I am ever found wrecked, as if:

Wishing for this and that.

But the urge

To be the supreme composer

Supersedes any established

And forthcoming notions

Of existence and being.


O Muse!

Where art thou?

Amid the noise of this and that,

I remain ever nostalgic for thy sounds.

And the supreme weapons

Are ever inviting:

Colours will to be an eternal waterfall,

And canvas remains ever famished.

I do not desire to be forsaken.


Ah, there you are!

Be the god, be the priest,

Be the witch, be the witchdoctor,

Be what you will be now

—You will be what and why you will be

What and why you will be— 

And render me a peacock in trance

To the tunes of thy wands,

To the fumes of thy potions,

And let it churn.


"What shalt thy verses be:

Composed or disoriented,

Contemplations and reflections,

Comprehensive or succinct,

Revealed and concealed,

Contradictions or concurrences,

Established and challenged,

Past and forthcoming,

Enigmas and stigmas—

I being the enigma,

Thou being the stigma?” 

I art thy flute:

A loyal subject

To thy tango performing hands.

Blow some air into my embouchure hole

And make the holes perform waltz—

Ever resonating thy sounds.

"Who shalt thy verses be for:

Self or others,

Or either or neither?”

I art thy tabula rasa.

Let me be consumed by thy aurora,

As the sea waves are devoured

By the sand at the shore.

Ephemeral Echoes (2018)


Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow



I had commenced the walk

To reach the river.


I have managed

To arrive at the river bank.


I will approach the river.

Now, I certainly cannot be certain

As to whether the river

—Nature of river,

Things of river—

Will acknowledge

My tangible and intangible presence,

And encourage further immersing?



I had heard them claim:

"Earth is the Cosmos.

Our home is the epicentre!”


I have heard them profess:

"Our yesteryears

Were instilled with foolishness.

How could everything

Revolve around the one,

When the one itself needs

Revolving around many things?”


I will hear them announce:

"Well, let’s not become too fixated

On our past and present.

We cannot unnecessarily

Allow the bygones

Dictate and determine our future.

Let us revisit

Our propositions and dispositions.

Let us be wiser, shall we?”

Ephemeral Echoes (2018)


The Mirror

I always strive to consciously carry

The mirror-of-unconscious with me

—Whenever I wonder,

 Wherever I wander.

It’s meant to render the perceptions

Supersede the ordinary

In the mere reflections,

Since the reflections are often

Far from being pure.

But the mirror itself is a bearer

Of a few irreparable cracks.

I took it to all manner of glass-smiths.

They did offer

To put it back into the furnace,

And fashion a new one out of it.

But the thought of detachment

From the known and familiar

Was rather too insufferable for me.

I have been to the open market

To find an exact-replica of it.

But then, even the so-called clones

Are hardly ever without discrepancies.

Maybe some

 Ordinary or unprecedented occurrences

Will render the cracks wither away,

Or at least replace them.

Ephemeral Echoes (2018)


Lila and Maya

If ye show me


Effects without causes

Sounds without vibrations

Thoughts without images

Words without letters


Water without moisture

Fire without flames

Wind without air

Sand without dust


Leaves without veins

Flowers without petals

Butterflies without wings

Oysters without shells


Roots without seeds

I shalt show ye—

Lila without maya.

Metamorphoses: Poetic Discourses (2019)


Distant Memory


I'm prone to misplacing

the senses rather conveniently.

There ought to be

something misplaced

about the heavenly beverage,

Mr. Daniel's, apparently

—misbehaving and uncooperative.

The ones,

once really close acquaintances,

are now a distant memory.

No. Not even that.

They say,

"when under the influence,

he babbles lunacy

—roses are thorns,

thorns are roses,

all are indifferent."

I say,

when I am not,

I do that.

See the distant memory?

Metamorphoses: Poetic Discourses (2019)


Life at 2 A.M.

Life at two ante meridiem

October night,


half opened window,

smell of rain,

alnus glutinosa,

hoo-oo, hoo-oo,

tan desk top,

lamp light,


Das Capital by Marx,

That Smell by Lynyrd Skynyrd,

parker stylo,

A4 notebook from WHSmith,

thesis draft.

Metamorphoses: Poetic Discourses (2019)