’m afraid I’ll cry
At the most inopportune times,
So I force myself to grieve
And begin anew every Monday.
But I always miss it,
Either too early or too late
But never on time.

I glance back and am harsh,
I look forward and am kind.
(Or the other way around - matters little)
I’m confused as of now,
And the “now” never stays.

-

She has pimples in the silliest of places
And I love to circle my fingers around it.

But she chides me and chastises me
From popping them for she wants

The natural ebb and flow of things
And not a quick burst as a solution

As a relief as an ecstasy of emotions,
As I have always thought of life.

And I with the wonder and impatience
Of a child, argues to lose, then to accept

Her wish, her truth.

-

If there was nothing above, below and in between,
Can’t we just behold nothing and be nothing?
To be out of nothing - would that be such a bad thing?

Let there be Gods, spirituality, tradition and legacy.
Let them all be in this journey of sensations.
But for a second or two, why can’t we, You and I? -

- And if you frown, then just let me be -
Why can’t I believe in the nothingness that is?
No, not believe, but accept (except it is not

‘Accept’, for it is not me absorbing sacred leafs
Of stories of divinity) but me simply, amusingly
Wondering – I don’t know. Nothingness is not so bad.

-

It should leave
One little to wonder
The question of
'Who Am I?'

Pebble in the
Passage of time,
Gathering moss:
Kindred spirits,
Hopefully.

-

In the morning
There is unrest.
The noon brings
Up Future Past.
The tried afternoon,
Tired, mixes both.
The evening is
To reconcile so 
The night can
Dream of tomorrow.

-