Honky Tonkness

I met her in a smoke filled room
in the cold of December;
she pushed me on the bed –
promised an evening I’d remember.

But she had to leave me zipped –
said I was one of those kinds;
who just can’t get the women they love
off their minds.

So she passed on to me a bottle –
cheap, locally brewed beer, it said;
I drank it off in a gulp or two
put on my shoes, and got off from the bed.

And thus, another day would pass,
and I’d walk back home, alone;
sending her letters that she never reads;
numerous missed calls on her phone.


This is You – This is Me

You are the tube light in the room
And I am the lost, abandoned insect humming around it.

You are the Vodka shots
And I am the empty glass waiting for you to fill me up – to the brim.

You are the chicken fried rice
And I am the last sixty rupees in my wallet.

You are the tired visitor
And I am the elevator ready to take you up to all the floors.

You are a bar of soap
And I am the skin you rub it against on.

You are a cigarette, nearing its end
And I am the parted lips holding you in between.

You are a sharpened, hand-crafted knife
And I am the heart it went through.

You are my words
And I am your poet.


when I wake up in the middle of the day
and gaze outside the window
of my house
at the windows of the other houses
across the street
which never open,
I feel terribly

It is when I think
of calling
a woman
or two
to kill my loneliness
but then
I am consumed
by the respect for denial
of civilisation towards me.

Only a cigarette is lit
and consumed
in the still air of my room –
the smoke curls up to form
the images of women
I have loved
and then vanish away in thin air
like they have vanished away
from my life.


Smoke in the air
whiskey on the floor;


Keep calm written
on the shirt of
a tired, furious man


crafted cylindrical wood
chopped out a tree
used for dancing


Haikus written
in memories
of a dead sibling


A boy
leaning on the bed
high on marijuana


He liked the chicken
nibbled on the bones
spat out little

her walk:
a stray cat crossing the road
at 2 in the night

playing old songs
from younger times
no bills to worry about


I can go on writing
these for days
food would be welcome


Talking about girls
at 2 in the night
our tastes vary


Ten haikus written
in ten minutes; I have
fallen in love ten times


My love, look around
she said
and stabbed me with a knife


My love, I am here
she said
with a nervous smile


writing about love
makes you gloomy
if you had none


I’m moving out;
it’s a new day,
yet cloudy


enough haikus
for the night
I need a cigarette