I wish I was an ugly mutt
or a gaunt stray cow
or a nimble alley cat
chasing the squeaky rat
or I wish I was somehow
the old man in that hut

I wish I was a willowy tree
or one of those bumpy roads
or that filthy shallow drain
all clogged up during the rain
full of squirming toads
I'd be anything but me

Images and words

I know you'll draw a sketch of mine
black and white with simple lines
and I will write a line or two
explaining and describing you
and when the sketch is halfway through
you may just add a dash of blue
and red and green will follow then
while a few more words escape my pen
and when you're done you'll realise
its somewhat true but not precise
which will make you start again
and sketch another, all in vain
and I will also come to know
that what I wrote may not be so
I'll cancel or rewrite some lines
or start afresh writing new rhymes
and we do this till you've had enough
I'll wonder instead of playing bluff
if only I saw what you sketched
and my writings to you I fetched 

The Unicorn's tail

Let me not chase the unicorn's tail
its pointy horn not all I fear
in futility shall I not travail
to fellow seekers' disdain and jeer
and triumph is the sum of trine
a way with words, some decency
in which I know I fare fine
but may never catch its fancy
for fancy is but a bird on wings
high and mighty that tends to fly
I know not whence mightiness springs
whilst all know I am not too high
with this rant I give up my stakes
while the unicorn's tail mockingly shakes

Slate

As you rejoice in harvest green
though winter's sun has lost its sheen
splendid with a fading smile
charming sunsets all this while
and who eludes the twilight's sword
when night engulfs the shining lord
in what seems a lunar wilderness
of stars sprinkled in duress
the lonesome, prying eyes of trees
with distant rattle of their leaves
distracting, but you could ignore
as waves collide the bouldered shore
you may just count to ten and wait
a million times I'll clean the slate

The Cycle

Sometimes entwined with her sable curls 
or entranced as the silhouette unfurls 
pointing to the gleam in her eye 
chasing the scent as the time flies by 
and then, in the mind, despair swirls 
stupid queries to the self it hurls 
on its behest the throat rendered dry 
frustration aggravating with every try 
and so, into dejection, the being curls 
gradually the curtain of depression unfurls 
beauteous wonders all squalid to the eye 
desire for her diminishing by and by 
finally, the smoke of hatred soars and swirls 
loud adjectives to her glory the mouth hurls 
the twisted joy of cursing lets the tears dry 
and eventually, you are again ready to try 

The Art of Courtship

the art of courtship is sublime 
subtler than an intricate rhyme 
a meandering way to romantic glory 
or a steep fall into purgatory 
you know not what instruments to hide 
and what to wield through this sunset ride 
it may bring hopes and desires new 
and carnal love for a chosen few 
but that comes after you've swam through 
when the harvest is yours to accrue 
if you triumph, you may rejoice 
if not, quote this in a pensive voice: 
rules alter and instructions fail 
thus ends a miserable tale 

If

If I am not me
and we are not us
then "who is he?"
is a mere guess
If I am him
and you are too
then life is grim
and truth untrue
If he loves you
and loves me not
to this plateau
have I been brought
with no doubt in my little mind
he is darkness and we are blind  

I saw her on the train 

sitting alone, cross-legged  

on a seat for three 

grey hair woven into filthy braids 

a tattered cardigan and beige pants 

looking out through the window 

eyes shining brightly 

bony fingers scratching 

the lice infested scalp 

I stole a glance or two 

not without the fear  

of meeting her gaze 

as she sat rubbing her hand 

on her handsome, swarthy face 

Truth

He has come a long way
the light shone brightly
over the arduous path
distractions and decoys a plenty
but he walked on undeterred
with time as much a dimension
as distances and directions
many a strangers did he meet
many an acquaintances did he ignore
bearing his torch valiantly
and finally his journey ends
he reaches the terminus
only to find a giant mirror
a mere reflection of the torch he holds
of the light that belongs to him
disappointed he mumbles to himself
"truth is a mirror!
truth is a blunt revelation!
truth does not pacify or heal!
who needs the truth?"
and with his back against the mirror
runs away into the darkness

A prayer

I ran away
but did not miss you
found others
who pretend to be you
aren't they really you?
there are others
that do not know you
or hate you
they know someone else like you
and then there are others
like them I have become
neither for, nor against you
pray, ignore me
for I shall ignore you