And now I ask,

Are you free?

Have you ever been truly free?

The freedom of a fire,

Coursing through the veins of a Savannah,

A grassland sodden in flame,

A destructive freedom,

Baring and battering the earth,

Leaving it sore and inflamed.

The freedom of the wave,

Belched from the deepest recesses of the sea’s mouth,

Rushing thousands of miles per hour,

Soured with ire,

As it bangs with all its fury,

With all its power,

At the cliff tower.

Have you ever felt the dance of liberation?

In your feet, your spine and your mind,

Your body overrun with convulsions,

Temperature spiking with victory,

At long last.

Have you felt your body wrapped…..

In a spiritual embrace?

A genocide of fear,

A nuclear warfare within,

Rays of thine own exothermic revolution,

suffusing reality and history.

I will ask again,

Are you free?

Have you ever been truly?

dedicated to all the unsung freedom fighters and slaves who dreamed of freedom.


Rescuing Yesterday

If the scientists are right,
And the threads of all reality,
Past,present &future,
Subtly rolled into one multi-yarn.

Sentenced to repeat,
Replay for eternity,
Hand me the water,
And the time capsule.

Just a gulp of the past,
That I may seal away,
All the pain,
All the strife.

Wind me up as you would,
A string of hope,
Let me wipe the tears of the future,
Before they fall.

Fear not for your todays,
Or whether you may witness,
The light of your tomorrows.

For I will risk it all,
To safeguard yesterday,
At the ultimate cost,
Of my today.


Now i have strangled them all,
I am no longer a princess.
All that remains,
Is this beautiful golden dust.

But of it,
I may have some use.

My hair has no flair,
It dangles not the length of a tower,
All that is,
are these tiny, black &curly cauliflowers.

I don them well enough,
On my head planted like a crown.

My prince was neither a frog,
neither newt nor toad,
he had white matted hair,
And oh how he slobbered.

To transmute into a prince, he will not,
though all i need are his sweet licks of loyalty.

As i said, I am a princess no more,
Neither a maid to be wed,
I am a king resurrected.
From that beautiful golden dust.

Only in the more pleasing &shapely form of your queen.

I was taught to feel, perhaps too much,

The self-sufficing power of solitude.

William Wordsworth

for the rice that never was…

When i met you,
I didn’t recognize you from the future,
Had seen you only once before,
my wonderful jamais-vu.

Forget procedure, recapture your destiny,
Unshackle from present engagements,
Useless errands,
Follow me down the rabbit hole,
You said.

Right you were,
Take the tender apologies i offer,
I knew not of what you meant,
Mine shall be an unimaginable punishment,
To immortally be imprisoned in ignorance of the facts,
Forever mourning you, unknowingly so.


be still my …


Must I scrap the stars from my sky,

Tear the roots from my soil,

Hush now,

Quieten the earth now,

That I may breathe  my mountain’s rarefied …

In  and out,

that i may   let out a sigh or reprieve,

Push out the terror in  thine lungs,

My wind of relief.

Restrain the progress,

lest i restrain all eternity.



journalling sins:scents

I only ever saw her once, accidentally so, I pitied her.

How could she not know?

Timba was brilliantly deceptive and if that wouldn’t suffice he could talk you out of any doubt. I never could resist his bashful apologies.

“I didn’t mean to, you have to believe me Ruth,” he said inching ever so slowly. He knew just how to approach you after a spat, how his voice’s timbre lowered as if he was bowing down to you. How could anyone remain locked in  anger after that, what humility. His words reverberated in my mind even days after their reliance.

I found a knack in rationalizing away the irrational. But when I saw her that day all prior logic flew out the door,frail despair took its place, he wasn’t leaving her, was he?

A middle-aged woman but every bit as radiant as though in her teen years, she had a round face, affable and sweet. She struggled to wake from her seat and I rushed in.

“Are you well?” I asked feigning concern.

“I came to see Dr. Mukul about something?” she said slowly, as if she couldn’t make out the words.

She wasn’t pregnant, was she? My eavesdropping eyes discovered her subtly protruding gut, it was confirmed. I wondered who’s it could be?

How? Wasn’t I enough?

I informed her of her husband’s absence for the day as I helped her get back to her seat. Immediately she was irate, she frantically struggled to get out of the embracing couch, desperately looking for a way out. Out of that God forsaken office where she had been ignored and humiliated tenfold, hopefully out of his life.

I suddenly got a whiff of a familiar scent, I wondered of its source, after all the office was always soaked in the depressive sterile scent of antibacterial hand cleanser.

After a minute or so I noticed her forgotten purse sinking into the quicksand couch, indelibly on its surface, the words, Agnes. I now knew her name  and what a beautiful name at that.She had crystallized before my very eyes and she wasn’t ‘a wicked witch’ as he so aptly put it. She was just trying to resuscitate a dead union, the proverbial dead horse flogging.I both understood the impulse to keep trying and abhorred it all the same.People and their choices.

I rushed to give it to her and as though I was Hansel, I trailed her to the parking lot by that familiar scent.

“It must be coming from her “I mouthed loudly , as i always did with things that didn’t seem quite right.

I finally caught up to her, she was leaning on the bonnet of her car, exhausted by the staircase journey she had just embarked. Only she was crying, more precisely weeping, the sort of crying you would happen upon at a funeral. She was mourning her marriage, my eyes glinted with surprising joy, maybe it really was over, fingers crossed.

As the sisterhood prescribed this was a moment to hug, and so I did, I rushed in and cushioned the pain. I caught a nostril full of that scent again only much more saturated this time, on her neck.

I recognized it now; I only ever wore that scent while rendezvousing with Timba. I made a point of dousing it on all my sweet spots for his benefit, secretly hoping that she would bump into it time and again and realize finally that he is mine.

“Why in God’s name would she take to wearing it herself?”issuing yet another soliloquy when i discovered that in all that confusion i still had her purse in hand.