From a mannequin

My hands: put them back,Where they always used to be,Bend me in my waist, rest myEyes over at thee. Wrap me in your merchandise,Put me by the door,Staring at the desolate,I beseech, entreat, implore. Lift chin with your hands bare,Keep my poise at rest,Move my body, tear me down,And leave me to protest. Detach me…

Just a human

I’ve just turned into a human:Craving mastery over that-That translucent,Crumbled parchment,Pallid bodily air.And I wonder what my feet do,‘Coz I am meant to fly,O! I’m volatile,just volatile, aren’t I? I’ve turned into a questionOne I ask myself a day,Shutting myself to the darkness-Bleak,Melancholy darkness.Yet, I wish to see the light,Fall upon that lie,But, am I…


Glinting a shade of amber,On the boundary of gold,Eyes fixate at summer rays,The last ones bright and bold. Feet dig deep in golden ground,Hands carve onto sand,The wind whistles in ears both,And drops dead to the land. The summer sun will always set,The wind will always die,Does not mean winter will not,For it always passes…

A Confession in a Tanka

Exhilarating, That day, when I stabbed the sky, The world slept in peace, The horizon bled to dawn, And I killed, ruthlessly, the night.

Blind threads- an Ekphrasis

No, don’t you try to unravel the inhabitant of my skull. Don’t you try to untangle this mess, this tumult, this brouhaha I call myself. Because I shall always be intertwined, lest having to live like hanging threads.