Saturday, May 23, 2015


Making a mound of clothes and bags
With books I ought to read ,
I turned my back to it
And surrendered, yet again,
To the pleasures I can't deny.

I close my ears,
No, I don't want to hear
My nagging voice-small but
Pinching to the core.
I know what I am doing
No, I don't want to know
With my nose deep into
The yellowed pages
In an attempt to sip
A gulp of the mastery
Ah! the tantalising taste.

My left hand blinkers my vision
I don't want to see the mirror
It mocks me, imitating my actions
With back turned
To the mound of clothes and bags
With books I ought to read.
A finger on the right
Steadily following the dancers
Moving to the tunes of distant lands
Dancers in black,
Charming me to the distant lands.

My little voice sings along
Out of tune, about mounds of clothes
And bags with books.
Don't stop dancing as yet dears
Let me have another sip.

The manna tastes different now
It has turned rancid now.
My back to my love
My mistress unhappy,
A sacrilege to them
Or myself- I might never know
I might never want to know.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Delhi Summer Blues

Feeling hot, hot, hot!!!