Life's a haiku

Patience: The cure
for a long
parenthesis.

Words so few…
Yet, you can’t
force a haiku.

Haiku: Compact
literature
that flaunts
the most rules.

One more
letdown;
the end
of a tether.

Makeover: Barren bog
to mangrove
in bloom.

Possessed by
the minds eye,
everything is
sublime.

Epigone: A word,
writer’s love
to hate.

Graveyard shift

In the obscurity
of the night,
the muse plays
to the gallery.

“After hours”
is none
of your business.

She dons reality,
by day and
chimeras become her
at night.

Night brings
out the buzzing
Beelzebub in me.

Moonlighting
as a satellite,
I orbit this pun.

Random

Sitcoms: Lollipops for the
grown-up.

Verbally challenged,
I write what I can’t say.

Why aren’t you here
is all the sms said…
“Sometimes, I rather be at a
party in my head.”

There’s nothing like
hitting the sack
with Jack Kerouac.

I’m the satellite the moon thwarted.
Now I revolve in my vicious circle.

When tragedy loses novelty,
it becomes a banality.

Omen: A spray of blood-red
spit crosses your path.

Padded armour fends off
those off-‘hand’ brushes.

Rattle snake on wheels:
Trailer on a bumpy road.

Uttering “oopsy-daisy”
she turned into an
anachronism.

Dust unsettled
by a passing train
has more permanence than you.

Plugging into the earphones,
they banish their thoughts.

Scared to hear the truth,
he lived out a lie.

Vain: Trying to arrest
a fugitive thought.

I’m Jack’s pang of guilt.
Who are you?

For the one-who-must-not-be-named:

Cold loathing
wins the staring duel.

Go easy on the cereal,
lest you turn into a flake.

Why doesth thou shy
from stating the obvious,
when thou asketh
the same of me?

Donning the mask
she said,
“I spy a boy.”

Ever so often,
you blur the lines
that separate you from me.

What a pity,
I see through your
‘pithy’!

You only see what you
want to see;
for you, child woman
I’ll be.

Lost Narnia (A review in verse)

I looked for Narnia
just as I did for Neverland
except,
the path forked
and I was misled…

Was it Andrew Adamson’s
want of imagination
or the trite
good versus evil theme?
More of a forced
phantasmagoria
it did seem.

The lion,
the witch,
the sons of Adam
and the daughters of Eve
— all put together
couldn’t make me believe
in this tale
that C.S. Lewis
so adeptly tried to weave.

Not to give up
so easily,
into the magical land
I tried to cautiously tread,
I walked into
the wall
of the wardrobe
instead.


(For the uninitiated: The wardrobe in the spare room in Lewis' story is the walk-through to
the fantasy land of Narnia.)

Found Neverland

Children’s fiction
always appealed to me
cos’ aren’t we all kids inside,
looking for a place to hide
from all those seekers
who swoop down on us
with their world-weary ways...?

The old fogeys have surely
forgotten the good ol’ days
of make-believe.

Rooted in
hesitant reality,
day in, day out
they relive
the same banality.

I was one of ‘em too,
until J. M. Barrie
urged me to fly.

Shackled to
maturity,
I wouldn’t dare try.

But Barrie
urged me on
just as he did Peter
that perfect faith
is to have wings.

Taken in
by his metaphoric slings;
I leaped
and lost myself
in a relapse.

A release
you grown-ups
won’t grasp.

More haiku

Validation: Mind-mating
at 4 in the mornin’.

Seemingly deceptive
book tries to hide it’s
nuances.

Yet another Mr. Wrong:
His sentences
were too long!

Ellipsis…
Something
to be
continued.

Grammar rules
in the dead of
the night.

Blue Danube waltz:
Finishing each others
sentence.

Syllogism: I staple,
so I’m busy.

Surge of the lateral,
breaches the levees
of thought.

Words’ dance
of abandon
evokes an opus.

Life: Breathing
personification
into the inanimate.

In the heat
of the moment;
he shot me down.

Without further ado,
impatience gets
the better of you.

Spit: Projectiles that
go where no missiles
have gone before.

Jilted cat
fawns &
licks its wound.

Behavioral quirks
are only adorable
when you are among F.r.i.e.n.d.s.

Oriental ‘cats’
crave companionship,
ergo, they are human?!

Percussion: Two bodies,
distinct minds;
an equal music.

Play my song

Soaking up on Rafferty’s
Baker Street,
I make peace with
the city with no soul.

Things out of sight,
out of mind,
Cardigans
Erase and rewind.

Lost in Hendrix’s
Purple Haze
I unravel,
the maze.

Face to face
with fake reality,
Floyd leaves me
Lost for words.

Matthew bridges
the gap with
The space between.

While Connick Jr.
persuades me:
It had to be you.

But I’m already
Free fallin’
with Petty.

Belated Bio

Someone once described me
as an “animated book”.
Sucker for sychophancy,
it was a compliment, well-took.

Blogging’s a reluctant séance
I walked into — a stab to incite
my creative spurs back into
a world from where
they had taken voluntary retirement.
A vacuous space
where they indulged in nothingness
— my once-zealot urges
were Vladimir and Estragon,
waiting for Godot.
“Nothing to be done” read their logo.
Drenched in the meaningless of existentialism,
I ached for a catharsis.

In non-absurdist lingo,
I needed a space
to appease my now-out-of-order ego.

A Kafkaesque metamorphosis
trailed this reawakening,
now I verge on the obsessive compulsive…
That’s right I’m a knee-jerk skeptic.
Therein lies the irony of the paradox.

Day in the life of…

‘Three passengers only’
splits the
hum do,
humare do.

**
ADD (Attention
deficit disorder):
Old woman
flashes her butt.

**
One flew over
the chef’s head,
while on the other
five rumaali’s,
my brother fed.

**
Marinated in a cab:
samosas hobnobbed
with suspended particulate
matter.

**
Preoccupied-all
don’t see
paavam kutoos
sulking in the corner.

**
Paavam kutoos
is only visible
when she’s a
beast of burden.

**
Man steps out of
flashy car
to hit
taxi driver.

**
Jaded driver
ferries
bored stiff
‘madame’ around.

**
Another guilt trip:
I look daggers
at my mother.

**
Moon-faced,
stop excavating
those zits.

**
Walking into a trap,
callow youth spews:
“Naipaul is
from Nepal!”

**
The chronicles of hernia:
the loin,
the itch and
the bulbous globe.

**
Quaint: Whizzing past
a song,
at a signal.

Unrelated-haiku

In the throes of
a ritual,
girl chuckles over
lover’s admission.

**
Bustling road,
resounding quarry:
Transit for an
aeroplane’s shadow.

**
Fear darts
like a fugitive
from the corner
of your eye.

**
After 36 years,
he tells you
what you
never knew.

**
Has-been star
fears reflection
in the mirror.

**
If you get exactly
what you want,
it’s serendipity!

**
Man painting
patriotic mural:
Perfect edit-pic
for republic day.

**
Whilst shopping,
graying woman
plans
sweet revenge.

**
Husband
doesn’t look
the other way,
as PYT goes by.

**
Building up
on a lie,
only leaves you with
a weak foundation.

**
Stifle the silence
or truth might
show up for dinner.

**
Attached man
longs for
no strings attached.

**
Demons exhumed
as darkness falls.
Tube light keeps them
at bay.

**
Stuck in a
traffic jam,
an idea
is consummated.

**
Impatient teen
leaves yet another
book unfinished.

**
Nietzsche
to Chekhov:
Books are placebos
for the ego.

**
Wizened man,
sprains his neck,
trying to peep
into girls blouse.

**
“What’s the geriatric
doing with the chick?”,
wonders the
gents compartment.

**
‘Bad weather’
doesn’t exist
for those
who live by the sea.

**
Esoteric haiku,
only makes my
sis go “kayku?”

**
Haiku definitions

Futile: Sense of
dejavu
on penning
a poem.

A twitch in the eye
before the sound of
screeching brakes:
Epiphany.

Dilemma:
It sounds good,
but does it mean
anything?

Regret: Ruminating
on something
that could’ve been.

They call it
constructive criticism,
yet all it does
is deconstruct.

Razing down walls
of thought
and perspectives,
it mocks your intellect…

Worst of all,
it ushers your downfall
with a cleave here and a cut…
Armed with an effortless “But…”

**
It pittered, pattered
and stole my sleep,
I was sucked into
the surreal,
real deep…
Coz’ how could a
dripping ceiling,
take away all that
romantic feeling
and replace it with dread…
A head-trip
that played reruns from
Night of The Living Dead.

**

Yours for the night.
A willing surrender.
No strings attached,
somethin’ to remember.

Don’t stop now
or linger.
It’ll be over before
you know:
Simply let go…

This pleasure trip
is in your hands:
Poems are the best
one-night stands.

**

Juvenile Delinquents: Diva vs Smile-wiley

In her burst of zeal,
marathon diva
triggered her Achilles’ heel.
Next time,
run with a bar of chocolate:
and flaunt your sex appeal
(With a great hair do like that;
Blunt planet was a steal!)
Unless, you want to lag behind
and listen to this spiel!

Smiley-wiley,
don’t look so agog,
just make a note
in your captain’s log,
‘One tight slap’
is the perfect name
for your blog!

‘Art’iculate

If there’s art
in the abstract,
then there’s art
on my damp ceiling,
the wallpaper peeling,
the asymmetrical lines,
on those tiles
in the loo.
(They have these eyes
that loom,
and take on life
as they fill with dew.)

And what about,
those elephants & chariots
or that vibrant sunflower
that we see in the clouds;
those ink butterflies
or the meaning it shrouds.

Or even the doodles,
we make in the sands,
etching them there
with our bare hands…

The chocolate stain too
on my dad’s off-white sofa,
or that spider web
in the corner,
where my grandma
stores her loofah…

The crack in the wall
like a bolt of lightning
or certified creep
Uriah Heep’s,
uncanny look,
unforgettable yet frightening.

Isn’t that art?
I say “aye”…
all those in favour,
would make
a mental note,
to pay,
more attention
to the mundane.
There’s more to
what you disdane..

For art is what
your imagination
can achieve;
and not what’s raved about
and sold at Sothebys’.

Just two stanzas
before I sleep.
But thou hide,
so I shall seek.

Bedtime peekaboo,
if we must:
You find a niche,
I search first.

But don’t hide yourself
too well, my dear..
or you’d never get got…
(It’s already ten to two,
on the dot.)

I see you….!
Time for a dose
of the lyrical plot..
Oh, delightful shut-eye,
doesth thou now come..
How odd,
thou too owe your allegiance
to Vikram.

Shadows

Reconstructing
a poem
that you’ve lost
is as good as
writing
a new one:
A ghost of
what it was.

**

I tried hard
to remember
what I’d ordered
myself
to forget.
But,
my defence mechanism
worked like a charm.
It erased the past
and purged the regret.

Claustrocity

They close in:
elbowing, shoving,
pushing you
into the depths
of self pity.
The sense of being
together yet alone
in this
larger-than-life city.

**

As the guitar
tries hard
to warble out
a tune;
the pluck, the plunk,
the twang, the thunk…
I pity its plight.

In your hands;
Someday
sounds more
as Twinkle, twinkle might.

I tell myself:
(It’s better
than your
hip-hop babble.)

“Yes, its music
to my ears dear;
as long as in
the trombone,
you promise
not to dabble!”

**
Potato, puh-ta-to
tomato, tuh-ma-to;
its official!
the yellow brick road
does not exist.

**

Musings

Try to hear
above the din,
above patience
wearing thin...
The sound of
what we stifle;
of what we
inevitably drown:
is what holds us together
in this bursting-at-the-seams
lonely town.

**
Sometimes,
it just takes
a few strands of hair
going down the drain;
for mortality
to stare you in the eye.

**
Two dishevelled women;
one unblinking,
the other staring;
ogle and gawk.
Sitting opposite,
the well-dressed,
articulate 'gal'
forgets how to talk.

No mans land

Egos clashed
as they claimed me theirs;
But I wasn’t
up for sale…
It wasn’t about
who was right
or wrong.
(I was the beating boy
for the day;
up and ready
for a flail!)

Caught in the
crossfire;
some branded
me a liar,
and the others
sat on the fence;
as I put up
a pitiful look:
a rather lousy defense!

So dear Guinea;
eventhough I would’ve
loved to help you out
My hands are tied
when it comes to
asinine editorial clout!

Divine Retribution

Bad hair day,
the grenades still stuck
in my throat,
the trains late at the station;
I’ve been transferred to nation.

Thought I didn’t know
what’s in store:
I do know now.

A tug-o-war
that made me feel important
for a second or two:
the hours are long
& the perks are few.

And I’m sure
at the end of the day
Im gonna be made
the scapegoat anyway!

One of those days:
when God gets his kicks
by picking on chicks;
who can’t make up their mind.
“It’s about time”;
says the almighty
with a devilish grin.
I retort:
“Hey, it was that babe Eve,
not me;
who commited the original sin!”

Double edged sword

Ironic,
What I always wanted,
came to me
when I didn't want it anymore.

Funny,
I didn't realise it,
thanks to my throat sore!

Hilarious,
that I mistook it
for someone else;
saying "O, poor thin'"
made a fool of myself
(queen of wishful thinkin'.)

Now,
reality hits me
like a no-nonsense hangover.
Nursing myself on lyrics fluid,
I wonder 'when it would be over?'

Shorts II

Ever wondered why;
All those friends who
come down from the States;
have weird last names?
Well, a little bird told me:
that if you want to be
a citizen of USA;
(It’s a pre-requisite)
your last name should be:
incomprehensible;
something like:
Wickremsinghe.

This is so;
it’s difficult to pronounce,
as they announce;
your name at Starbucks.
Yup, you guessed it right;
you are their comic relief
(spelled “sitting ducks”)!
The only exception to the rule
Is the oft-mistaken, garrulous Patels!

***
You must’ve been quite a beauty
In your hey-day;
“Yes a slew of proud lovers
and eclectic romances”;
your arched eyebrows say.
If I were a man then;
I would’ve convinced you
to stay.

**
I’m not an extreme
unless,
when it comes to writing:
I either pen prolific
Or the muse ain’t biting.

**
The aesthetics of a rhyme
are so pleasing
that I indulge in them
from time to time.

But of late;
it makes me nauseate
to succumb to you Seth…

Blank verse seduces me
with it’s no strings attached pitch;
should I scratch this itch…

There I go again
with my witty mask;
All I can say is:
“Somebody stop me!”

***
Dearest Guinea,
don’t fret I say;
the red signal
didn’t work this time
but it just may
when you change the approach
and let the bigalow
pick you up some day!

Shorts

Five years ago
you were just a childhood memory
flitting in and out;
an ‘accented’ anecdote
to talk about.

Last night,
it wasn’t coffee
but words that brought us together.

Two far removed souls,
trying to make sense;
of this refreshing coupling
of being strangers yet friends.

**

“Insecure”
“selfish”
“incompetent”
“sheepish…”
Words ran riot,
guffawing at their power.
The reign of vocabulary
had come so far.

Pulling the strings on mouths…
on conversations….
on lives….
they foamed and froth.

Now serving:
A double helping of
ad verbatim broth!

**
I despise those crumbs;
those morsels
time & again,
the mongrel
throws my way.

He knows not
that I’ve supped
on seven course meals;
so he does what he feels
pooh-poohing what I say.

Ruminating on
a smorgasbord
of what I once had;
I deny myself
and be glad;
that I haven’t sold out.

**

Thomson and Thompson reside in my head,
they’ve altered everything I’ve said…

Thomson wants to flesh out the rhyme,
while Thompson wants the rhyme to flesh out..
(Shhhh… They have their reasons,
without a doubt.)

Indecisive overtures later;
I decide to kill one of them
in this schizophrenic bout.

**
Kon-nee-chee-WAH
my Japanese flame;
your thinking stance
makes me exclaim:
“He’s so cuteeeeeeeeeee….”

A rather poor
choice of words;
rapt yet acute.

Go on,
strike that pose
one more time.
I’d serenade you
in our patented mime.

Hmmm…though Japanese;
in my arms;
you are China!

**

In the black and white of things,
I am the grey…

A-muse on-the-run

Why doesth thou depart
in mid-thought?
No tautologous treatise;
a clear, concise sentence
is all I sought.

How long do I
persist hither mediocre
rhyme;
Mend my verse;
thy esprit d'escaliers
confound me,
we are runneth out of time.

But must thee rather jest
at my bumbling behest:
sending in a stand-in…
That ignorant caddish kin
maketh my blood boil.
Hath thee no mercy?
This art a thankless toil!

Forsooth!
Thither dash the hounds;
they’d sniff thee out,
betwixt those brambles
and mounds.

Then thou brilliance
would step over
the broomstick
and let it be ‘nounced
“Playing fugitive
beeth much easier;
if it wasn’t for
those grey curs,
zounds!”

Lament

Ok, so I’m low-profile…
a tortoise withdrawing
into a shell,
but this cynical mien
is my style;
If you don’t get it;
go to hell!

Amusing myself
with these limericks;
I chuckle it off;
and take a few risks.

Nope, I can’t afford to sell my advice;
(as ecstasy uncle suggests…)
Would YOU agree
to pay the price,
for what I sincerely profess?

Unless you dig my verse
served with humour
and a garnish of scorn.
Be kind enough
to post some prose
on how great it is
and I’ll move along…
(in the waiting list of validation;
Don't make me die of starvation!)

I guess you’ve understood
what I meant,
then, what in gods name
is stopping you
from penning a comment?
Just sign up
and give vent!

World

Keeping in mind,
the imminent bribe;
in this second attempt
to describe,
your quirkness…
I’m on precarious footing.
Do I desist,
from what I can’t resist
or give into your grandma’s cooking?
Guess the promise of exotic orange ice cream
blunts my wit.
Could I have spoonfuls
or just a bit?

**

“Lookin’ so busy,
when there’s nothing to do,
I wonder, what you are up to?”;
goes the boss…
And the voice in your head
wants to send his volley for a toss
with: “Well, as long as I ain’t at the ‘bar’,
(the one that’s not too far),
and doin’ research and graphics;
I’m free to do as I please,
(Maybe have a sandwich,
with lots of cheese!)
and chat about your amorous acrobatics!

**

Sexing up his page
with nude women
& dogs fertility rate;
he makes up,
for what he lacks in age.

(Wait, there goes the business chick,
follow his eyes, quick;
you bet he’s no sage!)

If this has cracked you up,
wait till you see him
in his “I’m gonna slap him”
animated rage.

**
Scoffing at hash lists;
his bizarre ideas
get her pissed!
And if he yanks her chain;
dubbing him insane
she walks off in a huff;
you are god damn right;
she deserves a puff!

**
Women wafting past;
sometimes slow,
sometimes fast;
make his day.
Watch his eyes trail
the gals
or see him make them pals…
he’d do anything to make them stay.
This average married Don Juan,
heats it up,
as he grows grey!

AND everything else…

O’ resident Casanova,
count your chicks;
vodka & whisky do not mix.
When bald eagle comes a peepin’,
ensconsced in ur pen,
you’d be robbed of your
infinite kicks.

Jesus Christ,
hold onto your pants tonite;
lest they fall off
& reveal your derrier;
bit cheeky: but more the merrier!

Blue screen death
stares you in the eye,
elephants commit suicide;
zombie, are you as surreal,
on the inside?

Jabberwocky,
just stop & listen
to the silence;
rather than rambling nonsense
and indulging in verbal violence.

Drugee,
your absence has robbed me of anecdotes.
Have they shipped you off to Ibiza?
Suits me, as long as you
don’t hammer me over that pizza!

Why didja take away the instant soup?
“Cost-cutting,” they say, “u dupe.”
We never asked for incentives
on the side;
its not me,
but you who’s got a lot to hide.

Porno man, I don’t know you,
but you’ve become a legend of sorts;
your appetite for smut is revered;
among your cohorts!

Jabberwocky part deux,
did you wake up on
the wrong side of the bed?
Stop telling all to strangers.
Somethings are better left
unsaid.

Clippity-cloppity,
if you raise your nose any further;
you’d walk into the wall.
Could I pinch your attitude,
after your rise & fall?

Ubersexual,
whats up with you?
Ditch that tight white tee,
and lemme have a look at you.
Hmmm… a little less rouge
and a lot more macho
would do!

New Year postmortem

Yacht to yacht,
we hopped.
Whizzing past tandoorques,
disco-shisco’s,
Rotract raves
and filmi enclaves.

Until we arrived aboard Abdul;
alas, our turner* was gul!
And so was rest of the crowd.
Shortly trooped in the Guju “deck che” gang.
(Damn they were loud!)

“Doodh” Beckham wannabe followed,
with nearly-nude scary spice
in tow.
(Watching her teeth chatter in the cold was nice;
if only she’d done a thong-song,
a la sisqo.)

But the one who stole the show
was our man Jeetendra in white.
He was a beacon,
in the dead of the night.

After a long wait & much deliberation,
the “ship” was put into motion.

And we were off
into the dark beyond;
where “poetic ripples”, “imaginary constellations” & shark stories
mingled with the wish-wash of the waves.

High on the idea of partying
the crowd shut out the silence of the sea,
(while I secretly wished they’d just let it be.)

A long interlude peppered with inane “oil rig” quips,
“milkman” digs later,
Abdul pulled into Mandwa.

Dejavu greeted us at the shore,
“Darlin’ haven’t we been here before!”

Marathi manus got jiggy with it;
as the “clique” boarded the rickety bus;
and ghostly kid starred her eyeballs out
as we counted backwards from dus.

Racing against the clock,
the new year beat us to the resort;
but “unlimited alcohol” soothed our souls;
hmmm.. did we dance around poles?

Slipping into the cool sand,
we buried bygones
and trampled on the past.
Chudidhar aunty simply looked aghast!

Downing Vodkas by the dozen;
we were Kishen Mulchandani’s first cousins.

“Neat coke,” my uninitiated sis asked,
“Never heard that,” the bartender barked,

Yup, this “curtain raiser” was ‘nother highlight
from this unusual evening;
topped only by the sozzled
jump-and-cling
guy who tried to conquer square pants.
{Nope, it was no gay bash ;)
all the dude wanted was “some hash.”}

By now everything was “beautiiiiiful” & “nicccccceeeeeeee”
“A lot more Vodka puhhhhlease & no ice!”

Couldn’t get anymore surreal, could it?
Sure it could,
and it did.

White beds lay spread eagle
on one end of the beach;
we rushed to it,
lest it be a mirage;
and vanish before we reach.

A DJ serenaded this sleepy hollow
where some sat
others slept;
if I wasn’t drunk,
I surely would’ve wept!

After that everything is a blur;
if you want to know more;
please ask her
who patted while I puked
and nursed my hangover with
Freud eggs in the mornin’.

(Psst….hot water did the trick!)
Yup, I was no longer sick;
untill queen of the damned
pulled a Vikram Seth on me!


*[Turner: Some ignorant souls believe a vessel/ship is steered by a certain someone who they believe is a "turner". To those not in the know, this guy is actually called "about-face ;)]