Do you see light in me? Am I the dark cosmos that you claim me to be, or Am I just a reflection? — The parts here have made the choices they want to go with, forever locked and visualize, euthanizing the sorrows, agony, and pain; the light is like a broken vessel, when it breaks in pieces it reflects everything going in many directions, lacking width and stream. …

Reminscing — There was a time when I passed these lanes, thinking I was innocent and mundane, stale and rootless, firm and figurative of all that’s destroyed like a sturdy building shaken by an ant. The roads never pass and project haze and fog, we roam, there and here in corners, habitual…

The porous blood has a voiced cry, that wants to be released from the body that is a vessel entrapping hopes to be free — The bull throws sand in the air to fight, The worm-eating bird flies, and The wild buffalo gets ready for a twist of fate to unleash, for it was the day of Devi. The buffalo’s sacrifice is auspicious, its largely red thick blood germinates and formulates…

Revenge is the Best Dish Served Cold: Prepping the spices — This piece is a continuation of the earlier piece “Revenge is the Best Dish Served Cold: The Onset”

As my fellow Sarge, tries to gun down the tyrant, the tyrant turns and shoots at his head sideways, dropping his eye sockets empty — In realizing the pain, we realize the vainness of life, it's never the simple arithmetic that works here with pluses and minuses all concocted into assumptions like a complicated algebraic equation. In triumphs and victories everyone comes running, meanwhile fuming in loss yet fighting bravely. For all commandoes are different…

You cannot go until you say to me, “I am going.” Ma I will finish the task and right the wrongs — There are faces, of mine and my brother that upholds the legal system in fractions. There is a deep remorse Ma! Why pretend with faces? All face sank, and I went with you inching into the depths of despair. Little Adam misses you, he cries, Aunt Ruth talks about you…

The fabric of your saree races to my hands, as I wrap it up on my hands and let its wet porous color touch my skin creating imprinted flowers. — At that moondust, at tender 6 years of age, things never changed, you came, you went, you looked at me, I looked at you, I smiled, and you went away and I hold on to your imaginary cloth. …

What is real amidst this haze in your gaze? — The Child jumps, the bird picks its wings about to fly, The bamboos hurl a sorrowful sound, sounds of such kind, unwind, profoundly promiscuous crying for company, and the realities persisting are weaving, digging, and hiding from all the cacophony that will exist as sounds today, time is like a…

Did we lose or got lost? — Searching Come what may, let the little Pony pray like a leafless tree, born and bred for meat, everyone is dying you see, from wonders to disasters, everything is happening. Phantoms are fuming, roaming headless to lose. …