Thursday, June 09, 2005


There's this person up there with whom I share a very intense love-hate relationship. I refuse to believe in It's existence (don't know if It's a He or She), and It responds by making a joke out of everything I say or do. And when the thing gets over I return to my belief of "What It-wit crap? Coincidences happen."
Anyway, so only tonight I was writing about not being able to complete a poem. And only tonight, a bit later, my muse got so worked up that I conceived and completed an entire poem in less than half an hour. Of course the poem, at its best, looks like a child practising metaphors. But that's generally what my poems are like. Without any concrete meaning. Surrealistic. They probably have some meaning at the Freudian level of the subconscious self, but trust me, reading one's own subconscious is the toughest job - so I won't really be able to tell you accurately. Some deep pain, some deep loss, some deep isolation somewhere down there maybe... otherwise just a simple poem. Just playing with words. Just a few abstract sketches.


Last night,
I lost the violin man
at the bend of a purple street
under the cracked lamp.

Haven't I trailed the shadows,
seen them crisscross
in a midnight maze?
I have fixed my gaze
at the bluish monitored screen
and clicked erase.

If the rooftops will
sing your lost tune tonight,
I'll buy
half a star
and let it twinkle twinkle
on my cheek...

And I will step in the stream
and sniff the home-bound wind
for your music
...for yet another night.

Written on June 8, 2005.