Saturday, July 23, 2005


claims the soul
a pagan God, benign;
the sacrifice survives,
lives, listens, lives

throbs the being
a gentle storm,
ship and sea
soar and crash as one

numbs the mind
a pain-killing drug --
psychedelic realms
revisited repeatedly

Friday, July 22, 2005

Not anymore

The archer stood on the mound. Alone.

Every man learns to be alone. In preparation. Readying himself for the final eventuality. And over the years, with every battle he had fought, the archer had learnt this lesson well.

On this day -- one of many ends -- he stood looking over a plain. A plain that had been green with grass. Now it lay red, dirtied. Dirtied or purified, depending on whose side you were on. The wind picked up. It sought the archer, whipping his ragged battle-robe about him in a frenzy, rattling his chain mail armour, his quiver, and the few arrows left in it.

The archer's eyes came to rest on the lone knight still left on the field. He saw the knight see him. At that moment, time stood, as realization played catch up. For both of them. The archer reached over his shoulder for an arrow. The knight egged his tired mount towards the hill. And time moved again, as reality caught up.

The archer moved slowly, bringing up his long-bow, his motions now resigned. The knight charged steadily up the track to the top. Sometimes Death is all that is common. It didn't matter which side you belonged to, whose oath you had taken, what colour your flag was. The archer picked up his bow for what would be the last time. At least the last time for today. He saw the knight's scimitar glint, its purpose never in question.

The arrow lined up with the bow, the archer squinted as he took careful aim. It was now like breathing, aiming was. He adjusted for the wind expertly, and then let go. Aiming and letting go had become a form of meditation for him. It was what he did. It was what he was.

He lowered his bow and heard the arrow splinter the wind as it hissed single-mindedly towards its target. The knight heard it too, though he couldn't see it quite as well. Yet, he charged, his sabre held firm, his grip on the reins unrelenting. Confronting Death was second nature to him. It was what he did. It was what he was.

The archer heard the arrow hit home. He saw the knight fall. The plain was empty once again. If the corpses were discounted, that is.

"Game over - Restart? Y/N" the window popped up abruptly, breaking my thoughts. They don't make these games like old anymore, I sighed, stifling a yawn.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Recounting numbers

A soul. A singular silence. The first time, when nothing is known, and everything is sublime, untouched.

Creaky doors swaying in the wind, their hinges loose. Soiled sneakers. Wet, evanescent footprints on the mosaic floor suffused with light from the slanting rays of the evening sun.

Maple leaves, falling in slow motion. Traffic lights that don't work. Two lies and a truth.

Walls. Hands. An ignored alarm.

Dawn that filters through the curtains. My senses that lay overwhelmed. The final dimension, now realized.

Six dried roses in a brass vase. Twilight. Red dice with white dots, showing twelve.

Unreal weeks. A sad sonnet stopped midway. A rainbow imprisoned by the rusted bars of a cobweb-ridden window.

Spiders on the wall, eavesdropping. Chess. Black coffee at 8.

Separation. Cats at home, waiting. Work and routine.

Nothing. Everything. Infinity inversed, but still infinite.

Thursday, July 07, 2005


there is joy
then there is sorrow
and then there is us
in between

there is silence
then there are words
and then there is conflict
in between

there is the shallow
then there is the deep
and then there is turmoil
in between

there is the search
then there is the discovery
and then there is disbelief
in between

there is the actor
then there is the dreamer
and then there is me
in between

there is you
then there is me
and then there is us
in between


I'm back home now -- arrived on Sunday. Lots of stories; will share them in due time :)