we often think that 

we know and understand 

how others feel 

but the truth is:

we don’t know;

and even if we knew, 

we’d never 

understand fully. 

so caught up in our daily trance 

bubbled up by ego and selfish introspection 

we often assume that 

our troubles are the toughest 

and our joy is the realest. 

but the truth is:

pain is relative, 

and so is happiness. 

who has stepped out 

into the rain, face up, eyes closed? 

who has sprinkled dust six feet 

under, face down, eyes drowning? 

who has ever embraced a lover,

hated a lover;

but woke up swelling with love again? 

i need to have a chat with you 

i need to understand some things. 

Clutching at straws 

I wish I could tell you face to face 

But I fear that 

If you knew, 

You’d take advantage of me 

You scare me 

Yet I always gravitate 

Towards you 

To me 

You represent the space 

Between spaces -the missing piece of the 

Missing part-

You’re the essence of my vitality 

And the fallacy of my existence 

I cannot do without you 

You’re the paint, and I 

The painter… 

-The source of all wavelengths-

And I’m the artist… 


Do you see me the same way? 

Or I’m just clutching at straws… 

for Memory

just as the spacious Galaxy, 

your eyes always draw my emotions into nothingness 

and I become a singularity. 

no person does that to me;

not even the lovers 

not even the beggars

(not even the poets!). 

it’s you my sister 

it’s you my sister…

your sensitivity goes deeper than 

all my Memories 

(the subconscious and the conscious)

it’s as if all the galaxies converged

onto yourself 

materializing into your mystic heart 

…it’s humbling, 

yet enthralling 

to have been born your brother 

(live long beloved sister!)… 

dolls in the sand

I have both good and evil

Inside my chest 

And I don’t know which one is stronger.

Last night I had a strange dream;

I held silent conversations

With dolls in the sand 

About money, love, sex, greed and forgiveness. 

It’s sad these are the things 

That define us

-Yet these aren’t real-

The real things always hide beneath 

They have to be uncovered 

Just like dolls in the sand.

I have both good and evil 

Inside my chest

And I’ve always known which one is stronger. 

Do you?

writing still

the children 

have grown into men and women 

and the men and women 

into old men and women. 

these too, we have often 

put under the ground 

and we don’t know 

where they go.

but the sun still shines

and the wind always blows. 

our friends have turned 

into non friends 

and the lovers have turned 


their embrace no longer feels warm 

yet somehow, 

new people always come 

to put back smiles into our hearts 

and we don’t always know 

why that is so.

the dry leaves are


and new ones are growing, 

as this life unfolds 

and the poets are writing 


sleeping late 


is a fresh day

yesterday we slept late drinking 

and smoking 

but today is a fresh day 

to laugh and love 

to cry and hate 

to brush our teeth 

cleanse our eyes


and underwear 

to smell the magic of the morning 

to cringe at the sight 

of the night’s aftermath 

today we hope to learn 

and grow 

we hope also to unlearn 

and resist growth 

with an aim to always enjoy 

the moment 

to clutch its vitality 

between our nicotine smeared fingers 


love for our families and friends blooms 

kind smiles and understanding 

over pride and hostility 

tonight we shall sleep late 


and tomorrow the sun 

will rise again 


i would like 

to pour cold water 

on this false

fire of emotions 

and paint you 

a beautiful, sad picture 

with the


a beautiful, sad picture of

what you and i