Masquerade

I sit alone, earphones plugged in,
Music serenading me. I’m lost in my own universe,
In a crowded bus, going home.
The day had been fun
Just my friends and me.
We had lunch, a coffee,
The usual.
But now I’m going home.

I sit there and a process begins,
One that occurs a million times over
Everyday of our lives.
My skin begins to slough
I moult like a snake or pathetic bird,
Till I am myself.
But it’s not over, far from it.
Virulent ooze begins to coat me
A rank putrid slime seeping out of every pore.

It covers me.
It suffocates me…

Some one occupies the seat next to me
A stranger, a man I might never see again.
He takes a glance at me, just a passing one,
Nothing to hold his gaze,
After all there’s nothing there to surprise him.

The slime slowly hardens, coalesces
Around my face, my mouth, my eyes.
It’s my stop. I get down.
My mask is ready.

Silver Fishes

Ooh look into the water!
Right there! And there!
Those look so pretty, so beautiful
Such tiny little silver fishes.
Schools of them!

Oh wait, no they aren’t.
That’s just sunlight,
Reflecting off the murky, filthy water.
Nothing more.

Fuzzy

Take off those old worn
Tear-flecked pair of glasses,
You can’t seem to live without,
And take a look at the world
If you dare!
It’s a strange experience,
To desire a handicap and
Welcome a failure.
A strange sight with no clear lines.
Man blends into woman,
With barely distinguished curves of a dress
Or set of the shoulders.
The playful antics of light and shadow,
Make him appear with silky black tresses
And her appear with rugged, macho stubble.
You see colours meld-
Black into brown into white.
All faces blending into the blue and green
You see all around.
It’s interesting to see the world,
In that one moment of embracing
Your disability.

2:57 am

I turn a groggy eye to the clock by my bed,
Look at that cold display and groan,
“It’s 2:57 am and I’m still awake.”
Well it is a small surprise to me
Given the state of my head.
Days weeks, months and years
Pass by in a flurry.
Events recorded, people met, things done,
Successes, failures, lost opportunities –
The bombardment continues,
My mind a beleaguered hovel
In the midst of a raging battle.
But a small flame burns in this hut,
A source of life, a foundation for stability,
A focus for calm
A smile lights my agonised face,
My eyes begin to droop.
I explore the flame, I appreciate its simplicity
My eyes close.

The flame still burns.

The Daily Deluge

Buses stink.
Whether to save the environment
Or to save money (noble causes both)
You are to blame—Buses stink.


People chew that disgusting stuff,
Staining their lips and teeth red,
Remnants of a cannibalistic feast.
They finally leave their mark of damnation
On hapless roads, stones, trees and
People’s heads.

Stinky buses push themselves through traffic
Forcefully penetrating the chaotic order
With their behemoth mass.

Along the way you see those supreme heads of houses
Mark their territory. Much like those
Wonderful four-legged friends they’re so quick to call
Dogs and demand their death or sterilisation
For being public nuisances.

A Scarlet Flower in a Calm Night Sky

The road lay before me
Dark, cloaked in shadows
Punctuated by a few eerie streetlights
What dangers might befall me here?
Robbery? Kidnap? Murder even?
Those shadows thrust into my mind,
My soul consumed by fear.
Every odd form an unknown assailant
Every step my possible last
The world wheeled around me in dizzying paranoia
And stopped.


A single tear-drop of light surges into the heavens
A scarlet streak rocketing upwards
Purposeful in its self-destruction
Glorying in its ephemeral beauty.
And there before me it bloomed
That single scarlet flower of all-consuming flame
Its existence quenched in one fiery instant
An instant that lasted an eternity
A cascade of sparks descended
And all was as it was.

But something had subtly changed.
Was it the world? No
It was me, my sight
And through my sight, the entire world.
A raw emotion swept my spirit,
It did not deny the existence of my fears
But defeated them,
And in their defeat, nullified them.
I exalted in this glorious pleasure,
Soaring amidst the clouds
Revelling in a field of scarlet flowers
Viewing the pitiful earth below
And the blazing midnight sun above.

This rapture is truly like none other.
It is not the joy that sparks, blazes and
Dies, a fleeting intense joy.
Nor is it that happiness which begins as a whisper
In your head, and a tickle in your heart,
That builds, and climaxes with ebullience.
It is that bliss that has no beginning and no end,
It lies always, waiting within to be released.
It pervades your mind and soul and rests
In the centre of your being, a warm grip
Nourishing and elevating.
The world could end, the skies be rent
Every man could die, every woman could weep,
And the earth could dissolve in an ocean of salt-tears.
All knowledge could be unlearnt and all belief shattered.
And my body might die and my bones crumble to dust
But for this joy,
This skeleton of pure, unbridled illogical bliss.
This spring of life, its waters, my new blood.

And so I continue my walk,
The world destroyed, dying,
But never having been more alive.

Gaia

She gazes at the world,
Through the frosted glass of her window,
At the far horizon.
Its seductive whispers call her;
Fuel her futile hope.
The world’s breath tickles her lips,
Caresses her skin.
She stretches her hand out,
Trying to touch the intangible.
Little flecks of nail, skin,
Muscle and bone form wispy trails
Leading from what was her palm.
Little bits of her floating away,
Into the vast open sky.

Life is a turbulent ride.
It tosses you around.
It leaves you bruised and hurt.
Your body aches in silent agony.
Your mind screams in mute anguish.
Your tired soul searches for a base to rest on.
How quick you are to leave it, to disdain that solid comfort.
You take it for granted, but it waits for you.
It allows you to venture out where its gravity does not reach.
Yet it always waits for you to return to it, to stand on it.
It opens itself to you and takes you into it,
Just as soon as you open yourself to it.
It leaves you unshakeable.

It’s a constant war I’m in,
Though I never did figure out who’s fighting who.
A peace came, a frigid one, and the front seemed to clear
But they never left.
They were like those paltry sparks amidst the ash.
They got their fuel, and now I’m trapped in a roaring inferno.
There’s nothing logical about the flame.
It burns without ever losing its intensity.
It burns me, scorches me, but I also quell it.
The cold within and the frost from outside fight it.
Till the ice shatters.
The battle raged long enough, and foes are now friends.
The flame enters me; it fills me with its warmth!
A blaze of emotion courses within!
My life is mine again!

The water from the shower runs down her body.
She’s had a difficult day- work, family, chores.
Her aged body can no longer keep up with the demands.
But now is a moment of solitude, a moment of quiet.
Time for her to rejuvenate.
The water flows around her feet in dizzy little circles.
The steam rises up, condenses on the black and white tiles,
And then trickles down again.
Her body imbibes it, like a shrivelled seed.
It’s her elixir of life, a discovery made years ago,
The day she and that water became one entity.
How else could she do so many things?
The water imbues her, empowers her.
One moment rock-hard ice,
The next, sinuous, fluid liquid,
The next, ethereal, invisible gas.
She’s always shifting, adapting,
Improving, evolving.