What if?

Noticed a lot of the poems - some of  mine too - I read these days has activist tones. This goes out to several poets, myself included. I wonder how poetry would thrive if the spikes of suffering, of sadness had been flattened out. How many would write about the magic in an orange moon as it … Continue reading What if?

No room here

The ghost that twists in the basement is a remnant of me. My fears have fed him over the years, giving shape to his collar bone adding flesh to his thighs. Every road that I have yearned to take and refused to venture on has given fodder to this ghost. A few years ago, I … Continue reading No room here


How many things can you call dirty? Is dirty the quivering of bodies when they make love without the consent of the hundreds whose homes are as warm as a bucket of ice cubes? Is dirty the act of seeking love on your own terms? Is dirty the act of avoiding a four-legged prison with … Continue reading Dirty

Been there

I have been a sonnet that stumbled clumsily around meter and rhyme. I am now a freewheeling poem who does not care where the verse will end. I was not sure if my orbit had to be prograde or retrograde, I wasn’t even sure if I was around the right sun. Now I just roll … Continue reading Been there