Hollowness that comes to haunt,
Right in the moments, when it’s hard to recall,
All those smiling faces of warmth,
That linger sometimes, like bubbles about to pop,
That empty feeling, so familiar,
I could confuse it with boredom, or sly fear
That creeps up on it’s clueless prey,
The deer in the headlights of dismay,
Loneliness: a bitter truth,
You can’t reject it, it’s absolute.

The First World Idiot  

An unusual day: he woke up feeling good,

Reflected on the world’s problems, decided it’s misunderstood.

Walked past a beggar on his way to Starbucks,

Shelled out the money, but couldn’t spare a few bucks.

Reading world news on his prized iPhone,

He cursed China for occupying the TAR zone.

Never mind by exploiting it’s child labour does his phone exist,

He is still, ever the peace-cheering optimist.

He sympathizes with world hunger,

But he’s got an ice-bucket challenge to deliver.

Disposing off last night’s leftovers,

He sets off to the office in his humble Range Rover.

In his ever-persevering good feeling towards the world,

At the slow-moving traffic, no curses are hurled,

Instead he thinks about his generous hand at charity,

Which he parted with, after paying his third wife’s alimony.

Working hard in the office, sipping on bad coffee,

That was handpicked overseas, ergo: slavery.

He’s a genius at work, brainstorming ideas on paper,

That was rainforests before, so much for green Earth.

Today, he has surprised himself with his own kindness,

 Feels the love of the world for him, even in it’s absence.

He drives back home in his charitable state of mind,

Musing how people of this world can be so selfish and blind.

The Light at the End

We’re all in tunnels of our own searching for the light at the end. Sometimes, we bump into people travelling towards our end. No matter how much we try to explain that there’s no light here, people still want to reach us.
Maybe we’re all just shining lights travelling towards each other and their is no end.


We’re not perfect. We’ve been damaged and distorted like a hot iron being beaten into shape throughout life. Are we in shape?
Are we perfectly formed crystals of diamonds that’ve been buried beneath the earth for so long?
No! We’re still sick or dull or weak or immature or sensitive and so on.. But we’re learning. Every single moment of our day, of our life, we’re growing.


One fine day, when I was born,
My parents didn’t check if it was a son,
They didn’t give birth to a handicap,
I was healthy as a horse, no mishaps.

But in their silliness, they didn’t even bother,
To make me feel weaker than the opposite gender,
They didn’t stick a tag, upon my back,
That read- Asian, American, Hispanic or Black!

They spent a humongous sum for my education,
But in their carelessness didn’t check for reservation,

Now, every form I fill, I silently quibble,

I’m neither an SC, ST, NT- I’m just plain, stupid, normal.


I saw a person acting like a human,
Saw their wide smile,their eyes burn,
Seemed like a genuine piece of art,
Turned out to be quite a piece of work.

I chanced upon their lightless eyes,
Which glittered like unsolved mysteries,
The vacant face, soon to be replaced,
By words like verbal masks,

A cold facade adorning the muse,
Which cackled and smiled,
But alas, it was only a rumpelstiltskin!

Two strangers on an island

Two strangers on an island,
Living alone.
Unbeknownst to each other,
Far from home.

Two strangers, never crossing paths,
Sides of a coin, similar hearts.
Gottle-o-geer! Gottle-o-geer!
Time is the puppeteer.

Both treading the globe,
A circle with no end, no hope!
Each searching a soul to bare,
Companions with a voyage to share.

But vile is life,
And it’s sadistic giver,
They never met,
Just trotted forever.