Thursday, April 13, 2017


the sea is stretched out
like a rubber band
till the horizon
as far as the eye can see
it's taut, ready to launch
a missile towards an unsuspecting target
the sea is
waiting for me
but I can't go yet, no
there is a quicksand traveling with me
hands and feet stuck in the mud of my fears
i keep the mud wet with my collection of tears
all the anger, all the rage
i stick fingers down my throat
vomit poetry on this digital page
while my head is engulfed in a jagged cloud of pain
a little piece of my heart remains
in some forgotten mountains
as a hobby, just a hobby
i build pieces of my walls with my quicksand
just a man dealing with strange thoughts
thoughts no one can comprehend
and if my walls are not enough
if these bricks are much too rough
i'd build fences on top of them
trust me when i tell you this
these walls are not for keeping you out
they're here for keeping me in
i sit here in the prison of my making
silently rocking, smiling, shaking
my masks are wearing masks
and the man in the mirror always grins back at me
asking me if i'd ever see the sea

Sunday, April 9, 2017


i've got bees in my head
yes, sir a full hive
they buzz around all day
24/7 alive

a live wire of my thoughts
i think even when i'm thinking
in the quagmire of my head
i'm so slowly sinking

but the bees grab my hair
and they keep pulling me up
i tell them to let me drown
but the bees give no fucks

we're your thoughts, you fucking ass
we just can't let you go
we're in this together, fucker
don't you already know?

so i surrender to these bees
and they fill my head again
i think i should stop thinking
but i'm addicted to the pain
Procrastinating parrots propped prophesizing prophets permanently punctual.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Not In Days

I woke up a millennium ago
Stitched my eyelids to my brows
I've been walking these wastelands ever since
Till how long, fuck knows
My open eyes have seen it all
How kingdoms rise
How civilizations fall
But I've longed, oh I've longed
For just one thing
Through it all
To put my face on a pillow soft
A bag of feathers to keep my head aloft
Just the image makes me want to weep
Oh how I wish I could go to sleep
And then I'd sleep and I'd dream
I'd not twist or turn
I'd just lie in my bed and burn

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Opened A Vein

the sky is a filthy mouth
open in a maniac grin
a demented black hole sucking sin
too much feedback to take it in

reshaping fucked up realities
twisting colors into infinities
dreaming dreams of death and doom
civilizations buried in underground cities

sit back, grab a drink -- relax, my friend
we're here to watch it all burn down
to dust, ashes and a strange crop
take a bite of the chewing gum of hope

now stare at the teeth of clouds that grin
snapping shut like a trap around my shins
the teeth they chew like a dog, and so do i
my chewing gum of hope is stringing thin

I built a spaceship from chewing gum and hope

Sunday, March 26, 2017

clockwork lover

the doctor smiles at me
under the frigid lights
there is no need to worry, he says
everything is alright

i see the nurses gather round
like vultures on a dying man
the doctor wields his scalpels
do i spy a tremor in his hands?

they pump me full of great drugs
someone puts on some heavy music
the nurses take turns to give me hugs
but the drum beats are making me sick

finally the doctor is done
he hold his trophy high in his hand
a heart -- red, violent and beating still
is replaced by a clock in a can

don't ask me why, ask me why not.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

In The End...Only Smoke

and so
the war is done
fields are strewn with dead
carry on, carrion

blood rusts the ground
a muted sun bursts with hate
no cries, no one begs for mercy
the dead have sealed their own fate

a hole opens up in the sky
a host of valkyries descends
they walk among the dead, empty handed
all same, the dead -- foes and friends

in the end, only smoke
the smoke of life ending
once we're done pretending
isn't all this, but a joke?

Tonight's music is stairway to heaven and unleashing the bloodthirsty.

Time to re-roll the poetry machine.

Monday, March 13, 2017

the circle

the circle opens
sharp prongs of a ring
the animals walk in
to hear the ringmaster sing

the crack of the whip
the thwack of the chair
if a beast manages to slip
it's shoved back in its lair

the ringmaster swings
he spins and he twirls
the curve of his mustache
makes puddles out of girls

as the lights dim and dimmer
he sits in the cage alone
and the ghosts crowd around him
in the space that he calls home

Monday, February 27, 2017


there is an island at the sea
floating, almost silently
except for a microscopic change
of sub-aquatic breathing

the city floats upside down
a smile turned into a frown
it drips with smoke of eons past
the buildings they were made to last

now fish and vines and octopi
have made their home in tombs of men
a city of souls, and skulls and bones
of brick, mortar, lonely stones

above surface, a boat does reach
men stumble on hallowed dry land
they dig their spades into the beach
as captain stands and gives a speech

for treasure, glory and rewards
we'll rip this island's sand apart
so dig your spades, lads, in these sands
and dig till you bleed from your hands

a portal opens in the sand
something the men don't understand
they fall and crawl down to their knees
forgive forgive, forgive us please

a skull floats up from that black hole
its grin a leaky, dreary pall
av-e satanas it whispers to them all
as sand crawls up under their skin

they cry and bleed and beg for death
till they're coughing sand with every breath
it grates and burns and stings their skin
sand turns their blood to mud within

the city now has a few more thralls
it sups their life in drowned halls
the sea strips the skin from bones
in the tombs of men, once more alone

I had a vision of an upside-down, satanic city, floating at some unknown point in the sea and killing sailors that reach there looking for booty.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017


blood lubes the gears
that spin, whirl, and twirl
in the brainpan of the man in red
the dude they know as gearhead

stuck in the desert of life
his struggle is never ending
when he's not hunted by his demons
he practices pretending

gearhead walks all day and night
skin burnished and blessed by blight
smoke runs from his ears and eyes
he glares at the settings suns in the skies

his quest takes him to deepest holes
gearhead can take on many roles
the gears spin, they help him think
so low is he, he can't help but drink

he drinks the blood of lost travelers
to keep the gears spinning nice
addicted to roaming, he keeps walking
perhaps, that is his only vice

an image, of a man with gears protruding from his bleeding skull under twin desert suns on a distant planet.

Monday, February 13, 2017

poison tongued messiah

his forked tongue
his words forced
litter up the skies
the venom strong
his words wrong
the DNA of lies
the messiah is here
his face is white
powdered by ashes of future
he chomps up
the bones of past
the meat garnished with fear
haunted, wanted
the mouth of hell
opens wide
it whispers, well
invites you
to the other side
they crawl together
the children of the dark
fingers linger
on the dead king's mark
if they were dead
they're now alive
animated by a spark
lit by the words
of a poison tongued messiah

Friday, February 10, 2017

violent agendas

I don't go to theaters anymore
The violence on the screen
Doesn't make me hard
But if I close my eyes
The reels start to play
Scenes on the screen of my mind
on bone trees, eyeballs dangle
Odin gave his eye for knowledge
I am stupid as fuck
And I see
As the real world vanishes
Blurrrrrrs right in front of my eyes
The screen in my head
Becomes my reality
I am the Alpha
the movies in my head
will give cancer to PETA
my violent agendas
black roses in my garden
i water them with my fears
while my word drowns in tears

Thursday, February 9, 2017


the void calls out to me
in my sleep
febrile dreams haunt me
sitting on my chest
malevolent bast
staring into my soul
stripping my sin from bones
i am surrounded by humanity
yet, so alone
if there ever was any hope for me
it's over
done for
no more
i've drowned that bag of puppies
in a swamp that i created
filled with my mistakes
and bad decisions
sins of my father
now i see in my reflection
i'd try and do better
if only i could take action
but the void has got my soul now
it chomps, bites, and swallows chunks
to regurgitate and rebuild me
keep me trapped in this funk
so why do i keep going
so why do i keep waking up
to dig my teeth in the neck of the void
but that's maybe
i've nothing better to do

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Tartarus Spinning

Stuck in place
Stuck in time
Tartarus spinning
For my crimes
Little sins
Over ages, compounded
My dreams, shackled
Imprisoned, impounded
I carve out new links
With my teeth
My fingers bleeding
As my guts wreathe
Used to the pain
Chaos, noise, disorder
The silence burns my ears
Embrace me, Tartarus

Friday, January 20, 2017

Medusa Mourning

Love leaks
Air from an old balloon
Looks alright, inflated tight
It'll lose its will to live soon

No sparks in this tinder anymore
A sense of possession, that's all
To belong is not to be owned
Moths to the flame, aren't we all?

Crunch bitter words
With bloodstained teeth
Lie in a cold bed
But inside, seethe

Slap these rhymes on my face, love
Tell me "no, not that" one more time
And I'll say I love to hear you say so
And you'd believe that it's all fine

Friday, January 13, 2017

Vulture Words

Words circle me
Vultures with no culture
Waiting for a meal

I lie in my bed
Stare at the virtual ceiling
Flipping rhymes in my head
Just to catch some kind of feeling

A feeling that would stick
When all else falls away
A feeling that would trick
Me on my fucking way

The words blur
They're shifting
In my dreams
I'm drifting
The vultures sit
On my shoulders
Pecking pieces
From my fucking brain

Sunday, January 8, 2017

the nail

for the want of a nail
the coffin was lost
an ineffective seal
that released a ghost

out into the world
the apparition loomed
visiting the people
that had caused its doom

it tried to talk
it tried to scream
it tried, it failed
and so it wailed

now the ghost is embedded
into the random sound of things
when a door creaks, a dog freaks
or a bell suddenly dings

it moves chairs at night
just enough to not cause a fright
but a sense of unease
that something here is amiss
I am sitting here, and I think there is something behind me. This poem is for this ghost.

Friday, January 6, 2017


i lie down in my bed
the mattress splits up under me
to swallow me whole
like a sinkhole in space
for a peaceful moment
i am free from all the cold
the hate that fulminates
the anger and the rage
for a blissful moment
i turn the page
and then
(oh then)
a stray draft of cold air
silently creeps into my warm lair
it tickles my feet
crawls up my legs
as try to dream of futures
in coffee dregs
the bed spits me out again
confused, disoriented, i am in pain
so much pain
i just went to sleep 1 minute ago
why do i have to wake up again?
Where did I read the word fulminate today? I don't know, but i like this word.
This poem is for all those who hate getting out of bed on cold mornings.

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Outrage Ka Culture

outrage ka culture hai
har mushtanda vulture hai
har nari dukhiaari hai
har shehar me hahakari hai

tattoo karwa lo hashtag 
ab apne apne maathe par
kholo khirki aur cheekho tweets
har ik aate jaate par

ghar ke bahar sardhi hai
galiyo me gundagardi hai
ab jung ladenge bed per se
khade sipahi sarhad pe

WiFi ka signal tez tez
like aur retweets par rage rage
mentions me machi hai maar kaat
koi viral kar do meri baat

sab dost sahi, dushman hai wrong
gussail tweets ki ping pong
kuch yes yes yes kuch no no no
koi sun lo mere opinion ko

I don't think I've done this before. But here is a highlish poem. People reading in English, sorry for this. People who like to read Hindi, sorry for this, too.

Share kar do social media par, please.

We do not talk about that

There are some things 

That are better left in silence 

Hanging like dead bodies from trees 

In midst of conversations and broken sentences

It's easy to ignore 

hard to say no 

And extremely difficult to control saying 

Babe, I told you so

Now we've practised exchanging longing looks 

We've almost mastered the love in the eyes 

The cracks in this facade are plastered over 

So we can't hear each other's sighs

Why pay attention when life's full of tension

It's apocalypse of soul, but darling don't mention 

When God opens his book to take stock of us sinners 

We'd still be asking each other 

Love, what's for dinner? 

Because we do not talk about that


Forgive the formatting. I'm on a mobile device and this poem just wanted out. 

Sunday, January 1, 2017


even arsonists are lightbringers
fire, doesn't always mean destruction
a knife is a knife, but in the right hands
it can change the world

one slice at a time

could you cut me a slice of that cake
or slice my jugular and watch me quake
as the blood sprays all over the ceiling and walls
and weakened and dying, i curl up in a ball
maybe I'll rock, or maybe start to roll

besides the point, though
the point being
we all shine
whether we burn or burn others

every heart is an arsonist in diguise